Grief and Ghosts

Some people are only meant to row beside you for a while. The rest of the trip is yours.

When you move forward, not everyone will stay in the boat. Some will step off quietly, their absence almost gentle, like a slow fading until you realize you haven’t heard their voice in miles. Others will leave in a storm, slamming the oars down on their way out. And sometimes, you’ll be the one asking them to go. It’s not cruelty. It’s clarity. Some people were only meant to row beside you for a certain stretch, and holding on past that point only weighs the boat down. The truth is, not everyone who started with you is meant to see where you’re going.

The first time you notice the empty seats, it’s a punch in the gut. You remember the way they once filled the quiet, the way their presence felt like ballast keeping you steady. But as the water stretches out in front of you, you notice something else: the boat moves more easily now. The noise is quieter. Your own voice comes back.

You can miss them and still be glad they’re gone. You can honor what they gave you without inviting them back aboard. And you can keep rowing, knowing the space they left isn’t a wound, but room for something new to grow.

Not everyone is meant to stay. That’s not loss. That’s life. And your job is still the same: row forward.

It’s tempting to glance over your shoulder, as if looking back hard enough will bring them back on board. But the farther you travel, the more you realize those seats aren’t mistakes. They’re part of the cost of moving forward.

Grief doesn’t vanish when the storm settles. It changes. It becomes a passenger who no longer shouts, but still sits in the corner, reminding you they’re there. You learn to row with their presence, not against it. You stop waiting for the deck to feel full again. You start accepting it, but you will never accept it in the same way, and that doesn’t make the journey any less worth taking.

Making peace with the empty seats doesn’t mean pretending they don’t matter.

It means knowing your boat can still move, still cut through the waves, even with those spaces unfilled.