Recently, a 73-year-old journalist reached out with a question I hear often in my work as a geropsychologist, but rarely see reflected in our culture: what do we do with the grief that comes with aging?
She told me she’s known grief in the ways we’re used to naming—losing a sister in young adulthood, an infant, parents and grandparents. But what brought her to me wasn’t a death. It was a pair of rollerblades.
“When I finally donated my rollerblades, knowing I’d never use them again,” she said, “I knew I was letting go of a lot more than those skates, and it hit me hard. Like, really hard.”
Because that’s the kind of loss that often goes unnoticed. In later life, grief can be about what ends: a body that no longer moves the way it used to, a role you didn’t realize anchored your identity, a freedom you once took for granted. And in an ageist society that prefers “staying young” narratives, these losses aren’t always witnessed or taken seriously. The result can be disenfranchised grief—grief that goes unacknowledged, dismissed, or minimized because the loss doesn’t fit the kinds of grief our culture knows how to recognize.
Here are the questions she asked me—and my answers about the losses and grief that are common in aging, but too often overlooked.
1)I wonder if we are hesitant to openly talk about the grief associated with aging? Is there pressure to keep that to ourselves?
I suspect it’s less that we’re hesitant to discuss loss and grief associated with later life transitions and more that people going through these experiences aren’t given meaningful opportunities to discuss them—or aren’t fully listened to when they do. We live in an ageist society that deems the experiences of older people as irrelevant and unimportant, one obsessed with ways to stave off aging. When we’re asked to really look at all aspects of the aging experience—the pain and the joy—as a society, we’re out of practice.
But grief, loss, and transitions need to be witnessed. They need to be spoken and received with care. This is precisely why it’s so important that you’re writing this article. You’re offering something our culture rarely provides: permission to acknowledge the profound emotional complexity of growing older, and validation that these experiences deserve to be seen and honored.
2)What have your experiences been related to aging-related loss and grief with those you’ve worked with?
The grief that accompanies aging-related transitions is profound and layered. I’ve witnessed how losses that might seem straightforward from the outside carry deep symbolic weight for the person experiencing them—just like when you gave up your rollerblades.
Stopping Driving
Take stopping driving, for example. Even for someone who didn’t drive frequently, the loss often extends far beyond transportation itself. Driving represents freedom, access, autonomy, and connection to community. When that ends, it marks a clear shift—a moment when dependence on others can no longer be avoided. Suddenly, you’re coordinating with someone else’s schedule, asking for rides rather than offering them, relating to loved ones in fundamentally different ways. This can stir fears of being burdensome and of losing touch with the life you’ve built.
Domino Effect of Losses
And these losses rarely occur in isolation. Stopping driving often triggers a cascade of secondary losses—no longer attending choir practice or volunteer work, missing your weekly trip to the bank or grocery store, losing the small but meaningful rhythms that kept you woven into your community. There’s often a domino effect.
Like giving up the rollerblades: I imagine you might be giving up the way the wind feels on your skin when you’re at a speedy pace or the sense of weightlessness when you’re in motion. There may be no other place to capture this sweet sensation in your life, and so you’re not only saying goodbye to rollerblades—you’re saying goodbye to these cherished moments.
Role Changes
Role changes carry their own grief as well. Perhaps you’ve been a caregiver for years, and when that person dies, you’ve lost not only them but also your identity as helper and companion—suddenly there’s a profound vacancy. Or maybe you’ve always been the family’s financial provider, and now on a fixed income with mounting medical bills, you can no longer contribute in that way. The loss of being able to give can be as painful as any material loss.
Physical Changes
Physical changes reshape lives too. Someone who lived most of their life in good health develops a condition that keeps them closer to home—needing to stay near the bathroom or requiring a daily place to rest. Their social world becomes smaller, travel becomes difficult or impossible, and isolation can set in.
Losses Related to Physical Intimacy
And then there are the intimate losses that people rarely discuss openly. A couple who once had a vibrant physically intimate relationship finds that a health condition has diminished libido, and the relationship begins to feel more platonic. For many people, this represents a significant loss of a form of connection and expression that was deeply meaningful.
