“Strange, isn’t it? Each man’s life touches so many other lives. When he isn’t around, he leaves an awful hole, doesn’t he?”

— Clarence, the angel in It’s a Wonderful Life

When someone we love dies, people often ask about the loss, specifically how we’re coping with the death itself. But what’s rarely spoken aloud are the many losses that ripple out from that single absence. The roles our person played in our lives don’t vanish all at once. They reveal themselves slowly, quietly, and in everyday moments that now feel hollow.

The Many Roles

When my husband John died after his cancer journey, I didn’t just lose my spouse. I lost my biggest cheerleader, my sounding board, and the one person who always cared about the little things, like making sure I got home safely. He was the first person I called with good news and the only one who could truly calm my nerves when things went wrong. I still catch myself reaching for the phone when I land after a flight, instinctively ready to send that “I just landed” text.

That’s the thing about grief, it sneaks up on you not just in the anniversaries and birthdays, but in the grocery aisle when you don’t remember which onions are better for cooking or in the quiet of the evening when you realize no one is waiting to hear how your day went.

Some of my clients are navigating this kind of layered loss while also parenting. Suddenly they’re not just grieving, they’re solo parents doing everything, every day. One mother shared how her kids were unintentionally left out of an event because no one thought to include her in the “Dad” group text. These are the invisible ways loss keeps showing up, especially when you’re too exhausted to explain, “He was the one who handled that.”

The Grief We Don’t Name

This experience has a name: secondary loss. It refers to the cascade of losses that follow the initial one, the emotional, practical, and even social roles a person fulfilled. These are the losses that often go unseen by others, but felt deeply by those left behind.

You might lose your handyman, co-parent, book club buddy, or the person who always shook your cosmo just right. You might find yourself at a party where everyone else is coupled, and suddenly you’re the only one setting up a folding chair. These aren’t just inconveniences. They are reminders that your world has shifted.

The inverse is true also. We mourn who we were with our person. I was his person too and I had many roles but now I don’t. I’m no longer someone’s wife and special person. And then just when things start feeling stable, someone hands you a form with boxes to select your marital status.

Be Gentle with Yourself, These Feelings are Normal

But there is healing in naming these losses. There is comfort in acknowledging that your grief isn’t “too much” or “taking too long.” It’s simply more layered than it first appears. Because your person wasn’t just one thing. They were many things. And their absence leaves many holes.

So if you’re grieving, be gentle with yourself in those unexpected moments. The grief that surprises you, at the mailbox or in the silence after a joke no one else gets. This is often where your deepest love lives.

And if you’re supporting someone who’s grieving, remember that what they’re missing isn’t just a partner, a parent, or a friend. It’s the grocery runs, the late-night texts, the shared calendar, the emotional backup. It’s all the things that made life feel doable that now feel undone.

Because as Clarence said, “Each man’s life touches so many other lives.” And when they’re gone, the hole they leave is not just deep—it’s wide.