Grief Isn’t Linear. Neither Are Relationships.

Grief is strange.

One moment, it’s sadness – deep, heavy, quiet. The next, it’s a memory that makes you laugh. And then, out of nowhere, it’s anger. Old hurt. Things you thought you had already worked through, resurfacing like they’ve been waiting for their turn.

Losing my mom has brought all of that.

There are moments I miss her so much it feels physical. Moments I find myself reaching for the phone before remembering I can’t call her. And moments where I’m not thinking about her at all - until I am, and it hits all over again.

It’s not linear. Not even close.

Someone recently told me I’m doing “remarkably well.” I know it was meant to be kind, encouraging, even, but I’ve found myself coming back to that phrase.

What does that mean, exactly?

What does grief look like when it’s done “well”? How should we be?

Because from where I’m sitting, grief doesn’t follow a clean path. It doesn’t move neatly from stage to stage. It loops. It surprises. It contradicts itself. It holds love and frustration in the same moment. Gratitude and regret. Peace and longing.

And I’m starting to think that’s not a sign that something is off.

It’s a sign that something mattered.

Grief has a way of reminding you of something we often forget: people – and relationships – don’t operate in straight lines.

We’re complex. We’re layered. We carry history into every interaction.

And yet, in so many areas of life (and work), we expect things to be predictable. Especially in fundraising.

We expect (or leadership expects):

• Donors to follow a clean journey

• Engagement to steadily increase

• Relationships to deepen in obvious, trackable ways

But that’s not how people work.

A donor might give generously one year and disappear the next. Stay quiet for months and then re-engage out of nowhere. Feel deeply connected and never say a word.

It’s messy. It’s inconsistent. It’s human.

Grief is reminding me that people are always carrying more than we can see.

Every donor is living a full, complex life outside of your organization. They are navigating loss, holding joy and pain at the same time, revisiting old memories, and making decisions that don’t always make sense from the outside.

And yet, we often reduce their behavior to a single data point.

They stopped giving.

They’re disengaged.

They’re not interested anymore.

But what if that’s not the full story?

What if:

• They’re grieving

• They’re overwhelmed

• They’re in a season where they simply can’t show up the way they used to (I can relate to this one the last few months, more than I’d like to admit)

If grief has taught me anything, it’s this: people need space to be human.

Not perfect. Not consistent. Not predictable.

Just human.

And that’s true for our donors, too.

A relationship-based approach to fundraising isn’t just about more touchpoints or better segmentation. It’s about how we hold space for people. It’s about continuing to show up with care, even when engagement ebbs. It’s about resisting the urge to interpret silence as disinterest.

It’s about grace.

So when someone tells me I’m doing “remarkably well,” I’m still not sure what to do with that.

Because I don’t think there’s a right way to grieve.

Just like there’s not a perfectly linear way to build relationships.

There’s only showing up. Staying connected. Extending grace. Continuing to care, even when things don’t look the way we expect.

Grief isn’t linear.

Neither are relationships.

And maybe that’s the point.

Because the moments that matter most, the ones rooted in love, connection, and meaning, were never meant to be predictable.

What is predictable? The fact that I’m on a plane on the way to Arizona to sit at a spa, laugh with friends, and eat until my heart is content. While working through my grief.