The more people I lose, the less I believe I’ll see them again after I die. It’s just the way I feel.

I maybe don’t process grief well, but it doesn’t feel like there’s a thin curtain between me and them. Only a yawning hole, a total absence. A cold void that cannot be filled.

It’s maybe not a terrible way to feel, it makes me appreciate people more now knowing my time with them is limited.

I’m not telling anyone what to believe. I’m just saying the goodbyes I’ve had to say, feel very final.

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Bleak · 36-40, F

I get what you’re saying. Some goodbyes don’t feel like a “see you later” — they feel like something has been completely taken out of your world, and nothing quite fills that space again.

But I don’t think feeling that emptiness means you don’t process grief well. Sometimes it just means you loved deeply, and your mind is trying to make sense of an absence that doesn’t make sense.

For me, it’s both things at once. The loss can feel final in this life — painfully, undeniably final — and still, somewhere inside, there’s a quiet hope that it’s not the absolute end. Not a thin curtain maybe, but not a total void either.

And you’re right about one thing: it does change how you see people who are still here. It makes their presence heavier, more real, more worth holding onto.

Grief doesn’t have one shape. Yours isn’t wrong — it’s just yours.