The Road Trip I Never Planned: Navigating the Unexpected Journey of Grief

Grief is the road trip none of us ever signed up to take.

One moment, you’re cruising along—maybe not without bumps or detours, but with a sense of direction. You know the route. You’ve got someone in the passenger seat, maybe even holding the map. Then suddenly, without warning, the car jerks off course. The person beside you is gone. The map is missing. And the road ahead? Unfamiliar, unforgiving, and unbearably quiet.

Grief doesn’t come with a GPS. It doesn’t tell you when the sadness will hit like a thunderstorm or when memories will roll in like fog, making it hard to see anything but what was. You might think you’re heading to the grocery store or meeting a friend for coffee—and boom, there it is: the wave. A song, a smell, a flash of a memory—and you’re pulled off to the shoulder, barely able to breathe.

And like any long road trip, grief is full of unexpected stops.

Some people you thought would be with you the whole way suddenly disappear. It’s too much for them. They can’t sit in the silence, or handle the weight of your sadness. Others—people you barely expected—slide into the passenger seat with snacks, playlists, and a kind word, showing up just when your tank feels empty. The kindness of strangers, the warmth of a note, the quiet knowing glance of another who’s been on this road—those are the moments that keep you going.

But unlike a road trip, there is no destination. There’s no “we made it.” The truth is, grief doesn’t end. It changes. It softens in some places and sharpens in others. It becomes part of the landscape. Your road trip keeps going, but it’s never the same. The person you loved is not coming back. That part is final—and that’s what others struggle to understand.

Life around you keeps moving. People get off at their exits. They go back to their lives. But for you, everything changed mid-journey. And now… you drive alone.

The question becomes: How will you choose to travel now?

Will you drive straight through, never stopping, ignoring the aches in your body and heart? Or will you pull over once in a while, feel the breeze, let the tears come, and maybe find something new—some small moment of peace, some unexpected joy, a tiny flower growing through the cracks in the pavement?

Will you allow yourself to feel the sun on your face again? To roll down the windows, to scream if you need to, to sing again when you’re ready?

You are still here. And the rest of this journey belongs to you now.

You didn’t ask for it, but you have the wheel. Will you simply survive this ride? Or will you—when you’re ready—choose to live it?

Because this road trip, the one you never wanted, might still surprise you. Not with what was, but with what is. With what could be.

Even in grief, there is room for wonder.

Even on the hardest roads, there is still a sky above you.

With love,
Tania