Life is like a bus. We get on the bus that takes us where we think we want to go. Sometimes we get off and take another bus.
As we travel through life’s journey, passengers come and go. Sometimes they are family and friends. When they get on, we are delighted.
When they get off, we are sad. But we don’t have any control over their comings and goings. And then one day they get off and you never see them again.
That’s where grief becomes a visitor—not always when we expect it.
When Grief Comes Walking
One morning on my daily walk, grief came to visit unexpectedly.
As my feet found their familiar rhythm on the pavement, my mind wandered to another daily walker—my mother, who until the day she died a few years ago at age 97, walked every day.
Not outside, but inside, down the halls of the independent living facility where she lived the last twenty years of her life.
Walking led me to thinking about my mom, which led me to my dad, who died years ago, and then to my sister who died a little over a year ago. And there I was, walking down the street, suddenly filled with grief.
Being me, I asked myself: why the grief? Yes, I think of them almost every day. I miss them. But what was this sudden onslaught about? I know that life goes on.
I know that the essence of who they are remains. I choose to believe that I will see them again. So why this overwhelming grief?
The Truth Behind the Tears
It was regret. And although regret can take many forms, guilt is the trigger for me.
Feeling guilty for not being exactly who my mother wanted me to be. Guilty because I was not around as often as I could have been. Guiltily because I could have been more understanding.
Regret, because there is nothing I can do about that now.
Regret goes hand in hand with the second part of grief—the realization that what could have been will never be. All those lost possibilities, conversations that will never happen, moments that can never be reclaimed.
This is what I realized: grief isn’t just about missing someone. It’s about the weight of unfinished business, the burden of words unsaid, the ache of opportunities that have passed forever.
The Thief of Presence
Could I avoid this in the future? Maybe not avoid it entirely, but lessen its impact. The answer came to me as clearly as the morning light: it’s about being fully present in the moment.
If I stay trapped in regret and sorrow over what will never be, if I let regret, shame, guilt, and anger steal my attention now, I won’t notice the moments and opportunities directly in front of me.
That voice that claims things are lost, that whispers we have been wronged or done wrong, is a thief—stealing not just our peace, but our ability to see who needs us today.
Back to the Bus
So although grief—because I can’t call my mom, or share the latest inventions with my dad, or share an ice cream cone with my sister—is never going to go away completely, I don’t have to give in to regret and sorrow.
Instead, I can look around at my bus right now. I can notice the passengers who are still here, still traveling alongside me.
I can choose to be present with them, to listen deeply, to love fully, to create fewer reasons for future regret.
The bus keeps moving. People keep getting on and off. But right now, in this moment, I have the power to pay attention to who’s sitting beside me.
Who is on the bus with you who needs your time and attention now?
There are stars whose radiance is visible on Earth though they have long been extinct. There are people whose brilliance continues to light the world though they are no longer among the living. These lights are particularly bright when the night is dark. They light the way for humankind. -Hannah Senesh
Another Lovely Story About Grief, The Little Pink Casket
BECA LEWIS coaches, teaches, writes blogs and books, plays with art, and is addicted to reading. She lives in Ohio with her husband and has kids and grandkids scattered across the country.
