How to Cope with Grief and Loss as a Migrant
- Brainz Magazine
- Oct 27
- 7 min read
Written by Rudo Tsvakai Maritsa, Director
Rudo Maritsa is the heart and soul behind Everlight Stories, a service dedicated to preserving memories of your deceased loved ones and ensuring each narrative is a true reflection of their legacy. Rudo is a speaker on navigating grief, bringing a message of hope and healing through the preservation of memories.
Grief has no borders, yet it is deeply shaped by where we stand when it finds us. For many migrants, loss is not confined to death alone. It is the quiet ache of distance, the disconnection from familiar rituals, and the longing for a home that no longer feels within reach. Migration brings courage and new beginnings, but it also carries invisible goodbyes to people, places, and parts of ourselves we didn’t know we’d lose. When grief strikes far from home, it can feel as though sorrow has no witness, no community that speaks your language of mourning, no neighbour who understands the stories behind your tears. The world keeps moving while your heart lingers elsewhere, caught between the life you left and the one you’re still learning to live.
This article explores how migrants can navigate that delicate space, finding ways to honour their grief, rebuild belonging, and carry love across oceans. Because even in unfamiliar soil, remembrance can still take root.
Migration is often celebrated as a story of courage, opportunity, and new beginnings. Yet beneath the triumphs of starting over lies a quieter, often invisible emotion, grief. For many migrants, loss is not limited to death. It is the ache of distance, the disconnection from familiar roots, the loss of identity while learning to belong in a new culture. It is mourning without witnesses, grieving in a place where no one knows the depth of your memories, your language of sorrow, or the people who shaped you. As a migrant, the loss is more than loved ones, it is the loss of community, friends, mentors, neighbours, and teachers, along with the social norms and traditions that once gave life meaning.
These feelings are often compounded by unsupportive relatives who question the decision to leave, or by the rising anti-immigrant sentiment that makes belonging feel even harder. As Dr Pauline Baleta of Vision Psychology Brisbane observes, “People often see migration as a journey of opportunity and resilience, yet beneath it lies the grief of all that has been left behind.” Migrants grieve not only people but also places, identities, and parts of themselves that once defined who they were, a sorrow rarely named or understood.
The evolving terrain of belonging
Leaving one’s home country means leaving behind the comfort of shared language, familiar rituals, and people who understand your history without explanation. In a new land, even the simple act of remembering can feel lonely. There is no neighbour who knows your grandmother’s laughter, no community that recognises the song your father used to hum on his way home from work. In one’s homeland, grief is shared.
Neighbours bring food, relatives gather, songs are sung, and stories of the departed are told with tenderness. Even silence carries meaning, a collective stillness that holds the weight of love and loss.
For migrants, however, grief often unfolds in isolation. Funerals are watched through phone screens, memorials happen in different time zones, and goodbyes are whispered to the wind rather than to a gathered crowd. Even when the rare chance to return home arises, mourning feels rushed, shaped by the urgency of others to move through the rituals quickly. Flights must be booked, work must be arranged, and bags must be packed.
You arrive barely in time to stand at the graveside, breathless from the journey, holding back tears because there is no time to pause. Before the heart catches up to the loss, it’s already time to leave again. The world does not stop because you are grieving. Life demands a return to normalcy, to work, responsibilities, and resilience, even when the soul is still raw. The rituals that once provided comfort, the prayers, songs, or shared silences, feel out of reach, leaving grief suspended between two worlds.
Invisible losses no one talks about
Psychologist Dr Pauline Boss coined the term ambiguous loss to describe mourning that lacks closure, when someone or something is gone but not entirely absent. Migrants live with this ambiguity daily. It’s the ache of not being there when parents grow old, of missing milestones like weddings and birthdays, and of the smell of your childhood kitchen. It’s the slow realisation that you’re grieving a version of yourself that belonged fully somewhere before the accent changed, before assimilation reshaped your identity. Ambiguous loss is constant in migration. What was once familiar becomes foreign, and what once defined you begins to fade. Identity must be rebuilt from fragments, and parts that no longer fit are quietly tucked away or completely erased.
While the world applauds your bravery and success, it seldom sees the invisible labour behind it, the mourning of what was lost without ceremony, and the quiet reconstruction of self that happens just to belong. The mother who once parented in the warmth of an extended family now does so in solitude. The son who once cared for ageing parents now watches their decline through video calls. The migrant heart lives in two worlds, anchored to both, fully belonging to neither.
