This is a work in progress right now (12-29-24) I started writing it at the same time I started the piece about friendships “expiring” and then set it aside when I hit the conclusion and started thinking about friendships and growing apart. It almost seems at odds with that piece to me – which encourages letting go of relationships that are no longer contributing to our mental well being.
It’s here for now for me to stew on a bit and for those that know the link to read… it may eventually make it to a broader audience. Part of me feels it may be insulting to some people – to break such a sensitive topic down into something academic. The anniversary of my cousin’s death is coming up in a few months… so it remains on my mind.
If you read this and know how to reach me, feel free to reach out with your comments.
*Everyone processes grief differently. This is a personal exploration of how I came to understand my own experiences with loss – not through emotional enlightenment or spiritual guidance, but through exploring evolutionary psychology theories about why we grieve. Much of what follows draws from theories rather than proven facts – ideas about how grief might have served our ancestors that help explain our modern experiences. If you're looking for guidance on how to deal with grief, this isn't it. But if, like me, you've ever wondered why some losses hit harder than others, or why grief sometimes seems to defy logic, maybe my exploration of these ideas will have some value to you.*
The wave came out of nowhere and crashed hard. Outwardly, I was at a post-funeral lunch for my cousin, standing at the bar, of all places, while speaking to my cousin's son-in-law. Internally, I was drowning—my voice constricting, tears bursting forth without warning. My ship had been abruptly capsized, and my brain suddenly felt starved for oxygen. While my initial reaction was a sense of horror that the guy I was talking to was witnessing me going under in real time, it quickly turned to a desperate need to find air.
I had lost my father when I was six and my brother when I was fifteen. I felt I was “effective” at working through grief, yet here I was in my fifties, undone by my cousin's passing. Up to that moment I had mostly maintained my composure. But at that point and for months afterward, even speaking his name would trigger fresh waves of emotion that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than conscious thought and would leave me silenced by a tightening in my throat.
The unexpected, crippling sensation of this loss nagged at me. I hadn't felt this way before. I found myself digging into research about grief's evolutionary purpose, trying to understand why some losses cut deeper than others, why the “closer” a relationship is biologically doesn't necessarily mean stronger grief. I needed understanding to move forward. This is how I process and work through things—I analyze them. If I can understand them, I can manage them. What I discovered in evolutionary psychology theories was fascinating (ok, maybe only to me...) and suggests that what I have always considered an irrational emotion might have a deeper purpose.
It took me nearly a year to understand why this particular loss hit so differently. Time itself seems to have been a part of the answer—my cousin had stepped in as a source of paternal support after my dad's death, becoming one of the contributing architects of my life for nearly fifty years. He was a source of wisdom, a role model, and one of those anchor points we all have in our lives. But there was something deeper, something almost primitive in my brain's response that I could not “override” no matter what I tried. This led me to explore how our tribal instincts might evaluate the true weight of loss.
The absurdity isn't in the grieving itself, but in how it defies our conscious expectations of who and what we'll grieve most deeply. Our brains have not fundamentally changed in hundreds of thousands of years. We are wired for small social groups or tribes. But I couldn't understand how something so debilitating could be an evolutionary benefit. Theories suggest there might be a logic to it, one that seems to care nothing for social conventions about which losses we think should hit hardest. Instead, these theories propose it operates on ancient understandings of survival contributions, tribal wisdom, and accumulated trust. Biologically, we are survival machines first and foremost, and some researchers suggest grief might be a critical part of that machinery.
It's fairly widely accepted that our ancestors lived in a world where every loss could mean the difference between survival and extinction. When a tribe lost a member, they didn't just lose an emotional connection—they lost caregivers, hunting skills, gathered knowledge, tribal memory, and protection. The loss of an elder might have meant losing decades of accumulated wisdom about which plants could heal and which could kill. The loss of a strong adult meant one less defender against rival tribes or predators. Even the loss of a child represented, at its most basic, a potentially devastating investment of tribal resources that would never be recovered and in a time when infant mortality was high, it meant the loss of a future tribe contributor. In this context, some theorists suggest grief might have evolved beyond just an emotional response into a critical tribal survival mechanism serving multiple purposes.
One theory suggests that grief's visible signs—tears, anguish, being unable to process—might have served to broadcast vulnerability to the rest of the tribe. These outward manifestations could have signaled that resources needed to be redistributed, roles reassigned, and the grieving member supported. In a world where every member's survival contributed to the group's survival, this social signaling would have been critical. Losing a hunter, for example, might have meant a reduced food supply which would affect the whole tribe. Without the social signaling, this missing role might initially go unfilled.
