Speaker 1: If you have carried a relationship that never fit neatly
Speaker 1: into one story, you already know how heavy that weight
Speaker 1: can feel. Parts of it brought real care and moments
Speaker 1: of connection, yet other parts left hurt that still lingers. Today,
Speaker 1: we sit with that middle ground. We look at what
Speaker 1: it means to grieve without forcing the past into a
Speaker 1: simpler version of itself, one that erases either the good
Speaker 1: or the harm. Because grief does not always arrive after
Speaker 1: a clean break, many of us end up sorting through
Speaker 1: mixed memories that refuse to line up. Meanwhile, the pressure
Speaker 1: to pick a single label only adds another layer of confusion.
Speaker 1: Pauline Boss wrote about this an Ambiguous Loss back in
Speaker 1: nineteen ninety nine, and her work on complicated loss still
Speaker 1: helps explain why these bonds resist easy resolution. The episode
Speaker 1: draws from that research while staying rooted in the experience
Speaker 1: you are living right now. We will not rush toward
Speaker 1: any tidy ending or demand that you rewrite what actually happened. Instead,
Speaker 1: we stay present, with both the affection and the pain
Speaker 1: side by side. Here is the thing, The topic many
Speaker 1: listeners are carrying today centers on exactly this tension. Grieving
Speaker 1: a complicated relationship without rewriting the past. When a relationship
Speaker 1: holds both real affection and real pain at the same time,
Speaker 1: grief asks you to carry all of it without trimming
Speaker 1: anything away. You do not have to pick one feeling
Speaker 1: and set the other aside. The task instead becomes learning
Speaker 1: how to keep room for the warmth that existed alongside
Speaker 1: the disappointment or conflict that also lived there. Because those
Speaker 1: memories refuse to line up in a straight line, many
Speaker 1: people notice and urge to straighten them out. Anyway that
Speaker 1: urge to rewrite the past often surfaces because the mixed
Speaker 1: feelings create a kind of pressure that feels hard to
Speaker 1: sit with. Grief already brings enough weight on its own.
Speaker 1: When the story refuses to settle into one clear version,
Speaker 1: the mind sometimes tries to make this point simpler by
Speaker 1: pushing everything toward the good side or everything toward the
Speaker 1: difficult side. Idealizing can feel like protection in the moment,
Speaker 1: while villainizing can feel like a way to create distance
Speaker 1: from the hurt. Both moves come from the same place,
Speaker 1: though they try to reduce the tension that comes from
Speaker 1: holding two truths together. Megan Divine describes this pattern in
Speaker 1: her book it's okay that you're not okay. She notes
Speaker 1: that these attempts to edit the past show up because
Speaker 1: grief does not follow the neat rules we might expect
Speaker 1: it to follow. The rewriting impulse appears for plenty of people,
Speaker 1: and its presence does not make the grief any less
Speaker 1: real or any less valid. It simply shows that the
Speaker 1: relationship sat in a complicated middle space, and the loss
Speaker 1: keeps bringing that middle space back into view. The pattern
Speaker 1: shows up because the brain looks for ways to ease
Speaker 1: internal conflict when energy runs low. Carrying two sides of
Speaker 1: a story takes steady effort. When that effort meets exhaustion,
Speaker 1: or when reminders arrive without warning, the pull toward one
Speaker 1: cleaner version grows stronger. Yet the actual relationship lived in
Speaker 1: that middle ground, and grief keeps pointing back to it,
Speaker 1: rather than letting the story collapse into one extreme or
Speaker 1: the other. This does not mean the affection was false
Speaker 1: or that the pain was imagined. It means both parts
Speaker 1: belong to the same connection, and both parts deserve to
Speaker 1: stay when grief arrives. Many listeners find that the rewriting
Speaker 1: urge fades a little once they notice it. Without needing
Speaker 1: to act on it right away. The discomfort remains, however,
Speaker 1: and that discomfort does not signal failure. It signals that
Speaker 1: the relationship never fit the simple categories we sometimes wish
Speaker 1: it would fit. Here is the thing that offen and
Speaker 1: catches people off guard. The same memories can feel tender
Speaker 1: one day and sharp the next, without any change in
Speaker 1: the facts themselves. One afternoon, the good moments rise first,
Speaker 1: and the next morning the arguments feel louder. Both experiences
Speaker 1: point back to the same relationship, and both belong inside
Speaker 1: the grief. I remember sitting with this exact pressure after
Speaker 1: someone close to me died. The relationship had carried real
Speaker 1: care and real friction for years. In the weeks right
Speaker 1: after the loss, I caught myself smoothing over the hard
Speaker 1: parts until the person almost sounded like someone they had
Speaker 1: never been. Then a few days later, the opposite happened,
Speaker 1: and every difficult exchange stood out in sharp detail while
Speaker 1: the kindness dropped away. Neither version fell complete, yet each
Speaker 1: one offered temporary relief from the mixture. The shift happened
Speaker 1: during an ordinary afternoon when I found an old message
Speaker 1: that did not match either picture I had been holding
Speaker 1: the words sat somewhere between warm and strained, and they
Speaker 1: refused to let me keep the story neat That single
Speaker 1: message made it clear that the rewriting had been an
Speaker 1: attempt to manage the weight, rather than a reflection of
Speaker 1: what had actually existed. The relief came not from forcing
Speaker 1: the memory into one shape, but from letting the mixed
Speaker 1: version stay mixed. Since then, I have noticed how often
Speaker 1: that same pressure shows up for others who carry complicated bonds.
