Good Grief
Good Grief
On losing friends and family in ever-increasing numbers as we age, the impact of their deaths on our lives, and how we handle our grief. A Friday Open Thread...
“It seems to me, that if we love, we grieve. That’s the deal. That’s the pact. Grief and love are forever intertwined. Grief is the terrible reminder of the depths of our love and, like love, grief is non-negotiable..” - Nick Cave, Faith, Hope and Carnage
Readers,
You might recall that in last Friday’s link roundup I listed a memorial for my dear friend Julie Novak, who died at 51 at the end of August, from breast cancer.
The memorial took place on Sunday, and it was a beautiful, festive (there was a deejay and two ice cream trucks) outdoor gathering, one of Julie’s design, we were told. Julie was something of a local celebrity, so it’s not surprising that there were many, many people present—what looked to be a crowd of 100 or more—celebrating the life of one of the kindest, funniest, most alive human beings I have ever known. She was eulogized by family, friends, and coworkers, and finally by Celeste Lecesne—they were friends, and worked together on Celeste’s The Future Perfect Project.
It was uplifting to be among so many others who loved her, to laugh at the tributes by family and colleagues who regaled us with hilarious Julie stories, to grieve and cry together.
It got me thinking about what a privilege it is to age—to live long—and how one of the prices for that privilege is suffering the losses of many others along the way. It also made me eager to find productive and comforting ways of dealing with my grief and sadness—other than what I’m already doing: mostly talking to other people who loved Julie, and rewatching comedies—shows and movies—that have always made me laugh, like she did.
So I thought I would turn to all of you at this time of mourning and ask about the losses that have affected you most, and what have been the most effective ways you’ve found to deal with your grief. In the comments, please tell me:
How old are you? Have you lost many friends or loved ones in your lifetime? Is there one death that’s had more of an effect on your than others? If so, who was it, and why did it affect you so strongly? Do you have a particular way of dealing with grief? Have any books or podcasts or newsletters to recommend? What gets you through times of mourning like I’m experiencing right now?
Of all the losses of family and friends that I’ve ever experienced, this one is particularly gutting. I’m just completely broken up about it, and can’t take my mind off of it. There are moments I feel Julie’s playful, loving energy all around me—and she’s appeared in numerous dreams since leaving this plane. But there are other moments where it feels as if her departure has left a massive void, and I wonder how the world can ever feel whole again.
I know that more losses are surely coming. This summer I also lost my step-sister, Randi. I’ll turn 59 next Wednesday, and as I shift into my 60s, I’m naturally bound to encounter the deaths of friends and family at an accelerated rate.
I’m not being maudlin. It’s just how this goes. If I had any doubts about it, I could just turn to the trove of Oldster Magazine Questionnaires, in which respondent after respondent has answered the question “What has aging taken away from you?” with some version of “People I love.”
How old are you? Have you lost many friends or loved ones in your lifetime? Is there one death that’s had more of an effect on your than others? If so, who was it, and why did it affect you so strongly? Do you have a particular way of dealing with grief? Have any books or podcasts or newsletters to recommend? What gets you through times of mourning like I’m experiencing right now?
Something that’s occurred to me as I’ve been grieving is how each instance of loss seems to evoke prior ones. There are moments when the sense of loss feels cumulative, and overwhelming.
Losing Julie has made me think of others who’ve passed away, in particular my late maternal grandmother, Clarisse, who died when I was just 6-and-a-half, also from breast cancer. She and I were very close in those early years of my life, and her death was the first real trauma I ever experienced. I don’t know if I’ll ever fully get over it.
After Julie’s memorial, we came home to discover another loss: our beloved car. While we were gone, some schmuck rammed a silver BMW into our 2010 Golf, then took off. The sweet little car we’ve lovingly maintained since we got it, used, in 2013, had suffered a hit-and-run. (The crash was caught on video by our neighbor’s surveillance camera.) It felt not only like a terrible violation, but also like the death of another friend.
I mean, we live in our cars. They’re like living rooms on wheels. Looking back, I realize I’ve gotten emotionally attached to every vehicle I’ve ever owned, and been sad to let each of them go—even when I was trading up to a nicer ride. It seems to run in the family; tonight my mom reminded me of the story of when she and my uncle wistfully fell asleep on the flannel-covered back seat of the family car, a 1946 Oldsmobile, the night before it was to be sold.
