You think you are doing okay. Maybe you even had a good day. And then you walk past someone wearing the same perfume your mother used to wear, and the grief hits you so hard and so fast that you cannot breathe. You are standing in the middle of a department store, completely falling apart, and the people around you have no idea that your entire world just collapsed because of a scent.
These are grief triggers — the unexpected, often bizarre ambushes that no one warns you about after losing someone to cancer. They are not the triggers you might expect, like visiting the cemetery or looking at old photos. Those you can prepare for. The ones that truly knock you sideways are the ones that come out of nowhere, disguised as ordinary moments, and detonate without warning.
A commercial for a cancer medication on television. The sound of a hospital intercom in a medical drama. Driving past the exit you used to take to their house. The specific weight of a phone in your hand when it does not ring anymore. A food they loved, sitting on a shelf in the grocery store. The way the light falls through a window in the late afternoon, the same way it used to fall in their hospital room. These triggers do not announce themselves. They simply arrive, and they bring with them a wave of grief so acute that it feels like the loss just happened, even if months or years have passed.
This is not a setback. This is not regression. This is simply how grief works in a body that loved someone. Your brain has stored thousands of sensory memories connected to the person you lost — sights, sounds, smells, textures, tastes — and when you encounter one of them unexpectedly, the emotional memory attached to it fires before your conscious mind can catch up. You are not falling apart. Your nervous system is remembering.
Some triggers are tied specifically to the cancer experience. The smell of hand sanitizer can transport you back to the oncology ward. The sight of someone with a bald head can make your chest tighten. Medical waiting rooms — for any reason, even a routine checkup — can send your heart rate through the roof. These are not irrational responses. They are your body remembering a time of sustained trauma, and they are remarkably common among people who have lost someone to cancer.
You cannot prevent triggers, but you can learn to navigate them. When a wave hits, try to ground yourself in the present. Feel your feet on the floor. Notice five things you can see. Breathe slowly. Remind yourself: I am safe right now. This is a memory, not a current emergency. And then, when the wave passes — because it will pass — be gentle with yourself. You may need to sit in your car for a few minutes. You may need to cancel your plans for the evening. You may need to call someone and say, "I got hit with a grief wave and I need to talk."
Over time, some triggers may soften. The perfume might eventually make you smile before it makes you cry. The drive past their exit might become bittersweet instead of devastating. But some triggers may remain sharp for years, and that is okay too. They are proof that your love has not faded. They are your heart's way of saying, "This person mattered to me. I have not forgotten. I will never forget."
You are not going crazy. You are grieving. And grief does not respect calendars, schedules, or the expectation that you should be "better by now."