GRIEF FOR ME comes in waves – unexpected, unpredictable, and sometimes overwhelming.

There’s no timetable, no clear end. What I’ve learned is that the pain of loss doesn’t disappear, but it can change. It becomes something we carry with love.

In 2015, my dad passed away suddenly in his sleep. He was 76, sitting on the couch watching TV. He never came to bed that night. My mum found him in the early hours, and I’ll never forget the phone call that woke me – my neighbour’s voice telling me to come home, “but it doesn’t look good.”

When I arrived the house was lit up, the front door open, an ambulance outside. I ran inside to find first responders working on dad. My mum was in another room, screaming and crying. I thought he was still alive – the machine was doing chest compressions – but then the paramedics told us there was nothing more they could do. They turned off the machine, and the room filled with our crying.

That moment changed my life.

It was my first major experience of death, and it shook me to my core.

I was grieving so deeply that I felt hollow inside, as though I was just my skeleton walking around, moving through the world but not really in it.

It wasn’t just my own loss I was feeling. Seeing my mum so devastated brought another kind of sadness – one that sat heavy on my chest. I couldn’t sleep properly for months. I went to my doctor for help, tried counselling, and read everything I could about grief, searching for something, anything, that might bring relief.

But nothing seemed to help. It was as though the world kept turning while I stood still, trying to find my way back to myself.

Our first Christmas without dad, we decided not to stay at home – it was too painful. We booked dinner at a hotel for seven of us. When we arrived, the table had been set for eight. That empty chair was a cruel reminder of who was missing. We all threw our coats over it, as if hiding the space might soften the ache.

Less than a year later, we were thrown into grief again when my beautiful sister passed away suddenly. Eleven months after losing dad, I lost my sister. And then, last year, my wonderful mum passed away in her sleep.

The three of them are now together, alongside my sister Lavina, who died as a baby in the 1960s.

Over time, I have come to understand that we all need space, support, and understanding as we learn to live alongside grief. That belief lies at the heart of Irish Hospice Foundation’s work, and it’s from that place that the idea for the Never Forgotten Night Walk was born.

The Never Forgotten Night Walk 2025 invites people across Ireland to come together at 5pm this evening to walk, jog, or run 5km in memory of loved ones who have died. Participants receive personalised t-shirts bearing the names of those they’re remembering, symbolising shared remembrance and healing.

The event supports the Irish Hospice Foundation, ensuring no one faces death or grief alone – every step and donation makes a difference. For me, walking is a form of healing. It’s a space where I can reflect, cry if I need to, smile at a memory, or simply feel close to those I’ve lost.

The Irish Hospice Foundation’s National Bereavement Support Line is a vital service. It offers comfort and understanding to people who are grieving – a compassionate voice at the other end of the phone when words are hard to find.

I often think back to those first months after my dad died, when I couldn’t sleep and didn’t know where to turn. Back then, I didn’t have a service like this – someone who would simply listen, who could help me make sense of what I was feeling.

That’s why I’m so proud that the Bereavement Support Line exists today. It helps people feel less alone in one of life’s loneliest experiences. I often think back to that night in 2015 when everything changed. If I could tell my younger self one thing, it would be this: You are not alone. There are others who understand, who care, and who will walk beside you.

While loss is inevitable, love never disappears. It lives on in our memories, our stories, and in the steps we take. This November, when we walk together under the night sky, we’ll carry those memories with us. We’ll walk for our dads, our mums, our sisters, our friends – for everyone we have loved and lost.

Grief doesn’t end with a funeral. It stays with us. Each step we take will be a tribute. A reminder that they are never forgotten.

Emma Rock is a fundraising officer at the Irish Hospice Foundation.