The Power of Tragedy: How Loss Brings Us Back to Each Other

When my mom passed away, the world cracked open in ways I couldn’t have anticipated. Grief is disorienting—it strips away pretense, ego, and all the small reasons we hold grudges. Suddenly, the things that felt too big to forgive seem irrelevant compared to the vastness of loss.

There was one friend in particular I couldn’t stop thinking about all summer. I had asked for space from her months earlier, offended by behaviors that cut deeper than I let on. I told myself I did the right thing, replayed the reasons in my head, even sought reassurance from others. But the truth was, she lived rent-free in my mind. I missed her. I felt her absence. And I felt, in my bones, that she missed me too.

Still, my ego wouldn’t let me reach out. Pride is stubborn that way.

Then my mom passed.

When my rebbetzin announced it, this friend heard and didn’t hesitate. She was quick to reach out, offering support, friendship, whatever I needed. She came to sit shiva, and in an instant, all the walls came down. She acknowledged she could have done better, and I did too. Within minutes, we were doubled over laughing like no time had passed. My dad looked at us and said, “It seems like there was never an issue between you two.” And he was right.

The truth is, tragedy has a strange power—it forces us to drop the masks, to cut through the noise, to remember who and what really matters.

During that week, old friends from middle school showed up at my house. People I hadn’t seen in years appeared at my door. My ex’s grandparents—who had once felt more like family to me than some of my own relatives—came as well. Even though I had left the relationship, they were able to put aside the hurt, the history, and simply be there when it mattered. Their presence reminded me that love doesn’t always vanish when circumstances change. Sometimes it just waits quietly until it’s needed again.

At my mom’s funeral, I also saw a man she had fallen out with years ago—a man who had cheated her out of money and never made things right. While part of me knew she wouldn’t have wanted him there, another part of me understood why he came. I don’t think it was out of closeness or loyalty. It was probably the weight of overwhelming guilt—that sense of unfinished business that tragedy drags into the light whether we like it or not. Even in her passing, my mom forced reckonings that life had left unresolved.

That’s what community does. It steps in when words fall short. It carries us when we can’t stand on our own. It reminds us that showing care—no matter how small—can bridge even the widest gaps.

That’s the heartbeat behind Actually Something™. Sometimes, it’s not about grand gestures. It’s about sending a care package, a message, a reminder: I see you. I’m here. You matter. Maybe it’s the nudge you need to reopen a door you thought was closed forever. Maybe it’s the soft landing for a conversation you didn’t know how to start.

Loss reminds us: the past doesn’t have to define the future. And often, when we choose care over ego, the bonds we rebuild come back stronger than ever.