The Quiet Truth Benedict Cumberbatch Articulated About Loss

I write a lot about grief here, primarily because it has been an overwhelming and constant companion throughout this year. It is a feeling that often threatens to consume everything else.
Recently, I came across a powerful clip on Instagram: Benedict Cumberbatch reading a letter that perfectly articulated a truth that has been quietly shaping my perspective.

The core message that resonated with me is simple yet profound: Grief and love are inextricably intertwined. If we love, we must grieve.
I will forever grieve the loss of Alex. But this grief is not a punishment; it is the absolute, irrefutable evidence of the profound connection we shared. It is not lost on me how incredibly lucky I am to love him as deeply as I do.

My love for Alex, and for the people in my life, is and has always been unconditional. I don’t love based on what someone can do for me or what they can provide. I love them simply for who they are—no strings attached, no mental scale weighing my contributions against theirs. When I do something for those I love, I do it because I love them, end of story.

Because my love for Alex is unconditional and enduring, my grief for him is equally permanent.

While I accept this reality, I refuse to let grief become my sole definition. I try every day to consciously pivot and remember all the things I still have to be grateful for.

My therapist recently prompted me to list these blessings, and the abundance is staggering:

• I still have a beautiful, amazing son here to love and cherish.
• I have a family who loves me just as unconditionally as I love them. They possess an almost intuitive sense of when I am struggling, offering precisely the right words at the perfect moment.
• I have a wonderful job at an amazing company.

The other morning, this gratitude was thrown into sharp relief. I woke myself up from a truly awful dream—screaming to Alex, consumed by the crushing weight of missing him, loving him, and feeling an unbearable sense of apology. The pressure on my chest was as heavy and real as when I’m awake. I was in tears, still upset from the nightmare. Then I looked at my phone and saw a text from my family.

I found myself crying for multiple, complex reasons. Yes, I miss Alex, but I was also overwhelmed by the realization that I am surrounded by amazing people I still love unconditionally, who love me unconditionally in return.

To have a connection with people I can love this deeply, and who reciprocate that love in kind, is a gift I will never take for granted. Not everyone has this in their lives, and I am eternally grateful and incredibly lucky.

This realization brought me back to the initial truth:
Grief is the price we pay for loving as deeply as we do.

As much as it hurts to grieve, the pain is a constant, tangible reminder of the gift of love itself. It is the echo of a profound connection, and a beautiful testament to how lucky we are to love and to be loved.