Grief is not always loud. It is not always a roar, sometimes it is a whisper.

Grief isn't always the screaming and crying and blaming the world or even oneself. Sometimes grief is sitting alone at a gathering, cause you wish someone else was there. Sometimes grief is silence. Sometimes it is sitting alone in your bedroom, not being able to cry. Sometimes grief is looking out of the window for days on end, because you can't get yourself to go do things without who/whatever you're missing. Sometimes it is needing to sit with someone else, without talking, because there is nothing to discuss. Sometimes it is just not having anything to say. Sometimes grief is is not seen, nor heard. Sometimes you would never know.

Sometimes grief is crippling. It keeps you from functioning early. It is the wave that somehow always seems to be over your head. But other times, grief is more quiet. It will always be there, but sometimes it is a smaller wave, one around your ankles. You can feel it, but it isn't keeping you from moving, or breathing. Sometimes grief is simply missing someone. Sometimes grief is a dream.

Sometimes grief is loud, it is in your face, but other times it isn't. No matter how it is shown, it is always real.