As my friend Vivian Manning-Schaffel (
)wrote recently in the Los Angeles Times, “The most important thing to know if you’re grieving for your car is you aren’t missing some random object—your car was a sacred space that served as a vessel for the memories you made in it. Any feelings of grief are perfectly normal, are common and, in due time, will pass.”Turns out “Bluey” is totaled—the cost of repair is greater than it’s current value. How sad! I suppose it feels worse in light of having just lost my actual human friend. I’m grieving them both.
Okay, your turn:
How old are you? Have you lost many friends or loved ones in your lifetime? Is there one death that’s had more of an effect on your than others? If so, who was it, and why did it affect you so strongly? Do you have a particular way of dealing with grief? Have any books or podcasts or newsletters to recommend? What gets you through times of mourning like I’m experiencing right now?
In other news…
Next Wednesday, on my 59th birthday, I’ll answer the five new questions I’ve just added to The Oldster Magazine Questionnaire. Soon after that I’ll launch Pathway to 60, a new series in which I’ll catalog my experience of the run-up to my next decade, and the third act of my life. That series will be for paid subscribers only, so you might want to jump onboard.
Thanks as always for reading, being the most thoughtful, engaged, and supportive commentariat I’ve ever witnessed on the internet, and for all of your support! It means the world to me. 🙏💝
I just added this to the piece: "As my friend Vivian Manning-Schaffel wrote recently in the Los Angeles Times, 'The most important thing to know if you’re grieving for your car is you aren’t missing some random object—your car was a sacred space that served as a vessel for the memories you made in it. Any feelings of grief are perfectly normal, are common and, in due time, will pass.'” Check out her piece: "My 17-year-old Honda, Broomhilda, met a tragic end. Why do we grieve when our cars die?" https://www.latimes.com/lifestyle/story/2024-04-15/why-do-we-grieve-when-our-cars-die#:~:text=The%20most%20important%20thing%20to,in%20due%20time%2C%20will%20pass.
I'm so sorry about the passing of your friend and the loss of your beloved car. Thank you for sharing this beautiful post.
I'm 37 in two weeks, which is, I think, too young to have lost dozens of people, but here we are. My high school years were the beginning of the opioid epidemic, and by the time I was in my early 20's I'd lost so many friends my brother and I couldn't count them on our hands. We have a photo of us and 7 other kids- 9 total, all our friends, and of the 9 there are 3 left. Then, when my daughter was in leukemia treatment a few years ago, another wave. We made so many friends in the cancer space that we later lost, all children. So my daughter, at 12 years old, has lost as many friends as I had at 22.
I lost the person I thought I'd spend my life with to heart disease that developed during his years in active addiction. It was sudden, and his parents never held a service. I don't know where his body is, if he was cremated, if there is a place I could go to find some part of him. For years I would look for signs of him because I felt so unmoored. We were both really into The Breakfast Club when we were younger, in high school we'd smoke and watch it and laugh ourselves lightheaded. After he died I'd hear "Don't You Forget About Me" on the radio all the time and I convinced myself it wasn't just me noticing it each time, but rather him reminding me he was still around. I never got any closure, but as the years pass life has filled in the gaps and I find I spend less time missing him. We were 15 when we met, 27 when he died, and so 10 years on I've learned to live my life as well as I can in part because he doesn't get to live his. When I do miss him, it's not easier or less.
I haven't thought about him in a while with kids going back to school and life happening all around, but today is his birthday and your questions were the first thing I saw this morning. I was flooded with memories of him, of us together. I pulled on my rain boots and a hoodie and went out for a long walk in the drizzle, and then I came home to write this.
I've read Notes on Grief by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie so many times the cover is falling off. In times of mourning, I try extra-hard to take care of myself. I let myself get carried away by the memories of the person I'm missing, and I do something to honor them. It's so devastating and infuriating that they're gone, and so I'm comforted by trying to keep little pieces of them in the world. Sometimes it's making a donation in their name to a cause I know they'd find meaningful, sometimes it's leaving a copy of their favorite book in my local free library with a note about them, and sometimes it's taking a walk in the rain and then coming home to my couch, a blanket, a mug of warm tea, and a thread full of people all sharing a similar sorrow.