Speaker 1: The details change, but the pattern stays familiar. The affection
Speaker 1: and the pain keep company, and grief asks us to
Speaker 1: make room for the company they keep. I remember sitting
Speaker 1: with my own experience of this after my aunt passed
Speaker 1: a few years back. She had raised me for stretches
Speaker 1: when my parents worked long shifts, so there were afternoons
Speaker 1: where she taught me how to fix a bike chain,
Speaker 1: and nights where she read the same chapter aloud until
Speaker 1: the words blurred. At the same time, she carried a
Speaker 1: temper that could turn sharp without warning. One moment she
Speaker 1: would hand over the last slice of pie, and the
Speaker 1: next she would remind me that I had already taken
Speaker 1: more than my share. When she died, the memories arrived
Speaker 1: in that same jumbled order. For the first weeks, I
Speaker 1: kept trying to sort them into a single column. Either
Speaker 1: she had been generous and the hard edges were just
Speaker 1: my misreading, or the hard edges were the real story
Speaker 1: and the generosity had been in act. I would catch
Speaker 1: myself rewriting a scene in my head, so the pie
Speaker 1: moment stood alone, or so the sharp remark stood alone.
Speaker 1: Each version felt cleaner for a few hours, yet the
Speaker 1: relief never lasted. The next memory would surface and demand
Speaker 1: its place. Anyway. One afternoon, I was sorting through a
Speaker 1: box of her old letters and found one she had
Speaker 1: sent after a fight we had about a job I
Speaker 1: wanted to take. The letter started with an apology and
Speaker 1: ended with a list of reasons I would probably fail.
Speaker 1: Reading it again, I felt the old tug to decide
Speaker 1: which half mattered more. Instead, I left both halves. In
Speaker 1: practical terms, I let the apology sit next to the list,
Speaker 1: without forcing one to explain the other away. The strange
Speaker 1: part was how much lighter the room felt once I
Speaker 1: stopped editing. That same pattern showed up again. When friends
Speaker 1: asked how I was doing, they would offer the usual
Speaker 1: line about how close we must have been, and I
Speaker 1: would hear myself agree or disagree, depending on the day.
Speaker 1: The truth stayed in the middle. I missed the version
Speaker 1: of her who showed up with soup when I was sick,
Speaker 1: and I still felt the old flinch when I remembered
Speaker 1: the version who could dismiss an idea before I finished speaking.
Speaker 1: Holding both did not cancel the missing. It simply kept
Speaker 1: the missing from turning into something smaller than it was.
Speaker 1: The pull to flatten the story makes sense when every
Speaker 1: feeling arrives at once, The mind reaches for a shorter
Speaker 1: version because a shorter version uses less energy. Yet the
Speaker 1: shorter version also leaves pieces of the relationship stranded, and
Speaker 1: those pieces keep knocking until they are let back in,
Speaker 1: allowing the full picture meant some days the missing felt heavier,
Speaker 1: yet other days the lighter moments returned without the shame
Speaker 1: of having ignored them before. This is the part that
Speaker 1: connects to what so many people notice when the relationship
Speaker 1: they lost refused to fit a single label. The grief
Speaker 1: does not line up in neat rows. It circles back
Speaker 1: through the same scenes and asks whether today is the
Speaker 1: day both sides are permitted to stay. When that permission
Speaker 1: is given. Even for a short stretch, the pressure inside
Speaker 1: the chest eases by a fraction, not because the story
Speaker 1: becomes easier to tell, but because it no longer has
Speaker 1: to be told in only one direction. We will take
Speaker 1: a short break here. When we return, the conversation will
Speaker 1: pick up with how these mixed memories shape the days
Speaker 1: that follow. When someone holds both affection and frustration toward
Speaker 1: the same person, the feelings rarely arrive one at a time.
