Mourning Beyond the Cemetery
When it comes to grief, there are so many unspoken rules and stereotypes about how we’re supposed to mourn. One of the biggest? That visiting the cemetery is the most “appropriate” or “respectful” way to honor someone who has died. But what happens when the cemetery doesn’t bring peace, but instead pain, guilt, or even resentment?
When my late fiancé, John, died three years ago, I thought visiting the cemetery would always be part of how I honored him. In that first year, it was a source of comfort. I would decorate his plot with love and care, imagining it as a way to keep him alive, to prove that he was remembered and cherished. It gave me a place to pour my love and my pain.
But as time went on, the cemetery shifted from being a place of connection to a place of resentment, trauma, and hurt.
The first Christmas after his death, I spent time and money decorating his plot, only to discover that everything I had placed there was stolen. That act of cruelty cut deep. It felt like someone had stolen not just objects, but a piece of my grieving heart. On top of that, it took over a year for John’s plot to have a gravestone, another painful point of contention and reminder of how grief is full of things that feel unfair and out of your control.
Eventually, I found myself dreading visits. I avoided going on meaningful dates because I didn’t want to run into certain people tied to John’s passing, people I also lost in my own way after his death. The cemetery no longer brought me comfort. It brought me back to wounds I was trying so hard to heal.
As his third angel-versary approached, I asked myself a hard question: Why do I keep going?
The honest answer was that I felt like I was supposed to. Society often tells us that “good” grieving means showing up at the cemetery. And when I didn’t, I felt guilty, like I wasn’t doing enough, or wasn’t honoring John the “right” way.
But grief has taught me that there is no “right” way.
If I went to the cemetery out of guilt rather than comfort, that would not be honoring John. It would be betraying what he meant to me. Our story deserves authenticity. So, I made peace with the fact that I don’t need to go to the cemetery to mourn, to connect with him, or to honor our relationship.
For me, the cemetery is only where his physical body rests, not where his spirit lives.
John’s spirit lives in the memories we made together. It lives on in the people who loved him, who still tell stories and share laughter in his name. It lives in the reminders the universe sends. The start of football season, belly laughs with friends at the bar, or silly little moments that are small reminders of him.
Through this journey, I’ve learned something that I hope others grieving can hold onto: mourning does not fit into a box. There is no map, no checklist, no single place you must go. Grief is unique to each of us, and the only “rule” is to do what feels real and healing for you.
If going to the cemetery comforts you, go. If it doesn’t, don’t. If it changes from day to day, that’s okay too. All of those choices are valid.
Part of grief is learning to move forward in ways that soothe our hearts, even just a little. For me, that doesn’t look like standing at a gravesite. It looks like carrying John with me in the life I continue to build. That is where he lives. That is how I honor him.
And if you’re grieving, please remember this: you don’t need to prove your love by how often you visit a cemetery, or by how visibly you mourn. Love is not measured in flowers left at a gravestone, but in the ways you continue to carry their memory, their laughter, and their spirit into your days. However you choose to honor your person, whether at their resting place, in your own quiet rituals, or simply by living a life they would be proud of, it is enough. You are enough. And your grief, in whatever form it takes, is valid.