Other evolutionary theories suggest grief might have served an even deeper purpose. The pain of loss could have “taught” us to protect our important relationships. Like physical pain teaches us to avoid fire or sharp objects, the pain of grief might have encouraged us to preserve and protect the relationships crucial to our survival. This might explain why we often grieve more intensely for those who provided practical support, knowledge, or protection—our ancient instincts might recognize their contributions to our survival, even if we don't consciously realize it.
Beyond this protective function, some researchers have proposed that grief might force a necessary rewiring of both individual and group dynamics. When a tribe lost a hunter, a healer, or a protector, their collective survival required more than just emotional processing—it meant restructuring roles, redistributing responsibilities, and adapting to function without that member's unique contributions. The physical and emotional weight of grief might have essentially held people in place until these crucial adaptations could occur. Like a broken bone needs time to heal properly, the theory proposes that our minds might need time to rebuild their understanding of how to survive in a world without that person's skills, knowledge, and support. The depth of our grief might reflect the complexity of what must be rebuilt.
When well-meaning friends encourage us to “get out and do things” after a loss, they might be unknowingly tapping into what has been suggested was our primitive need to adapt and form new connections. Every new interaction, every activity we engage in, every moment of shared experience might help our ancient mind reconstruct the support systems that loss has damaged. This takes time—sometimes years—and that's perfectly natural. We're not just “keeping busy” or “getting our mind off things”—we might be actively reweaving our survival network, just as our ancestors potentially did.
This theoretical framework might help explain why grief often defies our expectations about which losses should hit hardest. Our tribal cognition might not be counting blood relations or social obligations—it could be evaluating the true survival cost of the loss. A distant friend who provided unique wisdom might register as a greater loss than a closer relative whose role could be filled by others. A longtime companion who offered constant support might be grieved more deeply than someone we were “supposed” to be closer to. What the theories say mattered to our ancient instincts isn't the social relationship but the practical value that person added to our survival equation.
I see evidence of this primitive calculation when I examine my own experiences with loss. At six years old, my father's death was processed by a brain that developmental psychology suggests hadn't yet fully evolved the neural networks to assess long-term social value. My mother was my primary caregiver, the immediate source of survival resources. My father, who worked long hours, might have registered in my primitive brain more as an abstract figure than a daily survival necessity. I've often said to people “I really didn't understand my father's loss until many years later.” This aligns with what developmental psychologists have observed about how children process loss.
My brother's death when I was fifteen coincided with what neuroscience tells us is a significant period of brain development. Research suggests the teenage brain undergoes changes that promote independence and the formation of bonds outside the immediate family. It wasn't until a decade later, with a fully developed adult brain, that I could process the true weight of that loss and inexplicably burst into tears as I drove past the cemetery where he is buried. Looking back, I can see how my teenage self almost actively resisted grieving—something that seemed strange until understanding this developmental context.
My cousin's death struck so differently because my brain had nearly fifty years of evidence of his contributions to my well-being. He had stepped into the role of a paternal figure, helping me navigate life until maturity and imparting his skills, wisdom, and personal moral guideposts. Every piece of wisdom shared, every problem solved together, every moment of support might have been logged as evidence of his importance to my survival. When he passed, these theories suggest my ancient brain wasn't just registering the loss of a relative—it might have been experiencing the loss of decades of accumulated tribal wisdom, support, and trust. When I suddenly became overwhelmed by grief mid-sentence, it might not have been an “irrational” response for the moment—it could have been my primitive brain suddenly recognizing the full magnitude of what was lost.
Understanding this evolutionary framework doesn't diminish the pain of loss – understanding why a bone breaks doesn't make it hurt less, but it helps explain why our grief sometimes seems to defy logic—when in fact, it might be following a much older, deeper kind of logic. Our world has become more sophisticated and modern, but our brains are still operating on ancient programming. It's as if our minds are being forced to navigate an internet-connected world with the mental equivalent of smoke signals and Morse code.
While this may take something deeply personal and make it sound overly clinical, it was looking back at these losses through the lens of evolutionary psychology that has finally helped me make sense of something I have long felt made none. If we step outside the theoretical view into personal experience, it all seems to fit. The deeper our connection to the person, the deeper our grief at their loss. What's important is that the connection isn't determined by social norms, blood lines, or familiarity. It's a bond built on companionship and contributions to our lives.
These powerful emotions that always seemed to defy logic—the unexpected tears, the overwhelming waves of grief, the seemingly irrational intensity of some losses over others—might not be a debilitating emotional “survival handicap.” They could be part of an ancient, sophisticated system that recognizes just how much we need each other to survive. In a world that often celebrates independence, grief seems to remind us of a deeper truth our primitive brains have never forgotten: we are tribal creatures, and our bonds with others feel as crucial to our survival today as they were countless generations ago.