When grief goes unseen
Grief that is not recognised or understood can become disenfranchised, the kind of sorrow that society fails to validate. Migrants often experience this invisibility when their pain doesn’t fit the cultural norms of their host country. Expressions of grief may be perceived as “too emotional,” or met with well-meaning but dismissive phrases like “Stay strong,” or “You’ll make new memories.” Yet such responses erase the depth of what has been lost, not just a person, but an entire world of belonging. Without communal support, grief can become internalised, carried silently, and expressed only in private spaces like the kitchen or during sleepless nights. But private grief longs for witnesses. It seeks recognition, understanding, and compassion.
The healing power of storytelling
Storytelling is one of the most powerful ways to bridge the distance between worlds. When migrants share their stories of loss, love, and resilience, they reclaim the parts of themselves that geography cannot erase. Writing, recording, or speaking about a loved one transforms grief into legacy. It gives shape to pain and honours the people and places left behind. Research shows that narrative expression helps people process grief by finding meaning in it. For migrants, storytelling builds continuity, a bridge between what was and what is. It helps restore connection to roots while affirming the new chapters being written. At Everlight Stories, we often witness how telling a story brings healing, how words can turn ache into remembrance, and remembrance into peace.
When grief has no witness, storytelling becomes one.
Creating new rituals in a new land
Rituals of remembrance need not be grand to be meaningful. Lighting a candle, cooking a family recipe, or planting a tree can root memory in new soil. Such acts anchor the migrant heart, connecting it to both past and present. Some families have begun creating memory books or keepsake projects that blend heritage with new experiences, gentle reminders that “Even far from home, our love still lives here.” By honouring grief through creativity, community, and storytelling, migrants can transform sorrow into connection, keeping their stories alive in spaces that might otherwise forget them. If you’d like to begin crafting your loved one’s story, visit our website to start your journey of remembrance.
Building culturally sensitive support systems
For professionals and organisations supporting migrant communities, understanding cultural grief is essential. Mourning looks different across cultures, in language, ritual, and expression, and acknowledging these differences can make healing possible.
Offering inclusive spaces for storytelling, remembrance, and community connection allows migrants to process loss authentically. At Everlight Stories, we create such spaces through our Everlight Gatherings. Check our Facebook and Instagram pages for the next event and follow us for updates. Grief cannot be standardised. It must be honoured in the context of each person’s roots and beliefs. When we create spaces that welcome diverse forms of mourning, we give permission for people to grieve fully, without apology, without translation.
Finding witnesses in new places
Healing begins when grief finds a witness. This might mean joining cultural associations, faith-based groups, or community gatherings where shared experiences are understood. It may also mean connecting with others through storytelling circles or creative workshops that honour heritage. When others listen with empathy, they become companions on the road to healing, proof that even in a foreign land, sorrow can be shared, and compassion can still bloom.
Conclusion: Carrying love across oceans
Migration is an act of courage, but courage does not erase pain. For many migrants, grief is a quiet companion that walks beside them as they rebuild their lives in unfamiliar places. Yet within that grief lies strength, the ability to carry love, memory, and legacy across oceans. To mourn in a place that does not know your story is to plant seeds of remembrance in unfamiliar soil. In time, those stories take root, quietly reminding us that home is not always a place. It is the love we carry forward, wherever life may lead. In fact, research increasingly shows that narrative expression, writing, recording, or sharing personal experiences, supports healing by helping people make sense of their grief. For migrants, it becomes a way to build continuity, a bridge between what was and what is.
Read more from Rudo Tsvakai Maritsa
Rudo Tsvakai Maritsa, Director
Rudo Maritsa transformed her personal loss into a powerful mission to help others preserve the memories of their loved ones through beautifully crafted narrative books. Rudo began her journey after a gut-wrenching experience of losing her 13-year-old son to brain cancer. This profound and life-changing experience ignited a passion for preserving memories, helping others find peace and connection in the enduring stories of those who are dear to their hearts. As Director of Everlight Stories, Rudo is on a mission to ensure the legacies of loved ones continue to inspire and comfort future generations. At Everlight Stories, their motto is "Let's keep the light of our memories shining bright!"
