Most people think of grief as something that comes after a loss.

But for many of us, grief begins much earlier — quietly, privately, often without a name.

I learned this early in life. When I was twelve, my father died. Overnight, the world I knew disappeared, and I was introduced to a kind of fear and helplessness I didn’t yet have words for. That loss didn’t just change my childhood — it shaped my nervous system, my sense of safety, and my understanding of love.

Years later, when I was eighteen and my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer, the grief was different — but just as profound. She was still alive, still here, yet I grieved throughout her illness. Not because she was gone, but because I was terrified, she might be.

That was my first real experience with anticipatory grief — the grief that arrives before anything has ended.

What Anticipatory Grief Looks Like

Anticipatory grief is the grief we feel when we sense a loss is coming. It can show up when someone we love is dying, when illness changes a future we imagined, or when life takes a turn, we didn’t expect.

In hospice work, we often walk alongside people who are carrying layers of grief — past losses that were never fully processed, mixed with the quiet ache of what they know may be coming next. This is sometimes called cumulative grief, and it can feel heavy in ways that are hard to explain.

People respond to this grief differently.

Some lean in — they want to talk, remember, prepare, and connect deeply.
Some hold back — protecting themselves from pain they fear might undo them.
Others move forward as if nothing is changing at all.

None of these responses are wrong. They are all attempts to survive love.

Grief After COVID: When Loss Is Sudden

In recent years, especially post-COVID, there has been more conversation about grief after sudden loss. And rightly so.

When loss is abrupt, shocking, or traumatic, the nervous system often goes into survival mode. Many people describe feeling numb, detached, or unreal. In these cases, grief doesn’t arrive immediately — it has to wait for the shock to soften first.

This can confuse people. They may wonder why they aren’t “grieving properly,” when in reality their bodies are simply trying to protect them.

There is no timeline. There is no correct order.

Grieving What Was — and What Won’t Be

Grief isn’t limited to death.

I’ve spoken with parents of autistic children who describe grieving the life they imagined for their child — and for themselves — when a diagnosis is first given. That grief is real. It doesn’t mean they love their child any less.

What’s powerful is what often comes next.

Over time, many parents describe a shift — from grieving what they thought life would look like, to becoming present for what is. They learn to celebrate a different path, a different normal, one that is still meaningful and full of love.

This, too, is anticipatory grief — and transformation.

The Quiet Risk of Anticipatory Grief

Anticipatory grief is normal. It is human. It is often unavoidable — especially if you’ve known loss before.

But there is a quiet risk: that in bracing ourselves for what might happen, we miss what is still here.

The moments.
The connection.
The life in front of us.

Anticipatory grief doesn’t mean you’re giving up hope. It means you love deeply. The work is not to eliminate it — but to notice when fear begins to pull you away from the present.

Walking With It Gently

If you’re walking alongside someone who is dying, or living with the fear of loss, please know this:

• It is normal to grieve before goodbye.
• It is normal if old losses resurface.
• It is normal if you don’t have words for what you’re feeling.

You are not broken. You are human.

And if you can — even briefly — allow yourself to return to the moment in front of you, there is still life here. Still love. Still meaning.

Grief does not mean the end of connection.

Often, it is proof of it.