Grief: The Sucker Punch You Don’t See Coming

There I was. On a “normal Tuesday,” driving, singing my heart out.Yes! I have major car concerts—remember, this is a judgment-free zone, lol.

Then, all of a sudden, the next song comes on. The minute I hear the intro, my heart sinks.

The Barnes Family echoes through the speakers,

“IN A WORLD…”

Instantly, water wells in my eyes. Mentally, I’m telling myself, “Breathe… it’s okay.”

Then, a grey Dodge Caravan pulls up next to me with the same modified symbol my mom had on hers. Now I’m sitting at a red light… breaking down.

The poor lady in the van next to me is looking at me like I’m crazy, and I’m just trying to hold it together long enough to get to a safe place to pull over.

That song—our song.

The one my mother and I would always sing together during our car concerts, room concerts… any moment we could turn into joy.

Then, her van? Right there beside me.

I find a parking lot. I just cry.

Ugly cry.

Asking God to help me through this. Because honestly— Who can I call? Nobody expects me to have breakdowns like these. Who can hold me up in my weakest moment… on a random Tuesday morning? Everybody’s at work. Life is moving.

Then I catch a scent. Liz Claiborne Mambo. The perfume I bought her. The one she wore like a hug.

I know she’s there. I know she’s offering comfort in spirit, but in that moment—I’m not okay. I’m hurting. I’m devastated that my mother is no longer here.

Eventually, I gather myself and carry on, but these are the moments no one talks about. The ones nobody warns you about. Those random, sneaky ambushes from grief.

You’re minding your business—seemingly healed, seemingly okay…and here comes grief.

Grief Doesn’t Knock—It Just Walks In

We brace ourselves for holidays, birthdays, and big anniversaries. We expect grief to hit us on the heavy days, but what about the days where nothing seems special? No milestone. No memory circled on a calendar.

Just a random Tuesday… and a song…and a van.

That’s the part of grief that’s rarely talked about—

the quiet return. The moments when joy cracks open a space you didn’t know was still tender. When a scent or song brings everything back with a force strong enough to steal your breath.

When Grief Makes You Feel Like You’re Going Backward

These are the moments that can leave you questioning your healing.

“I thought I was over this.”

“Why am I crying again?”

“Shouldn’t I be past this by now?”

Let me stop you right there.

Grief is not a straight line.

It doesn’t fade on schedule.

It loops. It dips. It disappears and returns.

You didn’t fail.

You didn’t regress.

You’re just living through the parts that healing doesn’t post about.

The Invisible Load You Carry

Grief doesn’t always come as sadness.

Sometimes, it’s:

• Emotional fatigue you can’t explain.

• Irritability you feel guilty about.

• Disinterest in things you used to enjoy. Feeling “off” without a clear reason.

Sometimes, it’s laughing with friends while your heart whispers that something’s still missing. Or it’s smelling your loved one’s perfume in a crowd and suddenly wanting to go home.

Grief lives in your body before your brain can process it.

It’s a cellular memory—a soul echo.

You Are Not Broken—You Are Human

If you’ve ever found yourself crying in a parking lot over a song, or pulling over just to breathe through the ache—

You’re not weak.

You’re not too emotional.

You’re not “behind” in your healing.

You’re human.

And you loved deeply.

And that kind of love doesn’t just disappear.

It lingers.

It transforms.

It keeps showing up—even when they can’t.

So What Do You Do When Grief Sneaks Up?

You let it.

You let the wave come.

You ride it gently.

Here’s what I remind myself:

Acknowledge it. Say the words: “This is grief. And I’m allowed to feel it.”

Don’t rush your composure. If you need to cry, cry. If you need to sit in silence, do that.

Tell someone. Or write it out. Let the pain breathe somewhere besides your chest.

Extend grace to yourself. Even if nobody else sees it, you know how hard it is to keep going.

Grief isn’t always loud.

Sometimes it’s in the silence between songs.

In the scent left behind.

In the van beside you at a red light.

But it doesn’t mean you’re stuck.

It doesn’t mean you’re not healing.

It means you’re still loving—

even when it hurts.

If today was one of those days—where grief caught you off guard—please know this:

You’re not alone.

You’re not crazy.

You’re not too much.

You’re just human.

And I’m holding space for your heart, too.

With love and understanding,

~Kae Jaye~

Breathe soft. Speak loud. Exhale, love.