Facing Grief and Ghosts: Thoughts on Grief in Life and Death

I am in the process of writing my second book, and I wanted to share this Chapter on grief. While this chapter talks about death-related grief, I believe it also applies to the grief that researchers have discussed regarding Covid-19 and the grief associated with saying goodbye to life as we knew it. When we wake up each day, we are facing new ways of working, schooling, parenting, and just plain living. I hope that some of these tips can help you navigate through the tides of change.

“All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on.” - Havelock Ellis

When my father died, I did what most daughters do. I cried. The first Chapter of my first book, Moments, is “Cry." When faced with uncertainty, cry. When sad, cry. When grieving, cry. Somehow, however, after the tears, I didn’t know what to do. With that, I did what I seemed to do best. I just kept on doing life. Many women go to excessive measures to take care of others and hold space for everyone else’s emotions. That is what I did. With a slight quiver in my lip, I kept busy at work, at home, and I remained maniacally focused on my mother’s grief. My grief took a backseat. In fact, it took up the entire backseat as I lumbered my way through life as if nothing had happened. 

When people asked how I was doing, my answer was clear and concise. “He is in a better place now.” “I am helping Mom with xyz…” In putting my energy into other things, I did not have to face the grief or the ghosts of my past. My father played a significant role in my life, and in many ways, he played a hero role. When a loved one dies a long, drawn out death, it seems you never really know when to say goodbye. I was never able to surmise if he knew how much I loved him. I spent years driving in the car on my long work commute, writing his eulogy in my head. This was many years before he actually died. By the time he passed, I had nearly memorized this eulogy.

May, 2017: “I am not ready to say goodbye. As most of you know, this has been a long journey and many call it the” long goodbye.” There is no easy way to say goodbye. All I know is that my dad lived life to its fullest. To some, the glass is half full or half empty. To Dad, the glass was always overflowing. 

For years, I must admit, I have been thinking about what I would say at his Celebration of Life. When someone has a terminal illness, you have time to plan, time to prepare, and plenty of time to think. But… you are never READY. You watch someone you love disappear before your eyes. But even until the very end, my dad had that twinkle in his eyes and that incredible smile. Until the end, he only had eyes for his wife. In the last week of his life, I saw him lift his head off his pillow (something he rarely did) and pucker up his lips to kiss mom over and over and over again. I am grateful to have witnessed this final expression of love.

Dad was larger than life… his smile, and that twinkle in his eyes. He always found something to say to everyone who he crossed paths with…at the store, at the gym, on a walk, in a restaurant. He was authentic before authenticity was cool.

He was magic.

 Speaking of magic… for those of you who have known my dad for a long time, you may remember his magic bag trick. Dad took a brown paper lunch bag like this one… he folded it at the top and filled it with invisible magic balls. Each Thanksgiving, he would pull out the bag and do his magic trick. He would place the balls in the bag and throw them in the air. He would catch them with a loud “THUMP” in the bag. How did he do that? The balls were invisible. He had all of the kids stumped with mouths wide open in awe. Magic. Pure magic.

He loved to dance. When I was a little girl, I would dance on his feet as we glided across the room. He would teach me how to follow, but I must admit, I have never done a very good job of that.

My mom and dad danced through life together from the time they were in junior high. He told my mom he was worried that with their height difference she might bite the buttons off his shirt. Watching them dance so effortlessly was something beautiful. He held her waist with strength and pride that she was “his” girl. They danced until he could no longer stand due to his Parkinson's. He would reach his hand out to her from the couch and signal her to dance with him. My heart was lifted whenever I saw their beautiful dance.

Dad loved to talk. He talked about wine. He talked about basketball. He talked about baseball. He had something to say about everything. We would sit and watch sports together and he would help me remember the names of the 1970’s Dodgers by creating a story. “What did he Cey to the Baker who…”  I know he loved having daughters, and he especially loved having daughters who would watch sports with him.

