I’m somewhat new to the grief industry. Not completely, as I lost two siblings to suicide and heroin. In fact, the social worker at my dad’s nursing home called me “The Keeper of the Ashes” which I thought had to be the most depressing moniker I’ve ever heard. I’d told her the ashes of those two siblings were in the huge drawer of a rolltop desk in my parents’ bedroom.
My mom died a few weeks ago and when I picked up her ashes (she didn’t want a service), I put them in the front seat of my car and buckled them in. What else was I supposed to do? They’re in a “scattering tube” because we planned (illegally I guess) to take the ashes to her childhood beach to disperse her, but my dad wanted us to wait for his ashes so they could be scattered together. That means I’d be the non-consensual keeper of four immediate family members. The last month of packing up belongings has only made me want to burn down everything I’ve ever owned: nostalgia be damned.
Last weekend I went to New York to visit a friend: beachcombing, crafts, pizza, karaoke, my fave Carvel ice cream. Aside from my brothers sending me to a fun Eagles game with my son, it was the first time in the past two months of intensive family tragedy that I’ve been able to relax and have fun. It felt strange, and I felt guilty.
I didn’t realize grief had become my new status quo. I’ve spent most of my time overwhelmed and exhausted. These two months have been very lonely and sad; joy isn’t something I’ve even thought about or considered. Doing things I loved again felt odd. Guilt is a much more comfortable old sweater than joy. But I did the fun things anyway, because I was trying to embrace the “life goes on” mentality.
In addition to my ever-helpful therapist, I’ve tried to learn more about grief. In studying for a Psych degree, I remember learning about the stages of grief Elisabeth Kübler-Ross and her book, On Death and Dying. Similar to Frank Costanza yelling, “Serenity Now!” I wish there was a way to insist on “Acceptance Now!” for all of us struggling with the various stages of grief. In our gallows-humor family, laughter’s always been the most essential tool in the box. My therapist recommends the Griefcast podcast. I like Anderson Cooper’s podcast All There Is that originated from his losing his mother Gloria Vanderbilt.
But feeling joy is something else entirely. Kübler-Ross put it beautifully: “There is no joy without hardship… if not for death, would we appreciate life?” and noted that guilt’s often “the most painful companion of death.” That guilt is part of the process—almost everyone who grieves feels torn between sadness and little bursts of happiness. None of it’s easy, and I can’t count the number of times I’ve said “one day at a time” since my mom’s brief encounter with cancer started at Christmas.
Different types of people like to believe in or find comfort in various levels of control in life. I’ve always sorted life into two types of things: that which I can control, and that which I can’t. Radical acceptance as a mentality or life philosophy with all people and in all things sure came in handy in losing my mother in under a month to cancer when there wasn’t anything I could do about it.
Finding joy is another challenge, because it isn’t always big. Stuck in the purgatory of dredging through this apartment of my parents’ belongings from over six decades of marriage and raising of six kids, there are grief bombs hidden everywhere but also tiny moments of joy as well.