Grief Isn’t a Competition

They say death brings out the worst in people - and I’m learning how true that can be.

Two months after Vic passed away, I was “unfriended” from his Facebook account. In their eyes, my grief isn’t valid because I’m the ex-wife, while they’re “the family.” But what they choose to forget is that I shared twenty years of my life with Vic - through the ups and downs, through raising our son, through everything that made us who we were.

All I’ve ever asked for were sentimental keepsakes - photos of Vic and Kenzo together. That’s what mattered to me. Instead, I was met with cruel words: “As his ex-wife, you’re lucky to even get the house and the car.”

Those words cut deep because they are simply not true. I didn’t get the house. I didn’t get the car. There’s nothing in Vic’s will that leaves me any of that. What I’ve been left with is not possessions, but the endless paperwork, the responsibility, and the heavy grief of raising our son without his father.

Meanwhile, the things that truly matter - the memories, the photos, the small pieces of him that I wanted to keep for Kenzo - were dismissed as unimportant.

Why is it that love and grief are treated like a competition? My grief is no less valid just because I was once his wife and not his sibling or parent. Cruel words can’t erase the truth: Vic and I shared two decades of life together, and we share a son who misses his dad every single day.

In the end, what matters most isn’t who holds the house keys or car papers - it’s who holds the memories, the love, and the responsibility to carry them forward. For Kenzo, that’s me. I will keep honoring his father, no matter what words are thrown my way.

Because grief isn’t measured in possessions or titles. It’s measured in the quiet spaces - in the way a son picks up a basketball and still expects to hear his dad’s voice cheering him on, in the way an old photo can bring both tears and comfort, in the way love refuses to vanish even when someone is gone.

If you’ve ever been told your grief doesn’t count, know this: your grief is yours, and it is valid. Love doesn’t end when relationships shift, or when families divide, or when people pass on. Love continues - in the memories, in the responsibilities we take up, and in the stories we carry forward.

For Kenzo, I’ll keep carrying those stories. And in that way, Vic will always remain with us.