The Mathematics Of Grief

The Mathematics Of Grief

The Mathematics Of Grief

Last Tuesday, my dog Winston licked my hand while I cried over spilled coffee. Not for the coffee. For the way grief still surprises me, even now. I wish people understood: grief isn’t a math problem to solve.

Here’s what I’ve learned:
Common Misconception: Grief follows a formula. “You’ll feel better in six months,” “You should be over it by now.” As if it’s a problem with a clean answer.
Reality: Grief is a landscape, not a calculation. It’s not linear. It’s not “one year, then done.” It’s a spiral—some days you’re back at the top, other days you’re deeper in the valley. A smell, a song, a Tuesday morning with coffee spilled… and suddenly, you’re back at the beginning. No math, no timeline. Just being.

Why does this matter? Because when we treat grief like a problem to fix, we make people feel broken for feeling. We say, “Just move on,” as if their heart could simply be recalibrated. But the dying taught me: the only way through is through, not around. They didn’t want their pain fixed. They wanted it seen. They wanted someone to sit with them in the messy, un-solvable part.

I’ve sat with people who said, “I miss them more today than yesterday,” and I didn’t say, “That’s not normal.” I said, “It’s okay to not be okay.” And we sat. In the silence. In the not-knowing.

Grief isn’t about reaching a destination. It’s about learning to walk in the fog. The math doesn’t exist. There’s no “right” way to feel. Only the truth of this moment, and the courage to stay with it.

So if you’re grieving, or if you’re watching someone else grieve—stop trying to solve it. Stop offering timelines. Just sit. With the coffee spilled. With the ache. With the not-knowing. It’s the only math that matters.

— Kyle Smith, sitting with what's hard

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Written by Kyle Smith — 12:25, 14 January 2026 (CST)