It’s been 14 months since we lost Kurt to ALS. A little over a year, and yet, it feels as though time has both flown and stood still in the same breath. The depth of grief is a strange thing; it’s not a one-time feeling you can experience and then "move on" from. It’s like a rollercoaster with no clear end, full of unexpected twists, turns, and loops that you can never fully prepare for.
In the beginning, it’s all shock and disbelief. Your mind refuses to accept the finality of what’s happened. The denial is so strong that it almost feels like a protective shield. I remember the first few weeks, when everything felt surreal — like this was some bad dream I’d wake up from at any moment. But the truth is, there’s no waking up from it. The grief isn’t something that can be neatly tied up in a box. It’s a living, breathing force that shifts in unpredictable ways.
Some days, it feels like the pain of his absence is overwhelming. A sudden wave of sadness will hit — sometimes when you least expect it. I'll be cooking dinner, and then a song will come on that we used to laugh about together, and I’ll be flooded with the memory of him, so vivid, so real, that it feels like I’ve been punched in the chest. I find myself asking, How can this be my reality now?
Other days, it’s more subtle, but still powerful. You find yourself looking for Kurt's face in crowds, waiting for him to crack a joke or step in and lead a conversation with that infectious energy of his. You think of all the times he’d say something ridiculous, and the group would laugh, no matter how serious the conversation had been just moments before. His presence was magnetic — a spark that could ignite an entire room. Now, that spark is gone, and sometimes it feels like the room is dimmer because of it.
And then there are days when the grief surprises me with its unpredictability. Maybe it’s a quiet afternoon, or a random thought about something we used to do together, and suddenly, I’m not sure if I should laugh or cry. The range of emotions that come with grief can be just as erratic as the illness that took him. It’s strange to be struck by a feeling of joy at a memory of him, only to have that joy quickly turn to sadness because the reality is that he’s no longer here to share those moments with.
This unending rollercoaster is also full of anger. Anger at ALS. Anger at how unfair it is that someone like Kurt, full of life and energy, could be taken so young by such a horrific disease. I feel anger at the world for allowing something like this to happen to such a wonderful person — someone who had so much more to give, who was just starting to really hit his stride in life.
But there’s something that stands out more than anything else — the constant, undeniable love for him that never truly fades. Grief is a reflection of that love, I think. It’s not the absence of him that hurts the most, but the fact that we will never be able to experience him the way we once did. And yet, somehow, his influence continues to ripple through all of us. We find ourselves living by his example of joy, laughter, leadership, and passion.
One of the most beautiful things that’s come from his passing is how we’ve continued to honor him. We keep telling stories, passing on his words, his jokes, his ways of seeing the world. It’s as though the love we have for him is immortal — it doesn’t fade, it doesn’t disappear. Even as grief brings its unpredictable ups and downs, there’s a steady undercurrent of gratitude for the time we had with Kurt.
I don’t know when this rollercoaster will slow down. Maybe it never truly will. But what I do know is that the love and the memories will always remain, and they will carry us through the twists and turns. As much as we miss him, we keep living because that’s what Kurt would’ve wanted. He was always the one leading, laughing, and instigating — and in his absence, we carry those pieces of him with us, helping us navigate the ride.
For now, all we can do is keep moving forward, holding tight to the moments that shaped us, even as we continue to ride the rollercoaster of grief.
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