The Light We Find in Loss

“He just passed away — how could I possibly feel relieved?”
“Everyone is grieving his death — how could I have moments of happiness?”
“It’s been so long — why haven’t you moved on yet?”

These are the words I often hear — some spoken in guilt, others in judgment. Yet no matter the tone, they all reveal one thing: how misunderstood grief often is.

For years working in grief counselling, I’ve witnessed how people expect themselves — or others — to “get over” loss. Some family members, after months of caregiving, feel a fleeting sense of relief when a loved one passes, only to be overwhelmed by guilt:
“I shouldn’t feel this way.”

Others, caught sharing a lighthearted moment at a funeral, chastise themselves: “How can I laugh at a time like this?”

And for those whose loved ones have long gone, society’s refrain often remains:
“You should have let go by now.”
“You need to be more positive.”

So many grieving families tell me they believe they must “get over” their grief — that “moving on” means never feeling sadness again, never shedding another tear. If the emotions resurface, they take it as a sign of weakness, or that they failed to “process” their loss properly.

But when special dates come — a father’s silence remembered, a mother’s cooking missed, a birthday that will never be celebrated again — emotions surge like waves returning to shore.

Is that a sign of unresolved grief? No!
Because if there were no love, there would be no grief.

In truth, grief itself is like the tide. It ebbs and flows. Sometimes calm, sometimes rising without warning. And that, too, is part of being human — a natural, tender rhythm of love that never truly ends.

” If there were no love, we would not feel the pain of losing someone. “

Grief is not a monster to be conquered. It is not something we must fix, erase, or transform. Perhaps, all along, we’ve misunderstood what grief really is.

Grief isn’t a storm to be conquered. It doesn’t need to be solved, suppressed, or silenced. It simply needs space to exist.

From the Counselling Room to the Funeral Industry

Before joining Xiao En Group, I spent six years as a university counsellor — nine to five in a small, quiet room, listening to students untangle their worries. In 2018, I stepped into a very different world: the funeral industry.

Here, counselling happens anywhere — at hospital bedsides, during wakes, at family homes, or even over the phone. Unlike the structured sessions in academia, grief work requires openness.

In Western contexts, counselling often means “talking it out.” But in Asia, especially when it comes to life and death, we tend to avoid such conversations. In this cultural context, we must allow more diverse ways for the bereaved to express their grief. Whether it’s through small talk about daily life or repeatedly revisiting a cherished memory, these are all valid ways of coping.

Often, what the bereaved need is not a serious conversation to dissect “problems” or find “solutions.” Sometimes, all they need is a listening ear — or simply our presence — to feel emotionally accompanied. Grief doesn’t always need to be “counselled.” Sometimes, a person, a space, a pair of ears, and a bit of time are already enough.

After nearly seven years in the funeral profession, I’ve learned that not only are there many ways to work with grief, but also that grief itself can take many forms.

We tend to associate grief only with sadness, but sadness is just one emotion among many. Any kind of loss brings grief and loss — which can also manifest as anger, guilt, or even physical reactions like loss of appetite. Death brings grief, but grief brings more than just tears.

When families begin to share their memories of the deceased, behind those stories are warmth and joy. Even though reality remains heavy, we can still allow ourselves to feel these positive emotions without guilt. The deeper we explore, the more we realize that beauty coexists with pain.

We can live on with these emotions that occasionally resurface — and still live well.

When Grief Becomes a Shared Responsibility

Looking back at my days in the university counselling room, I used to think counselling was a solitary battle between me and the student. But through my years in the funeral field, I’ve realized — I am not alone.

From the Family Care Consultant who first meet the families, to the Clinical Care Consultant who ensure the deceased looks their best, to the Bereavement Care Consultant who care for families throughout the funeral — each of us plays a role in comforting the bereaved. Every act done with care becomes a form of solace. When grief support is no longer seen as one person’s job, the possibilities within this profession multiply.

I remember an elderly lady who, at her husband’s funeral, made a special request — that every guest offering condolence money receive a small return gift. At first, my colleagues and I didn’t understand why. Later, we learned that her late husband had always valued reciprocity. With our help, she managed to continue that tradition — and that brought comfort both to her and in memory of him.

” Collaborating across departments to support a family — that’s truly something remarkable. “

A funeral doesn’t just hold the emotions of the bereaved — the ritual itself carries deep meaning for them. I’ve accompanied many families through their loved ones’ funerals, watching siblings take part in traditional and elaborate ceremonies, and friends and relatives arriving to offer comfort. I often felt moved by the sense of connection.

My own father passed away from COVID-19. Because of the restrictions, his funeral was simple and quiet. Relatives from other cities couldn’t attend. It was just the three of us — his children — and a single monk conducting the rites. Only four people. It felt rushed, surreal, incomplete.

Later, I realized that all the rituals we once thought were mere formalities are, in fact, sacred time — time intentionally set aside for the bereaved to process, to accept, to grieve. Whether it’s viewing the body or simply receiving condolences, these moments allow emotions to flow.

Death always arrives suddenly, but rituals give us a buffer — a space to accept death and release emotion.

Death Ends a Life, Not a Relationship

When counselling becomes personal, there are still times I face grief alone. Friends often think that grief work is like stepping into a dark, bottomless pit. Indeed, death is heavy — but not entirely negative.

A family member once told me, “Thank you for walking with me through the darkness. It was there that I found a glimmer of light.”

That moment stays with me. Because death ends a life, but not the relationship. We walk with families into the darkness, but only within that darkness do we find the glimmers of light — the strength and hope to keep going.

The tearing pain of loss is real. But given time — even through repeated retellings of the same story — the relationship between the living and the deceased slowly reassembles itself. As memories return, emotions other than sorrow also resurface. The connection is no longer just about loss; it is filled with the warmth and beauty that grief once buried.

The smile that appears when we recall the good times with someone who has passed — it should never be judged or diminished. And remembering them years later doesn’t mean we “can’t move on.” Whether it’s being moved to tears by a familiar sight or feeling sudden sadness, these are simply part of being human.

After leaving the counselling room and stepping into this industry, I’ve come to see grief not as something to fix, but something to accompany. When we understand grief more fully, we learn to stop judging — ourselves and others — and instead, to walk together with compassion.

(Editor’s note: This article is based on the author’s oral sharing, written by The Interview’s reporter.)

This Original article first appeared in《 The Interview 》. [ Click Here ]