Grieving Room by Leanne Friesen

From the moment I opened Grieving Room, I felt as though I was entering a quietly lit room, one whose door had been left ajar, inviting me in—but also asking me to linger. Having lost my grandmother, someone whose presence was both anchor and story-keeper in my life, I was guarded about reading a “grief” book—but Leanne Friesen’s memoir-reflection felt different. It didn’t rush me through stages; it made space.

Friesen begins by reminding us that when someone we love dies, life is forever changed. More than that, she exposes how our culture often tries to shrink grief—to tidy it up or move it along—when what we truly need is room: room for unfinished goodbyes, shifting faith, and unexpected waves of memory and emotion.

That space felt deeply familiar. Grief isn’t just the absence of her voice or the scent of her kitchen—it’s the countless ways life keeps pointing back to her. Friesen’s “Room to…” chapters (Room to Be Uncertain, Room for Rituals, Room for Hard Holidays) helped me revisit those memories with gentleness instead of guilt.

Her section on Imperfect Goodbyes resonated most. I didn’t get the farewell I hoped for, but Friesen gives permission to sit with the “if onlys” and “remember whens” without forcing ourselves toward quick healing. That permission was a balm.

She also challenges the empty comfort of phrases like “time heals all wounds” or “she’s in a better place,” encouraging instead the gift of presence and acknowledgment—something I longed for after my grandma’s passing.

Though Friesen writes from her experience of losing a sister, the universal themes of space, memory, ritual, and faith easily reach those grieving a grandparent. The closing “Reflections, Practices, and Prayers” offer not solutions, but invitations—to pause, name, lament, and gather—making the book both grounding and compassionate.

Why It Mattered to Me

In my own grief, these were some of the ways Grieving Room engaged me:

• It validated the slow, non-linear nature of grief. One moment I’m crying remembering her laughter; the next I’m laughing remembering her stubborn way of rearranging the living room just one more time. Friesen calls this the “roller coaster.”

• It helped me see ritual (family dinners, holiday traditions, little handwritten notes) as space-making for memory rather than just repetition.

• It invited me to integrate my shifting faith—not by forcing neat theological answers, but by offering room for doubt, for “why,” for “how do I keep living now?”

• It reminded me that grief is relational—not just the loss of her, but the change in me, and the change in how I relate to the world, to my parent(s), to the legacy she left.

  
  

A Few Considerations

• If you’re looking for a quick “how to move on from grief” manual, this isn’t that. Friesen does not promise closure or that one day you’ll “be normal again.” Instead, she says: you’ll change, and that’s okay.

• Because her own story is of a sibling loss and she writes as a pastor, some references carry a context of ministry and theology; if you’re coming purely from a secular viewpoint you might skim some chapters differently or extract what applies.

For anyone who has lost someone dear and navigating the “what now?” of life without them—Grieving Room is a compassionate, wise, and hopeful companion. It offers the (often underrated) gift of permission—permission to grieve without hurry, to remember without guilt, to feel without apology, to live changed without being broken.

If I were to give it a rating, I’d say 4.5 out of 5 stars. It deepened my own memory of my grandma while also equipping me to step forward. And perhaps that’s exactly what grief-work needs: not to leave the room, but to learn how to live in it.