Speaker 1: They show up together in a single afternoon. You might
Speaker 1: miss the sound of their voice while also remembering the
Speaker 1: way their criticism landed and still stung. That overlap is
Speaker 1: ordinary in complicated relationships because the bond itself never settled
Speaker 1: into one clean category. The research from Sheer and colleagues,
Speaker 1: published in the Journal of the American Medical Association in
Speaker 1: twenty sixteen, tracked people after significant losses and found that
Speaker 1: memories staying sharply polarized raised the chance of prolonged grief.
Speaker 1: The Center for Complicated Grief at Columbia University has continued
Speaker 1: to examine this pattern and notes that the brain sometimes
Speaker 1: keeps positive and negative recollections in separate mental boxes because
Speaker 1: it tries to reduce internal conflict. Yet that separation can
Speaker 1: keep the grief process from moving forward in its own
Speaker 1: uneven way. Stages or tasks of mourning and therefore do
Speaker 1: not demand that every contradiction be ironed out into a
Speaker 1: single consistent story. You can feel grateful for certain moments
Speaker 1: and still carry disappointment about others without forcing those pieces
Speaker 1: to match. The work instead involves letting both sides exist
Speaker 1: side by side, even when they clash. In other words,
Speaker 1: the process makes room for the full range of what
Speaker 1: was true, rather than requiring a tidy summary. Because the
Speaker 1: earlier sections of this conversation touched on the urge to
Speaker 1: rewrite the past, it helps to notice how that urge
Speaker 1: often comes from the pressure of those conflicting emotions. When
Speaker 1: friends asked how things felt after my aunt died, the
Speaker 1: question sometimes pushed me towards choosing one feeling over another.
Speaker 1: I would catch myself saying she was difficult or that
Speaker 1: we had been close, depending on who listened and what
Speaker 1: seemed easier to explain. However, the research suggests that keeping
Speaker 1: the memories polarized in that way can extend the period
Speaker 1: of intense distress. The Center for Complicated Grief at Columbia
Speaker 1: University points out that integration happens gradually when the mind
Speaker 1: stops treating the positive and negative recollections as mutually exclusive. Meanwhile,
Speaker 1: the tasks of mourning allow for this gradual shift without
Speaker 1: a deadline. You might spend one week mostly focused on
Speaker 1: the good conversations you shared, and then find the next
Speaker 1: week dominated by the arguments that never got resolved. Both
Speaker 1: periods count as part of the same process. The stages
Speaker 1: do not require you to land on a final verdict
Speaker 1: about the relationship itself. Instead, they support carrying the whole
Speaker 1: picture forward, even when parts of it still feel at odds.
Speaker 1: In fact, many people discover that the contradictions begin to
Speaker 1: soften on their own once there is less pressure to
Speaker 1: resolve them quickly. The study by Sheer and colleagues showed
Speaker 1: that people who could tolerate mixed recollections without immediate judgment
Speaker 1: reported lower levels of pro longed grief symptoms over time.
Speaker 1: That finding aligns with what the Center for Complicated Grief
Speaker 1: at Columbia University observes in their ongoing work with families
Speaker 1: who face similar losses. The pattern appears because the nervous
Speaker 1: system gradually adjusts when it no longer has to defend
Speaker 1: one side of the memory against the other. However, the
Speaker 1: adjustment rarely feels linear. One day a memory surfaces that
Speaker 1: brings warmth, and the next day a different memory brings irritation.
Speaker 1: Both belong to the experience. The work lies in noticing
Speaker 1: the shift without deciding that one version must replace the other.
Speaker 1: Because the earlier parts of this episode describe the letters
Speaker 1: and conversations that surfaced after my aunt died, those moments
Speaker 1: illustrate how the mixed material shows up in ordinary ways.
