The Shape Grief Takes

On memory, loss, and the quiet places where healing begins

BY MALIKKA D. KARTERON

Grief does not arrive in one recognizable form. It changes our relationship with memory, reshapes the way we understand pain, and teaches us that every person carries loss differently.

When Pain Changes Us

Grief has a strange way of entering your life and changing it forever. I had never experienced pain like I did in 2018. Even now, I do not think anyone can fully understand another person’s pain, because every loss is different. That year forever changed how I process grief.

Long before then, I had learned that loss could announce itself quietly. I came home from school for Easter, and my family went out for brunch. Through the restaurant’s glass windows, I watched my Papa walking down the street. Something about him seemed different. I asked my parents whether he was all right, but no one else appeared to notice what I saw. Looking back, perhaps the change was clearer to me because I had been away at school and had not seen him since Christmas.

A month later, he passed away. My grandmother, who had already been ill, died one month after him. Although they had not been married for many years, I have often felt that she gave up after he was gone.

“Every loss is different. That does not make any person’s pain less real.”

The Calls We Never Forget

I remember my father paging me while I was out to dinner with a friend. When I called back, he asked to speak to my friend first. Then the phone was handed back to me, and my father told me that Papa had passed.

All I wanted was to return to campus and dive into the pool. The shock of cold water felt as though it could wash everything away. To this day, water remains my peace.

At my grandfather’s funeral, my Aunt Elaine sat beside me and held my hand. At my grandmother’s wake, I felt as if I could not breathe when the casket was closed. Years later, when my God-Sister passed, my Father said he would bring a paper bag to the services in case I began to hyperventilate. I prayed the whole way from Lang Island to the City hoping I could get through my remarks without crying. I did….

A Final Journey Home

When my Grandmother was hospitalized, I received a page from my Mother. I called back and could hear the hospital announcements in the background. I drove from Hampton to New York; the journey is still a blur.

After picking up my parents, we went to the hospital. I remember playing my Mahalia Jackson CD on the way there and again as we left. My Grandmother was not fully conscious, but when I spoke to her, she moved in the bed.

We stayed until my aunt arrived, planning to go to my parents’ home and return later. We had barely left the hospital when my aunt called to tell us that my Grandmother had passed. I have always believed she waited for me.

“To this day, water remains my peace.”

When Loss Does Not Feel Real

Grief is deeply personal. Some people cry openly; others become quiet. Some find release in prayer, music, movement, conversation, or water. Some carry their memories close and speak of them often. Others need distance before they can speak at all.

There is no single timetable and no correct way to mourn. The way a person processes grief does not determine the depth of the love they shared or the weight of the loss they carry.

Grief changes us—but love, memory, and grace remain.