Personal remote loss

Saturday was my daughter's first communion. Although we're not intensely "big R" religious, we had a small family gathering at our house after the Mass. While my mother-in-law was at our home, and after the cake, etc was finished, we got a message from my husband's cousin.

This wouldn't be odd except for the fact that we never hear from this cousin. Long story short, we eventually touched base with this cousin and my mother-in-law got some bad news. Her brother had died earlier that day.

A day that started as a happy occasion was now clouded by a very complicated relationship and a death. My mother-in-law wasn't close with her brother, and it was not altogether a surprise that he died. But, it was a death just the same.

A personal loss for my MIL, but a remote one. A complicated loss.

Those of us around her readied ourselves to be there for her in her grief.
And it didn't really come. But it may.

And like the relationship, I expect that the grief may be messy: personal, yet distant or remote.

Grief work

I wish I could give everyone I interact with some very simple homework. Go home, look in the mirror, and talk to yourself about death. Your own mortality; the sadness, anger, or confusion you may feel; your belief structure around what happens after death.

For the record, I need to complete this homework as well. And its not the type of homework that you complete once, hand in, and get an A...

Instead it is the type of homework that needs to be re-tested every week. The type of work that changes depending on your personal circumstance. The type of work that sometimes may seem perfectly simple, laughable really. On other days, it is the type of work that will be excruciating. 

But we need to do it. It's important. 

Cemetaries

My husband, daughter and I were driving somewhere the other day and we passed a cemetery. Every time we pass a graveyard, I recall with a smile the very first time we explained one's purpose to my daughter...

I think Caton would have been about 3 and a half or 4 at the time. Her pépé (grandfather) had died when she was almost 2, but she clearly didn't recall anything about that. So we were driving past one and she asked what the big space was as we passed by. I responded by saying it was a cemetery and that it was where dead bodies are buried. I remember vividly that her eyes got wide and that she repeated me. And then we didn't speak about it further. 

A few days later, we passed another cemetery and all of a sudden, she got very excited and squealed with excitement something to the effect of 'look mama, there's dead bodies there". 

I remember bursting out laughing. I think i was mortified at the time, thinking that this was somehow gong to scar her... 

Fast forward to this past week. We passed a beautiful cemetery, and I said something about it. My husband actually teased me and said I was being morbid. But then, my daughter commented that she also thought it looked beautiful. We then continued on with a conversation about how sad it was that the brick wall around part of the graveyard seemed to have been vandalized and Caton indicated she was going to fix it someday. 

Lesson: Monkey see, monkey do. In order to change society's issues with death, we need to attack in very practical ways. And the best way to do this is by modelling the behaviour. 

Say the words death around children. Speak about different people's beliefs structures when you pass by a funeral procession. Discuss your own funeral or celebration wishes. 

Have. the. conversations. 

RIP Chewbacca

A few years ago I wrote an article for a fundraising publication. In the article, I explored the feelings that can arise when a celebrity dies. Robin Williams had just died at the time, and I found that profoundly sad.

Yesterday the world found out about another sad celeb death: Peter Mayhew. 

And today, on May the 4th (if you don't know why this is relevant, please don't tell me - I'm not a deranged fan, but definitely enjoy and respect the Star Wars universe - I may have to sit you down and force you to watch them in succession), I'm thinking about the impact his character Chewbacca had on millions of people. 

What a legacy to leave behind: A much-beloved character and the ultimate in best-friend characters. 

Chewbacca didn't say much... ok, he didn't say anything that wasn't a wookie growl/howl, but he had an impact all the same. Is that the definition of a life well-lived? The general public never knew Peter as Peter, and likely had never even heard his voice. But he was loved for what he did, for what he created. 

Many people think that grief is a byproduct of love. Is sadness then about the love for the person who has died, or for the legacy of what the person made us feel? 

No matter the reason, I'm sad the the actor who played Chewie is no longer living. RIP to a great actor, who did it all in a giant hairy costume. 

Taboo

In my role as a fundraiser, I tend to have a lot of conversations over meals or coffee. 

This past week was no exception. I had a lovely lunch with a donor, an internal faculty member and champion, and two students. I always feel incredibly lucky to step away from the office, from email, from daily tasks, in order to facilitate these conversations. 

At the end of this week's lunch my academic colleague was asking about my trip a few weeks ago. I mentioned that I had been at a conference, and she then asked a few more questions and I ended up describing my presentation to her. 

Her response was very encouraging to me. She was incredibly inquisitive, and genuinely interested in what I had to say. She asked many questions about how I 'got into' death and grief, and listened intently as I described my side-passion. The two young students were noticeably silent. 

I tried to engage them both in the conversation, mentioning that I was likely around their age when I first took a thanatology course. To no avail. 

But I really can't blame them. 

1) I always remind myself that we never know what others are experiencing. One or both students may be grieving in one way or another and it may have felt like a topic they were not ready to engage in. I think it is important to always give the benefit of the doubt here - we will never know what other people are going through. Go gentle. 

And/or 2) like many young people (they were in the third year of undergraduate studies, or roughly 20 or 21 years of age) they may just not have the capacity or willingness to engage in death conversation. 

And if it was #2... this just makes me sad. I mean it's great that many young adults have never had to encounter death personally, but so very sad that we don't better equip people. 

Grief allies

Yesterday I was moved by three words that Jason Rosenthal used in his TED talk. This lead me to think about what we can do to become an ally for those who grieve, within the professional roles we play.

What would it look like to become a grief ally? How can I inject this into my work, and then bring it forward as something I can encourage in my team, my peers, my profession? 

As a fundraiser, I'm already a natural listener and observer. I feel these skillsets are innate for me. But, as my husband will tell you, I am also very opinionated, and I try to help or solve OFTEN. Also, I play devil's advocate to help people see different points of view. 

I think that for me being a grief ally is suppressing some of myself. I'm sure I have gotten it wrong more than a few times. I think being a grief ally is also about continuing to remind myself that my opinions, thoughts, statements, and (most certainly) judgements are not helpful. 

I'll have to continue in my journey if I really want to hone this skillset. Grief ally-dom is not likely something we can ever perfect. Pain is very hard to sit with, and not fix. I think being a grief ally is about knowing that.

"Intentional empty space"

I just watched a TED talk by a man who was the subject of his dying wife's NYT Modern Love article "You May Want to Marry My Husband" (as an aside, if you haven't read this piece, please do yourself a favour and google it!). Amy Krouse Rosenthal was certainly a brilliant writer and her husband Jason Rosenthal has done a beautiful job at highlighting what he felt was an impactful gift his wife provided to him. A 'blank sheet of paper" as he calls it, a fresh start. For some who are grieving, they may resent this point of view. Because in order to have that fresh start, they've had to experience unspeakable pain... so Jason's presentation may not be for everyone. However, one term that Jason uses is incredibly relatable. 

Creating intentional empty space. 

This space can definitely be lonely in grief, but I think that for those of us around a grieving person, this is the only gift we can actually provide. Let the griever fill the space, let the griever dictate what comes next. Allow that empty space. Be deliberate about that. Focus energy there. 

As professionals in any capacity, if we are seeking to be helpful to the individuals we serve (donors, students, customers), we need to become grief allies. We can achieve this by creating this intentional empty space.