🌿 When the Calendar Hurts: Navigating Grief Anniversaries 🌿

Athena Rayne Kostas
May 30
2 min read

Two years.

May 30 marks two years since my son was murdered.

There are no words that fully capture what it feels like to live inside that sentence.

Grief anniversaries carry a weight that most people don’t see. The world moves on, but the date circles back each year like a tidal wave. Even when I’m not looking at the calendar, my body knows. My heart knows.

Lately, I’ve been seeing him everywhere—in dreams, in memories, in my youngest child’s face. His smile lives on in his siblings, and that is something both heartbreakingly beautiful and impossibly hard. There’s love and joy in seeing glimpses of him, and there’s pain too—because he’s not here.

Grief is not linear. It’s layered. And on days like this, it presses into every part of life.

💔 The Silent Weight of Anniversaries

Grief anniversaries don’t ask permission.

They show up in forgotten songs, unexpected places, and quiet corners of your mind.

Some people feel pressure to do something meaningful on those days—create rituals, light candles, release balloons. Others want to hide away and wait for the day to pass. There’s no right way. Whatever you feel is valid.

Here are a few things I’ve learned:

Your heart may ache more in the days before than on the actual day. That’s okay. The lead-up can be just as hard.

Memories might feel sharper. Let them come. Let yourself feel whatever rises.

Grief can coexist with joy. Loving my other children fiercely doesn’t erase the longing for the one who is gone.

🕊 If you’re reading this and facing your own anniversary, please know:

You are not alone.

Maybe today, you let yourself feel the grief without judgment.

Maybe you speak their name aloud, write them a letter, or simply breathe through the hours.

There is no wrong way to love someone who is no longer here.

You’re still carrying them.

You’re still loving them.

And that’s enough.