Speaker 1: Sorting through old papers can bring both comfort and tension
Speaker 1: in the same hour. The reality is that grief in
Speaker 1: these situations often asks for patients with the back and
Speaker 1: forth rather than a single coherent narrative. The stages or
Speaker 1: tasks therefore function more like guide posts than checkpoints that
Speaker 1: must be cleared in order. You can revisit the same
Speaker 1: territory several times and still move through the overall process.
Speaker 1: The research from Sheer and colleagues in the Journal of
Speaker 1: the American Medical Association supports this view by linking flexible
Speaker 1: memory patterns with steadier adaptation after loss. Meanwhile, listeners who
Speaker 1: recognize their own relationships in these descriptions may notice that
Speaker 1: their memories also refuse to line up neatly. That recognition
Speaker 1: can open a quiet space for whatever shows up next.
Speaker 1: The Center for Complicated Grief at Columbia University emphasizes that
Speaker 1: allowing the full range of recollections reduces the need to
Speaker 1: keep them separated. Over time, the mind tends to hold
Speaker 1: more of the story at once, without the sharp divide
Speaker 1: that once felt necessary. Ultimately, the section of this conversation
Speaker 1: that follows will turn toward how how those same memories
Speaker 1: continue to surface in daily life and what small practices
Speaker 1: can support that ongoing process. For now, the invitation stays
Speaker 1: open for each person to notice where their own recollections
Speaker 1: sit side by side without forcing them into agreement. One
Speaker 1: listener shared a story about their father. They described years
Speaker 1: of shared fishing trips that felt warm at the time,
Speaker 1: yet sat beside moments of sharp criticism that never seemed
Speaker 1: to stop. Because the memories refused to sort themselves, the
Speaker 1: person found themselves editing the hard parts out of family
Speaker 1: photos in their mind. Another submission came from someone whose
Speaker 1: partner of eight years had offered steady support during illness
Speaker 1: while also creating arguments that left both people drained. That
Speaker 1: writer noticed the same urge appear after the breakup, when
Speaker 1: friends asked for a simple version of events. A third
Speaker 1: note arrived from a person reflecting on a childhood friend.
Speaker 1: The two had built a bond through late night talks
Speaker 1: and shared loss, but the friend had also withdrawn during
Speaker 1: a key crisis. Here, the writer spoke of trying to
Speaker 1: frame the whole connection as either loyal or distant, without
Speaker 1: room for both. These accounts sit alongside one another, even
Speaker 1: though the relationships differ in length and daily shape. The
Speaker 1: common threat appears in the repeated mention of pressure to
Speaker 1: flatten what happened into something easier to carry. One person
Speaker 1: called it rewriting the record, while another spoke of smoothing
Speaker 1: edges so the story could fit into conversations without extra explanation.
Speaker 1: A third described the same pull as a need to
Speaker 1: choose a single feeling that could stand in for all
Speaker 1: the rest. The language shifts, yet the direction stays similar,
Speaker 1: because mixed memories create discomfort that asks for resolution. That
Speaker 1: variety shows up in how each submission handles the push.
Speaker 1: Some focus on the relationship itself, while others turned toward
Speaker 1: the reactions of people around them. One writer mentioned family
Speaker 1: members who prefer a kinder version of the parent, and
Speaker 1: how that preference made the mixed feelings feel even more
Speaker 1: out of place. Another noted coworkers who expected a clean
Speaker 1: story about the former partner, which left little space for
Speaker 1: the gratitude that still remained. The friend's story included questions
Speaker 1: from mutual acquaintances who wanted to know whether contact had
Speaker 1: ended completely. Because these details arrive in different forms, they
Speaker 1: keep the experiences distinct rather than interchangeable. Hearing these accounts
Speaker 1: can open space for your own memories to stay as
Speaker 1: they are. The stories do not line up into one pattern,
Speaker 1: yet each one returns to the same question of how
Speaker 1: to hold affection and disappointment without forcing one aside. That
Speaker 1: return happens at different speeds and with different words, which
Speaker 1: leaves room for the version you carry to remain untouched
Speaker 1: by comparison. From there, some people find it useful to
Speaker 1: notice when the urge to rewrite shows up during ordinary moments.
Speaker 1: You might catch it while looking at an old message
Speaker 1: or while answering a routine question about the person. Instead
Speaker 1: of following the rewrite right away, the pause itself can
Speaker 1: let both sides of the memory stay present for a
Speaker 1: little longer. Over time, that noticing builds a habit of
Speaker 1: staying with the full picture, because the discomfort does not
Speaker 1: have to be solved in one sitting. The same pattern
Speaker 1: appeared across the submissions, even though the writers reach different
Speaker 1: points in their own process. One still felt the poll daily,
Speaker 1: while another described longer stretches between the moments of simplification.
