Integration: Creating Meaning and Purpose After Loss
Whys turn to Now What
A follow-up to “Why Bad Things Happen to Good People”)
When grief first arrives, it asks, Why?
Why them? Why now? Why me?
Those questions are natural and necessary. They help us survive the initial shock. But after the questions lose their urgency, after the tumultuous nights and overwhelming days, a quieter question begins to emerge: Now what?
That question highlights integration — the gradual process of allowing loss to become part of your life without letting it consume you.
What Integration Really Means
Integration isn’t about moving on or pretending nothing happened. It’s not a destination or a box you check. Integration is how we live with our loss so that it becomes part of our story rather than the whole story.
Grief experts teach this: David Kessler considers meaning-making the sixth stage of grief, the stage where we learn to live with pain. Alan Wolfelt describes integration as learning to live with grief instead of trying to get over it. Taken together, these ideas reveal the same truth: the goal isn’t to erase the wound but to let it transform us into someone new, someone with a deeper understanding of life’s complexities and a greater capacity for empathy.
Think of Kintsugi, the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold. The cracks aren’t hidden; they’re emphasized. The object becomes more beautiful because of the repair, not despite it. Integration is the kintsugi of the soul. The fractures don’t disappear; they catch the light.
Integration Is Creating Meaning and Purpose
Meaning-making can take many forms. For me, it began with small actions that sent my attention outward. During the rawest months, I was told to “keep moving.” I did not try to escape my grief, but to give it direction. I made specialized t-shirts for bereaved parents, small tokens meant to hold memory and connection. I volunteered to serve lunch at a homeless shelter. I taught ESL at an adult learning center. A year later, I became a friendship partner to an Afghan family — six children who filled my heart with noise and joy. For four years, they were part of my life. When they relocated last month, my grief returned with surprising force. Losing them felt like losing a piece of my healing; yet I also recognized how that relationship had deepened my compassion and opened my heart again.
I have also been moderating for David Kessler’s online grief group at Grief.com, after completing a Grief Educator Program, and facilitating a local survivors-of-suicide group. For the past six months, I’ve been a volunteer relief companion for a hospice family. While nothing can replace the void left by Kevin, these meaningful roles give me purpose and allow me to honor his memory, keeping his spirit alive through compassionate service.
Kevin volunteered his time to play and compose music for his church and bands. Serving others now is one way I keep his spirit alive. Five years and eight months after his passing, I find I am more focused on purpose: not because the pain has disappeared, but because I have chosen to let it shape how I live and my growth around grief.
What Integrating Grief Looks Like — Practically
Integration is personal. There is no timeline, no formula. But there are common markers that show progress:
Accepting grief as part of you. Not a problem to solve, but a presence to acknowledge.
Carrying memories into daily life. Keeping traditions, telling stories, lighting a candle.
Functioning with the loss. You still do life tasks; you still feel the ache. The two now coexist.
Creating new meaning. Volunteering, mentoring, making art, or simply being present for someone else.
Growing around the grief. You don’t outgrow it; you grow with it, shaping your life around the absence.
Being honest about mixed feelings. You can laugh and hurt in the same hour without betraying the person you miss.
Scripture says that God will “give us beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, and a garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness” (Isaiah 61:3).
Integration is part of that promise, not an instant transformation, but a slow unfolding. It’s the beauty that grows from ashes, not because the fire was good, but because love is stronger than what destroyed. It’s the beauty of a life that has been reshaped by loss, yet still finds joy and purpose in the world.
Integrated Grief Is Grief With Purpose
We all ask, When will this pain end? When will I be “done” grieving? Realistically, we won’t return to the person we were before a significant loss. Integration doesn’t erase the past; it repositions it so that love, memory, and meaning guide our days again.
Alan Wolfelt’s phrase, learning to live with your grief captures the essence: reconciliation, not resolution. David Kessler’s meaning-making invites us to ask not only what we’ve lost, but what we can give back because of it. The work of integration often looks like service: time spent helping others, presence offered to those who are raw, programs led, lunches served, songs played, and hands held.
For me, that has meant community groups, refugee friendship, hospice shifts, and online grief work. Each of these became part of the fabric of my life, stitching my loss into something larger: a life that carries sorrow and passes on kindness.
Integration means choosing to let grief sit beside you, not in front of you. It means making room for both sorrow and the possibility of joy. It means turning the inward energy of pain into outward acts of care.
A Real-World Invitation
If you are walking this path, here are gentle, practical steps that helped me:
Start small—volunteer for a single shift at a shelter or community center.
Share the load. Join a grief group or a support circle — online or local.
Create a ritual. Light a candle, write a letter, or make something in memory of the person you lost.
Let service be flexible. Your capacity changes. Choose roles that fit your life rhythm.
Keep telling the story. Saying the name aloud keeps the memory alive and connects you with others who listen.
Closing: The Gold in the Cracks
Integration won’t erase the sharpness. There will be anniversaries, unexpected waves, and days that feel raw all over again. Instead of hiding the damage, kintsugi highlights the repair. The flaws are what make it beautiful and valuable. A broken piece that is restored tells a story, feels more authentic, and is stronger and more resilient than something that has never been damaged. The break, the layered, time-consuming process of reassembling it, and the application of gold all enhance its worth. Surprisingly, it becomes even more resilient after being repaired with kintsugi, gaining strength beyond its original state.
What does integrating grief mean for you? How has your loss influenced the way you reach out? I’d love to hear your story below because when we share our cracks, we often find the gold together.
I feel such passion in your writing, Chano, a fire in you that burns so strong and which fuels your desire to do such wonderfully meaningful and generous things in Kevin’s name. What a force of love your boy remains. And that we are both writing about the beauty in the broken at the same time…well, it’s making me smile ☺️
Chano, learning to live with grief that will never leave us is far healthier than "moving on"--when what has really happened is the burial of grief.
I appreciate you practical approach of how to do this. Grief is so personal we will all do it at our own pace. However, having steps laid out is helpful.