How I'm grieving my losses lately
The Covid-19 Pandemic-era offers us many reasons to grieve. Here's part of my story of grief of losing two grandparents in 6 months.
In October, an email landed in my inbox from an author and podcaster I enjoy, Jennie Allen. Inside the message was a tool they created to help people conduct a “Life Inventory” and assess their new Pandemic realities. They wrote this on the front cover, “A tool to help you celebrate what is, grieve what was, and look for what could be.”
I downloaded and printed the PDF, hoping to set aside some time to process some of my feelings about the Covid-19 Pandemic as I moved from summer to fall into the holidays.
Not too long after, I got the late night phone call that my paternal grandmother, Joan “Mamoo” Angell, had passed away. She decided to have a bladder surgery at age 82. It had some risks given her age & health conditions, but she wanted to live more comfortably. The surgery went well and she was several days into her recovery at the hospital when her stable condition worsened and then she passed away.
I am “lucky” in this fact — all four of my grandparents lived until I was nearly 30.
I am “unlucky” in this fact— both my father’s parents have now passed away within less then six months of one another. Their deaths took place in the midst of a sad, stressful, scary global pandemic. Because I have to travel to attend their services, the Pandemic added a layer of stress and chaos that often felt like an unwanted distraction to normal grieving.
As we welcome November, I still haven’t used Jennie’s Life Inventory tool in the way that I expected to as I printed it. Instead, I carried the helpful phrase from the cover in the back of my mind like a security blanket as I packed, drove, and returned from the quick trip back to Missouri for the funeral.
I replaced the word “tool” with the word “time” for my heart’s purposes as I began to reflect on my grandma’s life and unexpected death — a time to celebrate what is, grieve what was, and look for what could be.
There’s a heavy tension in allowing myself to have emotions in all three of these spaces simultaneously. However, I feel it honors my grieving process more accurately than well-intended, but hurtful blanket statements that accidentally dismiss grief with gratitude.
Because I am a hands-on person, I knew I needed to begin the process of grieving with my body. I hoped my emotions would follow along in their own time as the shock wore off. The day after I found out she passed away, I swung by the grocery store and picked up ingredients to make a rum cake. She taught me to make this cake and I have delightful memories of enjoying rum cake and coffee at her kitchen table in high school and college. In my own home, I make it each year on Christmas eve.
Although it was painful, I was right — making the cake alone, eating a slice of it slowly, and knowing I wouldn’t share it with her again all helped me begin to realize that she was gone from my life now in the all the ways of the past.
Once I was home for the visitation and funeral, I made sure to stop by her home one last time. A few of my sisters and I visited each room, recounted our memories, and snapped hundreds of photos of Mamoo’s collections & creations. This very in-the-flesh experience helped me savor a special home from my childhood and deal with the hard to reckon with reality that the fridge would never be full of Mamoo’s wonderful southern food again.
Several years ago, my husband’s grandfather passed away and each grandchild was given a rose. I kept the rose by the kitchen sink for several years in honor of him.
When my grandfather passed away this spring, each grandchild was also given a rose. I moved it around my house this summer — first tenderly by the sink in the window sill, then gently onto the bookshelf in the office as it began to crumble.
A few days before Mamoo passed away, I decided I had held Papa’s grief long enough and I gingerly dropped the rose into the trash can with a small prayer of thanks.
When I got the call from my Dad about Mamoo, I was thankful to have parted with Papa’s rose so recently. I knew from experience that grieving the loss of a grandparent has a beginning, a middle and an end. I knew I wouldn’t be crushed, but that I was capable of carrying this burden to the foot of the cross and staying with the sadness as long as I needed.
With Papa’s passing, I decided I would watch and rewatch one of his favorite films as I grieved over the summer. Now I want to honor Mamoo’s memory and I decided to continue to cook my way through her recipes over the winter months.
Eventually, without rushing and when I am finally ready, I will let go of the rose that I brought home from her service, too.
Your Turn …
Although you may not have lost a grandparent or loved one in 2020, it’s still been a deeply challenging year for all of us. As we look to November, is there anything that the pandemic has changed in your life that needs some space for grieving? Do you also need this phrase— a time to celebrate what is, grieve what was, and look for what could be?
PS: If you’re curious about Jennie’s life inventory to help process your pandemic reality, here’s the link to her site. A popup window offers the PDF tool for free.
PPS: If you’d like to try the rum cake this winter, I posted the recipe on Instagram. I wrote these cards at her kitchen table back in high school or college.