Speaker 1: Rinses matter because they show that the rewrite impulse does
Speaker 1: not follow a single schedule or demand a single response.
Speaker 1: Practical ways of staying with the complexity often start with
Speaker 1: small choices about what gets said out loud. You can
Speaker 1: keep the longer version of a story when someone asks
Speaker 1: and let the silence after your answers sit without filling it.
Speaker 1: Or you can write the mixed details in a note
Speaker 1: that stays private so the contradictions do not need to
Speaker 1: be defended. These steps do not remove the discomfort, yet
Speaker 1: they give the memories a place to rest without being trimmed.
Speaker 1: Because the listener accounts each touched on that trimming in
Speaker 1: their own words, the move toward keeping the full record
Speaker 1: becomes a shared direction rather than an isolated effort. The
Speaker 1: process continues from there, as each day brings its own reminders,
Speaker 1: and each reminder offers another chance to let the story
Speaker 1: remain whole. Some listeners have found it helpful to set
Speaker 1: aside a quiet stretch of time and write two separate
Speaker 1: lists rather than trying to weave everything into one story.
Speaker 1: One list holds what felt good or meaningful in the relationship,
Speaker 1: while the other holds what felt hard or painful. Keeping
Speaker 1: them apart lets each side stay exactly as it was,
Speaker 1: instead of forcing a single line that smooths over the contradictions.
Speaker 1: Because the earlier section showed how polarized memories can linger,
Speaker 1: it makes sense to let the list remain side by
Speaker 1: side without rushing to connect them. After the lists sit
Speaker 1: for a day or two, many people notice the urge
Speaker 1: to read one list into the other. Tendency is common,
Speaker 1: yet it often adds pressure rather than relief. Speaking the
Speaker 1: full contradictory truth out loud to a trusted friend or
Speaker 1: therapist can ease that pressure because the words leave the
Speaker 1: inside of your head and land in the room where
Speaker 1: someone else can hold them with you. The act of
Speaker 1: saying both sides does not resolve anything, but it does
Speaker 1: let the tension exist without having to be fixed right away.
Speaker 1: When grief spikes during an ordinary afternoon or rite before sleep,
Speaker 1: a simple grounding step can help anchor the moment. Name
Speaker 1: one true positive fact about the person and one true
Speaker 1: negative fact without softening either one. The positive might be
Speaker 1: the way they always remembered your favorite meal, while the
Speaker 1: negative might be the way they dismissed your worries when
Speaker 1: you needed support. Stating both facts in the same breath
Speaker 1: reminds the mind that the relationship never fit into a
Speaker 1: single column, and that both columns remain valid. This step
Speaker 1: takes only a minute, yet it interrupts the poll to
Speaker 1: rewrite the past into something tidier. The list and the
Speaker 1: spoken truth and the paired facts all work in the
Speaker 1: same direction because they keep the mixed feelings intact rather
Speaker 1: than trimming them down. Since grief rarely moves in a
Speaker 1: straight line, these practices give the feelings room to shift
Speaker 1: on their own schedule. Some days one list will feel heavier,
Speaker 1: and other days the spoken words will come more easily.
Speaker 1: Yet neither outcome means the process is finished or broken. Meanwhile,
Speaker 1: the listener who wrote about their father described how naming
Speaker 1: one kind memory and one difficult memory during a family
Speaker 1: gathering helped them stay present instead of drifting into old arguments.
