Navigating Grief When the World Doesn’t Stop

There are interviews that stay with you long after the cameras are off.This was one of them.

Before I sat down with Jeri, I thought I understood grief. I’ve lived it. I’ve lost people I loved. I’ve carried absence around like a second skin. But there was a moment in this conversation where my chest tightened and I felt that familiar burn behind my eyes. The kind that comes when someone puts words to something you’ve felt but never quite named.

It was when he talked about outliving his dad.

That moment where you realize you’ve now spent more time on this earth than they ever did. That your image of them is frozen in time. That you’ll never see who they would have been as an old man. That hit me hard. And honestly, it stayed with me long after Jeri left.

This conversation wasn’t polished. It wasn’t performative. It was raw. It was messy. It was full of humor and heartbreak and truth. And it was one of the most honest conversations about navigating grief I’ve had on this podcast.

Losing a Parent Doesn’t End When You’re “Grown”

Jeri lost his dad at 22.

Old enough that people assume you’re fine. Young enough that you still need them in ways you don’t fully understand yet.

He talks about walking into the hospital that night not realizing his life was about to split into before and after. About being confused by the number of people there. About saying “hey, what’s up” because his brain couldn’t catch up to reality fast enough. And then his mom looked at him and said the words no one is ever ready to hear.

“Daddy’s dead.”

No buildup. No soft landing. Just impact.

And what struck me most was how honest Jeri was about the shock. No tears at first. No dramatic breakdown. Just disbelief. The kind that makes your body go numb because it has no idea how to process what just happened.

He said something that stuck with me. That losing his dad could have ruined his life. It could have become the reason for every bad choice, every resentment, every wall he put up. And he didn’t pretend it was easy. He went through dark seasons. He struggled. He hurt.

But eventually, he made a decision.

He chose gratitude.

Not in a toxic positivity way. Not in a “everything happens for a reason” way. But in a grounded, honest acknowledgment that he had 22 years with a dad who showed up. A dad who loved him. A dad who did his job.

And that choice changed how he loved everyone else still here.

Grief Doesn’t Shrink, It Changes Shape

One of the things Jeri articulated so clearly is that grief doesn’t disappear just because time passes.

It evolves.

Now, years later, the grief shows up differently. It hits him when he watches his kids. When he sees pieces of his dad in his son. When he imagines what his dad would have been like with a granddaughter. When he realizes his dad never got to meet the people who mean everything to him now.

And then there was this moment he shared that absolutely wrecked me.

He was sitting in a restaurant, minding his own business, when he saw an older man with his grandkids. And out of nowhere, it hit him.

He will never see his dad grow old.

That realization brought tears to his eyes right there at the table. Not because he was resentful. Not because he was angry. But because grief has a way of sneaking up on you when you least expect it.

That’s the thing about navigating grief. It doesn’t ask permission. It doesn’t care if you’re in public. It doesn’t follow a timeline. It just shows up when something reminds you of what you’ve lost.

And sometimes, you’re jealous of the people who still have it.

Not in a bitter way. Just in a human way.

Losing Friends Changes You Too

Jeri has also lost close friends. The kind of friends who feel like family. The kind you grow up with. The kind who stand beside you at your wedding. The kind you assume will be there forever.

One friend to cancer. Another to alcohol. Both far too young.

And he said something that I think a lot of people are afraid to admit out loud.

Losing his friends was, in some ways, harder than losing his dad.

Because you expect to outlive your parents. You do not expect to bury your peers.

That kind of loss forces you to confront your own mortality in a way that’s impossible to ignore. It makes you look at time differently. It makes the small stuff feel irrelevant. It makes you hug your people tighter and say “I love you” more often and stop pretending tomorrow is guaranteed.

There’s this story he shared about a funeral slideshow that accidentally included a ridiculous photo from their twenties. Something inappropriate. Something hilarious. Something that perfectly captured who they were together.

And instead of being offended, it became a moment of connection. A reminder that grief and laughter can coexist. That honoring someone doesn’t mean being solemn all the time. That sometimes the most healing thing is remembering the joy.

3 Things I Learned About Navigating Grief

1. You don’t get over it, you carry it differently

Grief doesn’t leave. It integrates. It becomes part of how you love, how you parent, how you show up for people.

2. Loss can make you bitter or it can make you intentional

Jeri chose to let loss soften him instead of harden him. That choice shows up in how deeply he loves his family and his friends.

3. Humor doesn’t dishonor grief

Laughing doesn’t mean you didn’t care. Sometimes it means you cared so deeply that joy is the only way through.

When Grief Becomes a Superpower

This is where my “expert” brain kicked in, but my heart stayed fully present.

At the core of For The Hayters is this idea that stories make people feel less alone. That being seen is healing. That pain, when shared honestly, becomes connection.

Jeri’s story is a perfect example of that.

He talked about how loss gave him perspective. How it stripped away the illusion that the little stuff matters. How it taught him that love is the only thing worth investing in.

He said something that I keep thinking about.

That people who’ve experienced this kind of loss have a superpower.

They know what matters.

They don’t waste time on fleeting emotions or pointless arguments. They show up. They love hard. They live intentionally. Not because they’re fearless, but because they understand how fragile everything is.

And that’s what navigating grief can become when it’s honored instead of suppressed.

Not an identity. Not a burden. But a lens that makes life sharper, deeper, more meaningful.

Why This Conversation Matters

If you’ve lost a parent.If you’ve lost a friend.If you’ve ever felt like the world kept spinning while yours stopped.

This conversation is for you.

It’s for the people who cry in restaurants.For the ones who feel jealous and guilty about it. For the ones who laugh at funerals and then cry in their car afterward.For the ones who are trying to be good parents while carrying grief quietly in their chest.

You’re not broken. You’re human.

And you don’t have to navigate grief alone.

Listen to the Full Episode

If Jeri’s story resonated with you, I really encourage you to listen to the full conversation. There’s so much depth we couldn’t fit into a blog post. So many moments that deserve to be heard in his own voice.

🎧 Listen to For The Hayters on Apple Podcasts or Spotify

📺 Watch the full video episode on YouTube

💬 Share this post with a friend who needs to feel less alone

And if this story stirred something in you, share it. Send it to someone who needs to hear it. Sit with it. Let it remind you to love your people a little harder today.

Because none of us know how long we get. And that knowledge, painful as it is, can also be the thing that teaches us how to truly live.