Beyond the Timeline: Why Healing From Grief Isn’t a Linear Path

Grief, for many, is often imagined as a predictable journey, a series of stages to be completed, a timeline to adhere to. We speak of “getting over it” or “moving on” as if sorrow were a temporary inconvenience rather than a profound, transformative experience. But for anyone who has truly walked through the shadow of loss, the truth is far more complex: healing from grief is rarely, if ever, a linear path. It’s a winding, unpredictable road with unexpected detours, sudden bursts of emotion and moments of surprising clarity. 

The conventional wisdom about grief — that it follows a neat progression — is a myth that can inadvertently complicate an already arduous process. When we expect to move from one stage to the next in an orderly fashion, we often feel guilty or frustrated when we find ourselves revisiting past emotions, or experiencing new, unexpected ones. This isn’t a failure of healing; it’s simply the nature of grief. 

My own journey into the depths of sorrow began with the sudden passing of my uncle, swiftly followed by the death of my larger-than-life mother just months later. These were not isolated events, but ruptures that created a whirlwind of grief. Other family members followed, compounding the sense of loss. There was no neat progression, no clear path. It was a messy, overwhelming tide of emotions. 

It was during this time that a unique support system naturally formed. Within a few months, my husband lost his father, my cousin lost his father (who was also my uncle), and I lost my mother. We all lived together under one roof, navigating our individual yet intertwined sorrows. This shared living situation fostered a powerful, unspoken solidarity that I’ve come to call the “Dead Parents’ Society.” We leaned on each other constantly, understanding without words the depth of each other’s pain and the unique challenge of having lost a parent. There’s a mutual understanding, a shared acknowledgment of the permanent shift in one’s identity. In this “society,” you find others who understand that grief isn’t something you conquer; it’s something you learn to live with, integrating the loss into the fabric of your life while still finding moments of laughter and connection. 

Healing often manifests in unexpected ways, far removed from any imagined timeline. I recall one of my mother’s final moments. As she lay dying, my sisters and I

spontaneously broke into a raw, tear-soaked rendition of “I’ll Fly Away,” a hymn that captured our shared grief and hope. This wasn’t a moment of sadness alone; it was a vivid, complex expression of love, connection and life, happening precisely within the deepest grief. A couple of nights prior, in that same difficult period, my mother and I found ourselves belting out Meat Loaf’s “Paradise by the Dashboard Light,” her singing his part and me Ellen Foley’s. We were laughing, crying and becoming more theatrical with each verse, much to my grandmother’s disbelief. 

Grief can also be profoundly surreal and even absurd. Following my father-in-law’s passing, the experience of having his body in the living room, combined with the funeral home director making bizarre small talk about my resemblance to my mother, created a disorienting scene. In that highly emotional moment, I found myself reaching for hand sanitizer but accidentally grabbing shampoo, resulting in sticky hands — an absurd, almost comical detail in the face of profound tragedy. There was even an urge to burst into laughter, a visceral, unexpected reaction to extreme trauma. These unpredictable surges of emotion — from intense singing to awkward laughter — underscore that grief defies a tidy, linear narrative. 

Even years later, the journey continues. About a year after my mom’s passing, and near the anniversary of my uncle’s death, my cousin, grandmother, sisters and I embarked on a trip to get matching commemorative tattoos. My tattoo of “Three Little Birds,” symbolizing the “I’ll Fly Away” moment with my mother, is a permanent testament to our shared grief and love. This act wasn’t about closure; it was an acknowledgment that the love and the loss remain woven into life, an ongoing part of our story. 

Ultimately, healing from grief isn’t about forgetting or moving on as if the loss never occurred. It’s about learning to carry the loss, allowing it to change you, and finding new ways to experience joy and connection. It was a gradual process, a series of small steps. It means giving yourself permission to feel every emotion — the sadness, the anger, the unexpected joy, and yes, even the occasional absurdity — as it arises. Embrace your unique path, knowing that every step, stumble, and surge of emotion is a valid part of your personal healing journey. 

Jessica W. Bowman is a Trenton, Ga., author whose memoir, “In Case I Die: A Southern Perspective of Death & Living Every Day Like it’s Your Last,” explores her personal journey through profound loss and rediscovering joy. The book is available on Amazon and at McBride’s Book Store, The Gallery Gift Shop at the Historic Courthouse, and Hidden Treasures Booth Mall.