When he wasn’t watching sports, Dad was with us. Even though he worked all day, he made time for us. After a long day at the office, Dad always made it home by 6PM. Mom was committed to having dinner on the table at 6PM, and Dad was always on time to appreciate it. After dinner, Dad made it a point to help us with our homework. When I had to read Shakespeare, he was an eager participant. He would take on any role in proper dialect and affectation. There we would sit on our sofa in the living room, taking turns with parts in “Hamlet,” or “King Lear.” He would stand up and belt out his lines with gusto.

Dad had a way of making everything look good. He would make the most amazing meals for himself on the weekends. I can remember the Dagwood Sandwiches he would make…it was a double decker with salami and cheese on one layer, and peanut butter and jelly on the other. Before making it, he would always ask if we wanted one. More- often-than not, we said, “No thanks, Dad. We aren’t hungry.” Of course, once he made it and took a bite, we swarmed around him like young birds with mouths gaping open. It was then that he would slide the plate over to us and get up to make himself another sandwich. It is just that he made everything look and seem amazing. That is how he was.

Dad loved us with every inch of his being. He loved my mom from the moment they met. They devoted their lives to one another and to raising their family. I have been blessed beyond words.

 I cannot say goodbye to my dad. I realize now that I don’t have to say goodbye. Every time I use my phone, I see his great, warm smile on my screensaver. I look at him and say, “I love you, Dad.” His spirit will live in my heart and in my soul forever. He would want us to dance and sing and celebrate the wonderful life he lived. And he would thank you all for making his life rich with love and laughter.

 Cheers to you, Dad. I love you. Forever and always.”

Writing down these memories of my dad and sharing them during his Celebration of Life, helped me face my grief. I have to admit, though, that I was not prepared for the journey ahead. I started to question my relationships and how to navigate the rest of my life. These doubts turned to thoughts of my own mortality and the legacy that I want to leave my three daughters. I knew that if I didn’t explore these thoughts, I would be in denial of my grief and understanding of life and death. Reflecting on my dad’s infinite positivity motivated me to work through the next year of unraveling the world he once occupied. I constantly asked myself, “What would Dad do?” I even found myself asking him for advice...out loud. Thankfully, I was usually alone when talking to myself so as not to attract concern from others that I was losing it!

What I have learned about myself and women in general is that we try to do things without asking for help. Somehow, we interpret seeking help as a sign of weakness. After years of refusing support from friends and family, I have finally accepted the fact that asking for help is not a weakness. In particular, as we grieve, we do not need to do so in solitude. Shortly after my father’s death, I took advantage of the services offered by our local hospice organization. This gave me a chance to explore my grief with a neutral party who could guide me in ways others could not. What I have concluded is that grief is personal, and there is no right or wrong way to grieve. However, I do know that whichever way we choose to do it, we must grieve to thrive at home, at work (in many cases, co-located in 2020) and in every aspect of our lives. Below is a list of things I have enlisted to help me along the inevitable grieving journey. 

Recognize the Impact of death or loss on Your Family

• Share how you feel with one another without judgment
• Talk About the Loss 
• Don’t be afraid to talk about how you feel so that you can work through your feelings.

Reach Out to Others for Support

• Most people are uncomfortable with death, loss, and grieving. Reaching out to others for support signals that you want to talk about it.

Allow Yourself to Search for Meaning

• Give yourself time to seek understanding and reflect on the loss of your loved one or of any other loss.

Be Aware of Your Emotional and Physical Limits

• Grieving is emotionally and physically exhausting. Allow yourself to rest and reduce your workload during this time.
• Create personal boundaries for self-care.

Cherish Your Memories

• Look at photos, share stories with others and hold onto the memories to keep them alive.

Lean Into Your Grief 

• Wrap your arms around the grief rather than running from it so it doesn’t sneak up on you in the future.

Don’t Rush the Process and Allow Time for Healing

• Take your time to feel the loss and allow time to heal your heart.

These lessons are easier said than done. I cannot claim to have perfected any one of them, but I pay attention to my grief on a regular basis so that I can think of him with joy rather than with sadness. "Grief is not a disorder, a disease or a sign of weakness. It is an emotional, physical and spiritual necessity, the price you pay for love. The only cure for grief is to grieve." (Earl Grollman)