The Banana Story: Grieving in Everyday Life

Sep 25

By Growth Era Counseling & Wellness

The day my father died, I was at the grocery store buying bananas.

I remember thinking to myself, “This is insane. Your dad just died. Why the hell are you buying bananas?”

But we needed bananas. We’d be waking up for breakfast tomorrow morning, and there wouldn’t be any bananas—so there I was.

And lots of other stuff still needed to be done too, so over the coming days I would navigate parking lots, wait in restaurant lines, and sit on park benches; pushing back tears, fighting to stay upright, and in general always being seconds from a total freak out.

I wanted to wear a sign that said: I JUST LOST MY DAD. PLEASE GO EASY.

Unless anyone passing by looked deeply into my bloodshot eyes or noticed the occasional break in my voice and thought enough to ask, it’s not like they’d have known what’s happening inside me or around me. They wouldn’t have had any idea of the gaping sinkhole that had just opened up and swallowed the normal life of the guy next to them in the produce section.

And while I didn’t want to physically wear my actual circumstances on my chest, it probably would have caused people around me to give me space or speak softer or move more carefully—and it might have made the impossible, almost bearable.

Everyone around you; the people you share the grocery store line with, pass in traffic, sit next to at work, encounter on social media, and see across the kitchen table—they’re all experiencing the collateral damage of living. They are all grieving someone, missing someone, worried about someone. Their marriages are crumbling or their mortgage payment is late or they’re waiting on their child’s test results, or they’re getting bananas five years after a death and still pushing back tears because the loss feels as real as it did that first day.

Every single human being you pass by today is fighting to find peace and to push back fear; to get through their daily tasks without breaking down in the produce section or in the carpool line or at the post office.

Maybe they aren’t mourning the sudden, tragic passing of a parent, but wounded, exhausted, pain-ravaged people are everywhere, everyday stumbling all around us—and yet most of the time we’re fairly oblivious to them:

Parents whose children are terminally ill.
Couples in the middle of divorce.
People grieving loss of loved ones and relationships.
Kids being bullied at school.
People marking the anniversary of a death.
Parents worried about their depressed teenager.
Spouses whose partners are deployed in combat.
Families with no idea how to keep the lights on.
Single parents with little help and little sleep.

Everyone is grieving and worried and fearful, and yet none of them wear the signs, none of them have labels, and none of them come with written warnings reading, I’M STRUGGLING. BE KIND TO ME.

And since they don’t, it’s up to you and me to look more closely and more deeply at everyone around us: at work or at the gas station or in the produce section, and to never assume they aren’t all just hanging by a thread. Because most people are hanging by a thread—and our simple kindness can be that thread.

We need to remind ourselves just how hard the hidden stories around us might be, and to approach each person as a delicate, breakable, invaluable treasure—and to handle them with care.

As you make your way through the world today, people won’t be wearing signs to announce their mourning or broadcast how terrified they are—but if you look with the right eyes, you’ll see the signs.

There are grieving people all around you.

Go easy.

The Grief We Don't See

Most people you encounter on a given day—at the grocery store, in traffic, at work, online, even in your own home—are carrying something heavy.

They are grieving someone.
They are missing someone.
They are fearing something.
They are struggling silently.

Their hearts are breaking in ways you cannot see.

Grief doesn’t just come from death. It comes from:

Divorce
Estrangement
Terminal diagnoses
Mental illness
Addiction
Abuse
Infertility
Job loss
The slow loss of a loved one to dementia
The anniversary of “the day everything changed”

Pain wears many disguises. And most people are hiding it well.

The Invisible Signs of Suffering

No one wears signs that say:

“My child is in the hospital.”
“I cried myself to sleep last night.”
“I just buried my mother.”
“I don’t know how I’m going to pay rent.”
“My anxiety is unbearable today.”

But the signs are there—if you’re looking. They’re in the bloodshot eyes. The long pause before answering. The extra sigh. The distracted stare. The forced smile.

They’re in the way someone seems a little short with you, or a little slower than usual. Sometimes grief shows up as silence. Sometimes as anger. Sometimes as forgetfulness or fatigue.

And it’s worth remembering: These are not flaws. These are symptoms of being human.

Handle with Care

So what do we do with this knowledge?

We go easy.

We assume less. We judge less. We breathe more before reacting. We offer the benefit of the doubt. We speak kindly, even when it’s inconvenient. We listen longer than we usually do.

We let someone cut in line.
We forgive the short email.
We smile at the tired cashier.
We say, “How are you really?”
We give the grace we hope someone would give us on our worst day.

We become the sign someone else needs.

Grief Needs Space to Breathe

If you are grieving, know this:

You’re not alone.

You’re not broken.

There is no right way to grieve, and there is no timeline. You may find yourself crying in grocery stores years later. That’s not regression—that’s love remembering.

And if you’re supporting someone who is grieving, remember that presence matters more than words. You don’t have to fix it. You just have to be with it. Sit beside the pain. Hold space. Offer softness in a world that often demands resilience too soon.

Everyone is Carrying Something

The truth is, you will never regret being gentle.

The world is full of people holding themselves together with invisible thread. One kind word, one act of patience, one compassionate gesture might be the very thing that keeps someone from unraveling.

So today, as you move through life—through parking lots and produce aisles and phone calls—remember:

Grieving people are everywhere.