Grief Is Not a Season: Author and Coach Melissa Hull Redefines the Long Journey of Child Loss After 25 Years
There is a phrase that many people who experience profound loss hear in the quiet, agonizing aftermath of tragedy: “Grief is just a season.” For author, speaker, and master coach Melissa Hull, those words were once clung to like a lifeline. In the early days following the unimaginable drowning accident that claimed the life of her young son, Drew, the concept of a "season" offered a fragile promise. A season meant that the pain was temporary, that there would eventually be an end, and that she could one day return to the person she was before the world split apart.
Now, twenty-five years after losing Drew, Hull knows better. In a deeply reflective essay published on September 11, 2026, through The Compassionate Friends, Hull explores the enduring reality of bereavement, arguing that grief is not a temporary phase to be outrun or cured, but rather a permanent language that transforms how a person navigates existence. Her insights, drawn from a quarter-century of lived experience and detailed in her new book, Dear Drew: Creating a Life Bigger Than Grief, challenge conventional societal expectations surrounding healing and time.
The First Words We Learn in Grief
According to Hull, the early stages of mourning do not arrive with wisdom, polite platitudes, or structured thoughts. Instead, grief begins with an overwhelming, primal expression. In the initial hours after Drew passed away, Hull recalls a sound escaping her body that she did not even recognize—a guttural, breathless, bottomless wail that human language simply cannot contain.
That raw, unfiltered reaction marked her introduction to a fluency she never wanted to acquire. In her writing, Hull describes this initial phase not as a malfunction, but as a foundational truth. It is the beginning of learning a vocabulary born out of absence, where words fail entirely and only pure emotion remains.
When the World Speaks a Different Language
One of the most profound isolating factors for individuals carrying deep sorrow is the stark disconnect between their internal reality and the external world. Hull highlights the jarring experience of walking through a grocery store with a shattered heart while surrounding patrons casually discuss weekend plans, trivial errands, and upcoming birthday parties.
This disconnect extends into professional environments and social circles, where returning to a routine is frequently misinterpreted by others as a return to a former self. Hull notes that this lack of understanding from society is rarely malicious; rather, the rest of the world is simply speaking a different language—one governed by productivity, goals, surface-level conversations, and tasks.
Meanwhile, the grieving parent is left listening for phantom echoes of a lost child’s voice in an empty room, deciphering hidden meanings in a random song, a familiar scent, or a stray flicker of light. They are the ones still holding onto a child’s toothbrush or favorite cup, translating an internal dialogue that feels entirely alien to those who have not experienced similar devastation.
Finding the Words to Stay Alive
Over time, the nature of this internal dialogue evolves. For every grieving individual, a distinct, deeply personal threshold arrives when the daily objective shifts from merely surviving an overwhelming wave of pain to attempting to understand it.
During this transition, grief gradually shifts from chaos into communication, moving from a desperate scream to a reflective whisper. It transforms from a destructive force that completely flattens a person into an ongoing dialogue—provided the individual is willing to listen. Hull shares her personal experience of returning to journaling when she had nothing profound or poetic to document. In the beginning, her entries were stark and minimal, noting simple actions like getting out of bed, feeding the dog, or crying quietly in the car.
Even those meager entries represented vital progress. They served as a way to give tangible shape to an amorphous sorrow, establishing a fragile rhythm amidst a relentless internal storm and interpreting the language of loss one difficult word at a time.
The Evolution of a Language
As years pass, the dialect of grief naturally shifts. In the beginning, it is entirely composed of sharp, unyielding pain. Eventually, that pain makes room for memory, which later matures into perspective. In unexpected moments, Hull explains, that grief can even transform back into love.
However, this is not the physical love of early childhood—the cuddles, giggles, and hand-holding of daily life—but rather a spiritual, infinite, and knowing connection that transcends physical space and time. Hull describes feeling her son’s presence in subtle ways, such as a sudden breeze moving through a room, an unexpected lyric on the radio, or the laugh of a stranger that mirrors Drew’s own. In those moments, grief speaks in a new dialect, and love answers back.
Grief Fluency in the Real World
Achieving what Hull terms "grief fluency" does not mean the grief eventually stops. Instead, it means learning how to grieve well. It involves allowing sorrow to move naturally through the body and mind without letting it dictate every action. A fluent person learns when to articulate their pain and when to hold it in sacred silence, discovering how to participate in moments of genuine joy while still carrying their loss with grace.
This fluency extends directly into interpersonal relationships. Learning to speak the language of grief equips individuals to communicate their boundaries and needs more effectively. It allows someone to state clearly and without apology that they are not okay, while simultaneously teaching them how to hold space for others in distress without feeling an urgent need to fix them. Hull credits her own journey with making her a more empathetic mother to her living children, a stronger partner, a more dependable friend, and a compassionate guide for others facing similar tragedies.
Reframing the Journey for the Newly Bereaved
For those currently trapped in the raw, deafening phase where words fail and nothing makes sense, Hull offers a reassuring message: they are not broken, they are simply learning. Because grief does not come with a standardized dictionary or a set phrasebook, the process requires immense patience and self-compassion.
Hull emphasizes that the destination of this journey is not about getting over the loss or letting go of the past. Rather, it is about integrating the experience into a life that remains worth living. By acknowledging that grief is a sacred language rather than a passing season, individuals can eventually find moments of deep beauty, connect profoundly with others, and learn how to live—and love—fully once again.
