Good Mourning Grief

A blog about my adventures as a grief warrior

Tag: #celebration

Celebrating Here and After

June 9, 2024 /

My heart is full. That is what I said on a Sunday afternoon after I attended both a birthday party and a funeral in the same day.  It was a peculiar sensation of full circle to be celebrating two friends in such opposite ways.  I leaned into this feeling.

The first event was the birthday party. My friend arranged for thirty of her girlfriends to join her for brunch at the exquisite Palliser Hotel. She claimed it was her second last big party.  She wanted to share her gratitude and be a part of the festivities and told us she would not be at her next one.  She’d be dead. We laughed. You have to know her. She is full of life, an avid bookworm and far more energy than those half her age.  She has already planned her funeral including the inscription on her tombstone which will read, “The End.” She sent us home with a recipe card to fill in on one side “what makes you happy?” The other side of the card had her answers which included a restaurant budget, and at 80 she was enjoying retirement. On the top of her list was family -always.

I left the celebration to drive across town for the next party. This one, friends and family gathered at the picturesque Glencoe Golf and Country Club to say farewell. This party too had speeches and food and wine for a beautiful afternoon of remembering and honoring a man very much loved. It too had people speak of life and happiness and how fast it goes.  And because of life’s speed, to always put family first.  As did our friend with his life. A show of hands revealed that most of us in that room had received personal handwritten notes from him from time to time with words of hope and encouragement. We were asked to remember this characteristic of him and to share acts of kindness in our own ways as a tribute to him.

The day ended with Jon and I sitting on our patio reflecting on this day. I mentioned how odd it was of the commonalities of two very different reasons to gather and celebrate one’s life. Or was it?

I enjoyed the birthday party because my friend is alive, so I know she heard me tell her how lucky I am to be in her life.  I can hear her laugh and see her smile.  I can hug her with an expectation to see her again. Soon.

I enjoyed the funeral because my friends’ spirit is still very alive. Although not physically there, each person said they knew he was with us. It was a reminder that energy is distributed, and it never ends. And with that belief we can understand what was said, what was felt, our friend knows. He heard us honor him. Faith gives us the ability to rejoice in that which we shared; he still shares with us.

Somehow when I hang on to the important aspects of each of these commemorations, the love of family and the joy of having these people in my life, both events are fulfilling. They are similar, containing a gathering of stories, over food and wine with laughter and tears. Each one a moment in time of honoring and celebrating the expression of endless love. And that is what makes the heart so full.

The Highest of Bittersweet

November 6, 2022 /

We have been planning my daughter’s engagement for months. Every detail from décor to menu centered around her and her fiancé’s love of horror films, the reason the engagement party was held on Halloween night.  It will be her wedding day, next year.  Halloween is also the favorite holiday of her brother’s.

I had no idea as we planned, excited about each part, how this event would affect me. I thought I was good. It was about them. It was not about Zane. And yet, at the end of the night, I am in hysterics on the drive home, grief exploding inside me as I cried out how much I miss Zane. I gasped through my sobs, “this is the highest of bittersweet”. I was not prepared for this reaction in the least.

My husband, who gets and has been witness to my grief bursts firsthand, joked it being about the alcohol. (He knows the truth of grief; he lives it with me). And my retort was, there is always alcohol in our house, and I have not had this feeling other times when the same or more was consumed. Albeit I am sure it does not help; I cannot blame the entire episode on the fact I had ‘too much’. Sometimes a grief burst will happen in the morning, getting groceries with a coffee in hand. We don’t blame the coffee. Sometimes it happens in a park during a dog walk, we don’t blame the dog. No, I do believe that the triggers of grief are more soulful than what you are consuming or doing. Grief is sneaky. It waits in the corners of your life to come out, sometimes when you know it will, and sometimes it surprises you.

How do we prepare for these dreadful surprises? We are told when we are attending events that we know might trigger our grief, to have a plan b. Make sure you have an exit plan. Stay for a shorter time or don’t go at all. (My husband would add, don’t drink wine with jello shots!) But what do you do for those other events that these ideas can’t be used. How do I not attend the wedding of my daughter? How do I not attend the baby shower of a friend’s grandchild? I am still here.  These are the sweet moments of life I used to relish. They will still happen, and I want to be a part of them. They are also the moments that my grief uses against me. Reminding me that Zane will never have an engagement party to plan. He will never dress up for Halloween again. And I will never have a mother son dance at his wedding. These are the sharp bitter moments that the sweet moments remind me of. The irony is suffocating. All the work to learn to live with our grief and feel joy again is deflated in each sweet moment because grief reminds us that how we live is also bitter. Painfully bitter.

Maybe time will help.  I’m not sure about that. After all, it has been four years, but Halloween night, I ached, and I cried to the heaven’s as if it was the first night. Maybe, what will help, is just being aware of this reality. Maybe just knowing that yes, I will have sweet moments that I will not want to miss but with sweet moments there is a bitter side. Maybe acknowledging that, truly, deeply accepting this is how life now is. Maybe that will prepare me for the ascend to the highest of bittersweet moments. And perhaps, if I remind myself that Zane is still here, standing next to us during these moments, I can begin to enjoy them more and ache less.  With time and practice, maybe I can lessen the height of bittersweet.

Adopting Cultural Celebrations of the Dead

October 25, 2020 /

Not until I became a grief warrior did I discover how much western culture dismisses death.

The grace period seems to be about a year.  During that time you are expected to return to work and other obligations but there is a naïve acknowledgment of how hard life must be. There is also an outpouring of sympathy around every holiday.  Whispers of, “Oh this is her first Christmas, this is her first anniversary….” cards arrive in the mail box and friends drop by.  I am told that some who grieve are given less than a year and others no attention at all.  That is a whole other level of grief.  My heart hurts for those suffering alone.

When year two arrives, there is an expectation that, since we made it through year one, the rest of our time on earth without our loved ones is quite manageable.  Some have even suggested to me that by year two, “I should be over this now”.

Our culture does not like to acknowledge the ugly face of death.  Nor does it like to celebrate it.  In fact, we seem to do everything we can to bury our dead and move on quickly. This is accepted as normal bereavement behavior.  Our culture sucks.

Somewhere in my first year, I learned of Día de los Muertos, a day to honor our dead.  It is a Latin American celebration; an invitation to our deceased to join us from their spirit world for a night of song and food.  What was not to like about this idea?  I put out Zane’s favorite drink and a glass and gave a toast of cheer to him that night.  Later in the season, I met a friend of Zane’s who, from Mexico, said this is her family tradition.  She shared with me how and why they host this annual celebration and suggested I watch the Disney animated movie “Coco”. 

She said, “They nailed the representation of Día de los Muertos.  If you want a simple understanding of this holiday, watch the movie.”

Our family watched the movie.  I cried.  I suggest you watch it.  It encouraged me to do this each year.  So here we are.  The pumpkin carving begins. The décor of bats and witches brooms adorns porches across my community.  But inside, I have decorated my china hutch with orange and yellow flowers, candles and a couple sugar skulls. I have hung pictures of Zane and my other relatives who no longer live on this earth. I have called the family to join me for dinner on November 2nd to sit around the table and celebrate those who we miss.  I will serve their favorite foods; there will be wine and a Jameson shot (or two) and there will be laughter.  

I believe that part of our war with grief is that we are told to move on, get over it or push past it. Death makes people uncomfortable.  We need to create a culture for ourselves and others, where we are not only able to speak of the dead but to celebrate them and keep them an active part of our lives.

Dia de los Muertos is good mourning.

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