Grief is not only about what you lose.
It is also about the questions that rise like smoke in the aftermath — questions that circle endlessly, heavy with weight, yet never settle into answers.

Why did you leave?
Could I have done more?
Was I not enough?

These questions haunt the quiet moments. They arrive when I am trying to fall asleep, when I am walking down the street, when life seems almost normal again. They are sharp, cutting, relentless. And no matter how many times I turn them over in my mind, they always end the same way — silence.

The hardest part of loss is not just the absence of the person. It is the absence of closure. The conversations we never had. The truths I will never know. The endings that feel unfinished.

Sometimes I imagine what it would be like if you could answer me. If you could tell me why. If you could explain the reasons I keep searching for. But deep down, I know — no answer could take away the ache. No explanation could undo the loss.

And so, I live with the questions.

I carry them like stones in my pocket, heavy but familiar. They remind me of what once was, of what mattered enough to leave me wondering still.

But I have learned something about questions without answers: they do not have to define me. They do not have to chain me to the past.

Because maybe the point is not to find the answers.
Maybe the point is to keep living, even without them.
To let the questions shape me, but not destroy me.
To find meaning not in the why, but in the what now.

Yes, the questions remain. They probably always will.
But so do I. And that is the only answer I need.

Always and Forever

💬 Do you still carry questions without answers? Share in the comments — your words may help another person feel less alone in their search