The Unpredictability of Summer Grief

The Unpredictability of Summer Grief
A personal reflection on navigating loss in the season of light

Summer used to be one of my favorite times of year. I’d look forward to the longer days, the smell of backyard grilling, and the simple joy of sitting outside with a cold drink, watching the sun slip below the horizon. It felt like life just opened up a little wider in the summer. But after losing my person, that wide-open feeling began to carry a different weight.

Now, when summer rolls in, it often catches me off guard. There might be laughter all around me—kids playing, neighbors planning vacations—but inside, I can feel a quiet ache that doesn’t match the season. Grief doesn’t care that the skies are blue. It shows up uninvited, sometimes in the middle of a family barbecue or during a walk at dusk when the light falls just right and reminds me of a memory I wasn’t expecting to feel so sharply.

When the Sunshine Feels Too Bright

There are moments when I wonder, Is it just me? Everyone else seems to be soaking up the joy of summer while I’m trying to hold back tears because a song came on the radio, or I caught a whiff of his cologne in a crowd. Those little triggers—things that used to bring comfort—can now hit like a wave and leave me breathless.

Sometimes the hardest part is how out of sync it feels. The world is celebrating and blooming, but I’m still carrying a piece of winter in my heart. One thing I’ve had to remind myself again and again is this: grief doesn’t follow the seasons. It doesn’t pack up and go just because the sun came out. And just because I’m not full of joy at the pool party or bursting with energy during the long days, doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with me.

Missing someone you love this deeply is not a flaw—it’s a reflection of the love that still lives in you. And that love doesn’t disappear with the change of weather.

Over time, I’ve learned to give myself more grace in these moments. Here are a few things I’ve tried that helped me stay grounded when summer grief shows up unexpectedly:

• Create a gentle ritual. I plant something in the garden every year in his memory. It’s my way of saying, “You’re still part of this season with me.”

• Talk about it. I have one friend who just gets it. I can text her, “Today feels hard,” and she doesn’t try to fix it—she just listens. That’s enough.

• Be where my feet are. Sometimes I pause, take a breath, and just notice the breeze or the way the light filters through the trees. It doesn’t make the grief go away, but it brings me back to the present.

• Start something new. I’ve tried solo walks at sunset, journaling with iced tea on the porch, and even watching old movies I loved as a kid. These new rhythms give me little anchors to hold onto.

It’s okay to miss them. It’s okay to cry on a sunny day. And it’s okay to take all the time you need to move forward—whatever that looks like for you. This summer I have decided it is time to take “our” yard back and finally complete a few projects we had planned. It has been challenging with several times the feeling of “just go inside and leave it all alone” threatened to take over. When those times happen is when I just be where my feet are…..

If summer feels heavy for you this year, please know you’re not alone. You don’t have to match the energy of the season or wear a smile just because the world around you is in celebration mode. Your grief is valid, even when everything else seems light. Grief in the summer is real. And while it may feel isolating, it’s also a quiet testament to the love that still lingers long after someone is gone. You’re not doing it wrong—you’re just doing it honestly.

And that’s more than enough.

About Pam Williams

Pam is originally from Texas, where she grew up as the oldest of her siblings. With more than 15 years of experience in the education field, she has dedicated the last four years to teaching graphic design. Throughout their time together, Pam regularly captured the ups and downs of their journey through blogging and journaling. Sadly, she lost her husband Glenn on November 3, 2019, due to complications from a congenital heart issue.

As she adjusts to her new role as a mother and bonus mother to five adult children, along with two wonderful sons-in-law, she proudly embraces her role as a Grammy to four adventurous grandchildren. Motivated by many to share her experiences, Pam has started a personal blog and plans to publish her writings for everyone to enjoy