GOOD GRIEF: Learning from Loss

The holiday season can be heavy, even painful, for those who are grieving and trying to cope with the loss of a loved one. I've definitely been there. I wrote this after my own devastating loss, and I figured it was time to share again...

I thought my world would end on the day that I suddenly lost my younger sister, Andrea. But, despite my debilitating devastation, it didn’t. It just changed. And getting adjusted to that new normal, a world without her, took time. But it got better. So, even after you’ve experienced a life-altering loss like mine, there are still life lessons that you can take away from it. And as heavy as these losses can be, there are also some positives that come out of them.

It may sound strange, but not all grief is bad...

I know that sounds crazy, but these moments in life do force us to take a closer look at ourselves and what we’re made of, even where we are in life. I know that I was forced to reevaluate my entire life, to take a closer look at what really matters—and what doesn’t.

For instance, we had closed on a new house just two days before my sister’s death. Ironically, she never got to see it. I know she would have been happy for us, even picking out a space to call her own. I can hear her now. “This is my room, okay? Where’s my bed?” She was a character. But it wasn’t to be. For me, though, buying a house was a lifelong dream.

All that changed in an instant. After my sister’s death, a new house suddenly meant nothing.

This was a milestone. Yet, now, it meant absolutely nothing. I was filled with conflicting emotions. I loved the house, but at what cost? It had been a goal, a wish, a dream for so long…yet now it was just another thing. It became a source of guilt, too. "Had I spent too much valuable time packing up and making plans, time that I could’ve spent with Andrea instead? Had I put a house before us?" Not really, but it felt that way. I even told God “I would have given up 10 houses” just to have her back. But no deal. She wasn’t coming back.

I realized eventually that, while I couldn’t bring her back, I could do right by her and her legacy. I could do her memory justice and make her proud. I could do something somehow to make sure that she was never forgotten, at least not by me and our children. And I think that’s what most people want in the end. Not to be forgotten.

So, the point of all of this is, what can we take away from a life-changing loss? We can learn and grow over time. Here are some things that I took away:

1. New perspective. When your world shifts in this way, suddenly the little things don’t matter as much. You realize that very few things are as heavy as death. Things like bills and debt, conflicts, even job challenges, are not the crises that they once seemed. Nothing can compare to the pain of loss. The problems that I thought I’d had seemed to fade away or become minuscule. Not that they were nonexistent, of course. They just paled in comparison to life and death. I realized that any obstacle I had was surmountable now.
2. Changing priorities. You find yourself putting people, connections and relationships first, perhaps as a result of regret or just the need to reconnect. I began to think, if this was my last day on this earth, what would really matter? Who would matter? That causes you to totally rethink how you approach the hours, days and weeks ahead of you. I started to go through my phone and contacts lists, looked through my most recent emails, even the snail mail. You can do the same. Who do you connect with regularly? Who have you missed? It’s never too late to send a text or to make a phone call…until it is, literally, too late. Know that time is on your side.
3. Spiritual depth. If you have religious beliefs, you may find yourself either leaning on them now more than ever, or totally questioning them. That’s okay. These heavy losses show us what we’re made of and what and who we really believe in, which is big. I found myself looking through the window and the skylight in my bathroom late at night when the house was quiet. “Where are you?” I would ask. I wanted to know exactly precisely where my little sister was at that very moment. Was she in a holding pattern “asleep” until I and others joined her? Was she already in the promised land, reunited with loved ones? I needed to know. I thought I knew the answers growing up, but now I wasn’t so sure. And that led me on a quest to find truth. You may seek out some spiritual guidance from a religious leader, a friend or through your own personal study. What’s important is finding the space and the level of comfort that help you to find the answers that you seek. Consider trying meditation, in whatever way is comfortable for you. There are apps that you can download on your phone, as well as countless free resources when you search out meditation options online.
4. Greater sensitivity. This is a big one. You may have thought you were sensitive to the losses and grief of others, but until you’ve really experienced it at this depth, it’s just hard to relate. After such a loss, you gain a better understanding of grief and how to respond to it. When I was going through it, for me, it was just seeing a friendly face at the wake, opening and reading a thoughtful card, or receiving a much-needed hug when there were no words that could comfort me. On the flipside, I’d always been uncomfortable in those situations, not exactly knowing what to say or do, not wanting to offer the almost flippant “she’s in a better place” line. How would I know? But now I understood. I didn’t have to have the perfect words of comfort; I just had to be there, in any way that was significant and welcome: a card, a hug, a knowing look. I just needed to show up in some way.
5. New direction and motivation. Whew, talk about motivation. When you see someone’s life cut short, especially someone who’s younger, you really come to realize just how short life is and how limited our time is to make a difference. Experiencing loss can leave you with the desire to make your loved one proud, to help her to be remembered in some lasting way. Loss gives you something to truly live for, now that you’re faced with your own mortality.

So, what will you do with that life? If building a legacy is tops on your list, why not start today? What does that look like for you? For me, it meant getting back to basics: writing again, beginning with an essay collection and a special tribute to my sister; seeking out work and non-work that truly brings me joy, paid or unpaid; and, most importantly, “tuning in” to my family at home, because my children are my greatest legacy.

If preserving your loved one’s memory comes first, that might look like creating a scholarship or a non-profit foundation in her name, or beginning a special walkathon in memory of her. For instance, in my case, there are lots of organizations that deal with causes related to diabetes and kidney disease. I could partner with them or strike out on my own, or both, all in the name of love. For you, it could include beginning charitable donations in your loved one’s name, creating a special community garden, or donating a bench or a fountain to a park, whatever works for you. For most of us, in the end, we’re just searching for ways to make sure that the person that we love is never forgotten.

So, even in the midst of a pandemic, when we’re feeling isolated and short on hope, when it seems death comes too quickly and we’re unable to grieve alongside the ones we love most, we can still find peace. We are not defeated. We can reflect on and share the memories of better days, finding value in the lives of the ones we have with us and the ones we’ve lost.

That’s what legacy is all about for me. My sister Andrea was a fighter. She cheated death more than once in her seemingly short life. I learned how to live and appreciate life through her eyes, and her memory now lives on right here. Our love didn’t end when her life ended; it just moved on to another realm. We have all experienced love in one form or another, and it’s ever changing. Love is the one thing that has no boundaries. It has no desire to compete or to be measured or to be complicated. It’s just caring in its purest form. It’s limitless.One thing I have found is that love lives on. I see it in glimpses of Andrea everywhere. It’s in the mini picture of her and my youngest son Jayden sucking on lollipops at Christmastime; it’s in the daring voice of my only daughter Kayla Andrea who bears her name; it’s in the childhood memories of the two of us, my mother’s only two daughters, my father’s first two girls, playing in the yard as little tykes on Myer Street; it’s in the very air I breathe that once filled her lungs as well.

Memories are the conduits of love. They allow us to get through the hard times. During a time of loss, they may be painful at first, but they’re as vital to our survival as the elements. They continue to give life meaning, even after it’s ended. In our quest for significance, we find that our lives need meaning every day. And, to me, finding that meaning is the path to true, infinite love.

And now, just over two years after her passing, I can truly think of Andrea with warmth instead of pain. When the memories and pictures of her pop up on social media feeds, they are no longer very painful reminders of what was lost; they are now warm tributes to a life lived well, one that filled mine with love and memories that will last a lifetime. That's progress. But it doesn't come easily. Just give it time. You will get there.

“He allowed himself to be swayed by his conviction that human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but that life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves.” —Gabriel García Márquez, Love in the time of Cholera

How have you learned to cope with loss?