What strikes me most is how these transitions are often unwitnessed. People navigate these profound losses largely alone, without the cultural rituals or communal acknowledgment we offer for other forms of grief.
3) What are some suggestions about ways to proactively and positively move through this very specific grief?
Acknowledge that this is grief—and that it’s hard.
These transitions mark real losses that deserve to be named and felt. At the same time, there are still ways to build a life worth living, even amidst profound loss.
Recognize that loss and growth can coexist.
When most people think about aging, they focus on physical losses, which are undeniably significant. At the same time, there can be psychological, spiritual, and social gains. Ram Dass, the American psychologist turned spiritual teacher, described this as a shift in identity—from the active roles we’ve fulfilled throughout our lives (parent, teacher, provider, athlete, rollerblader) to something deeper, something connected to a spiritual essence he called “loving awareness.” Much of my work as a geropsychologist involves helping people navigate these shifts—from roles and physical identity to something more deeply connected to self and others.
Find your community.
Grief needs to be witnessed—whether it’s the loss of a loved one, the loss of physical function, or saying good-bye to rollerblading. Your writing about the grief that arose when saying goodbye to your rollerblades is a way to have that grief witnessed and held. This matters profoundly.
I encourage people navigating these transitions to connect with others going through similar experiences. There’s a saying that healing happens in community, and I’ve seen this truth play out countless times. Whether it’s a caregiver support group, a choir, or an affinity group related to a specific illness, community serves multiple functions. It reminds you that you’re not alone. It allows you to draw on others’ strength when you’re feeling vulnerable. And it distributes the weight of grief so you don’t have to carry it all by yourself.
Draw on your personal resilience.
As we age and mature, we develop resilience through lived experience. Recognizing our personal strength helps us reframe accumulated life experiences as sources of wisdom rather than burdens. In therapy, I help people do this by asking them to reflect on times they persevered through hardship. This process helps them see the moments when they were resilient, which reminds them that they have the tools and ability to move through this difficult time as well.
Consider what new possibilities are available.
Often when we experience a loss, there’s a vacancy left behind. When people are ready, I encourage them to think mindfully about how they’d like to fill that space. What new paths and possibilities are available now? I’ve worked with people who are bedbound, quadriplegic after a terrible accident, navigating complex medical problems that make leaving home almost impossible. The goal becomes not about regaining function, but about building a life worth living now. What new possibilities exist? Online connection, mentoring others with similar experiences, deepening relationships in new ways—the options are there when we’re ready to see them.
Clarify what truly matters.
There’s a phenomenon that happens with aging: we tend to become clearer about what’s really important—how we spend our time, which friendships to deepen, discernment to identify what deserves our limited energy. In therapy, I encourage people to reflect on and clarify what’s truly meaningful to them. I like to say that aging doesn’t narrow life, it refines it. This clarity becomes especially important when we have less energy to do everything we once did. So we ask: what’s most important and meaningful now?
Savor what is.
Finally, I encourage people to notice what makes their life worth living right now. What moments call for savoring? Often it’s about slowing down and tuning in—allowing ourselves to be present for the beauty that’s right in front of us. For me, it might be noticing a new leaf bud on an indoor plant or feeling awe that something as delicate as daffodils and tulips can endure a harsh winter and emerge again in Spring.
4) And finally, any thoughts or insights you’d like to share?
I also want to say this: the grief you’re feeling about aging-related losses is real and valid. It doesn’t mean you’re ungrateful for your life or that you’ve lost perspective. You can hold both gratitude for what you have and grief for what you’ve lost. Both can be true at the same time.
And to those who have older loved ones navigating these losses: your presence matters. Simply bearing witness to someone’s grief—listening without trying to fix or minimize it—is one of the most profound gifts you can offer. We need a culture that makes space for the full emotional landscape of aging, one that honors both the losses and the possibilities that come with growing older.
For anyone who is grieving transitions and losses and struggling to move through them: therapy can be incredibly helpful in facilitating grief and supporting you in building a life worth living. Because, there’s no expiration date on healing, transformation, and growth.
This blog post is based on questions posed by Rebecca Gummere in preparation for an article that she is writing. I’m looking forward to sharing her article with you.