Speaker 1: That small act did not change the history, but it
Speaker 1: did let the moment stay as it was. In other words,
Speaker 1: the practices stay practical because they ask very little and
Speaker 1: they promise nothing beyond a steadier place to stand for
Speaker 1: a while. Although these steps can feel awkward at first,
Speaker 1: the awkwardness often fades once the lists or the spoken
Speaker 1: sentences become familiar. The same listener noted that repeating the
Speaker 1: paired facts out loud to themselves during a drive made
Speaker 1: the spike of grief pass a little sooner on that
Speaker 1: particular day. Because each relationship carries its own shape, the
Speaker 1: same practice lands differently for different people, and that difference
Speaker 1: itself stays worth noticing. On top of that, the research
Speaker 1: from Sheer and colleagues, published in the Journal of the
Speaker 1: American Medical Association in twenty sixteen tracked how polarized memories
Speaker 1: can stretch the time grief remains sharp. So giving those
Speaker 1: memories separate space aligns with what the study observed. The
Speaker 1: point is not to force the memories together, but to
Speaker 1: let them rest where they already live. Ultimately, these practices
Speaker 1: work best alongside self kindness because the lists and the
Speaker 1: spoken truth and the paired facts all ask for honesty
Speaker 1: without demanding perfection. When a day feels too heavy to
Speaker 1: open the notebook, the lists can wait, and the spoken
Speaker 1: words can wait, and the paired facts can wait until
Speaker 1: the next morning or the next week. The complexity of
Speaker 1: the relationship does not disappear. Yet it also does not
Speaker 1: have to be carried alone every single moment. We'll take
Speaker 1: a short break here so you can sit with whatever
Speaker 1: surfaced for you, and when we return we will hear
Speaker 1: from more listeners who have carried similar mixtures of memory.
Speaker 1: Feeling relief after a complicated loss does not erase the
Speaker 1: love you held or the grief that remains, because both
Speaker 1: can sit side by side without canceling each other out.
Speaker 1: Many people still question whether that lighter moment somehow makes
Speaker 1: their sorrow less real. It does not. The truth is
Speaker 1: you can notice space opening up and still miss what
Speaker 1: was lost at the same time. Since the lists you
Speaker 1: wrote earlier let those separate sides stay visible, you already
Speaker 1: have a record that shows complexity does not need fixing. However,
Speaker 1: the habit of checking whether the whole story feels correct
Speaker 1: can creep back in during quiet hours instead of continuing
Speaker 1: that watch, you can let the record stand as it is.
Speaker 1: The lists already did the work of holding both the
Speaker 1: affection and the friction without forcing them into one line.
Speaker 1: Although self criticism for still noticing the hard parts feels familiar,
Speaker 1: it often adds an extra layer of pain that was
Speaker 1: never required. While you sort through memories, the inner voice
Speaker 1: may insist that caring about the difficult pieces means you
Speaker 1: are doing grief wrong. That judgment rarely helps the process. Therefore,
Speaker 1: giving yourself permission to drop the monitoring can ease some
Speaker 1: of that added weight. You do not owe the story
Speaker 1: a single consistent shape. Meanwhile, the grounding step you practiced
Speaker 1: when grief spikes can serve the same purpose. Here, instead
Speaker 1: of turning judgment on yourself, you can return to the
Speaker 1: simple fact that the lists keep both truths present. Because
Speaker 1: self compassion grows through these small, repeated choices, the pressure
Speaker 1: to get the narrative right begins to loosen on its
Speaker 1: own as you keep moving forward. From this point, the
Speaker 1: same patience you extend to the memories can stay with
Speaker 1: you in ordinary days. The lists, the spoken truths, and
Speaker 1: the quiet moments all remain available whenever the mixed feelings return.
Speaker 1: You do not have to reshape the entire story before
Speaker 1: you let yourself grieve it. The two lists you wrote
Speaker 1: earlier already show both sides can sit side by side
Speaker 1: without one canceling the other. Because grief does not demand
Speaker 1: a single, clean version of events, you can keep the
Speaker 1: affection and the frustration in the same frame. That choice
Speaker 1: matters when the urge to rewrite shows up again during
Speaker 1: an ordinary afternoon, Instead of pushing one side away, you
Speaker 1: can notice the pull and return to the paired facts
Speaker 1: you already recorded. Although it feels unfamiliar at first, carrying
Speaker 1: both truths forward leaves room for the relationship to stay
Speaker 1: as it was. Meanwhile, the grounding step you practiced earlier
Speaker 1: can steady you when the mix of feelings rises right
Speaker 1: before sleep or during a quiet drive. Since these small
Speaker 1: anchors do not force resolution, they simply make space for
Speaker 1: whatever arrives next. If this podcast helps you make sense
Speaker 1: of your grief, join our supporters club and help us
Speaker 1: keep these conversations going. You'll find the link in the
Speaker 1: episode description. Next time, we will look at how these
Speaker 1: same mixed memories can shape the way you support someone
Speaker 1: else who is grieving. Thank you for staying with the
Speaker 1: complexity through this episode. This is Dylan and this is grief.
Speaker 1: Let's make sense of this shit