Such and interesting piece that really made me reflect.
In the past, when a grandparent died, I would armour up and pretend they were still alive, not really feeling all the emotions of losing them. It worked well, that they didn’t live close by, because I was able to keep up this facade.
Then, my oldest daughter decided to go on a church mission and she would be away for 18 months. I knew I couldn’t tap into my go-to coping mechanism. I would be reminded every day she would not be around.
So I did something different. I decided to lean into the feeling BEFORE she left. I had cries in the shower and just felt it all.
Then on the day she left, I was sad, but it didn’t unexpectedly take over me (like my friend who was just so busy leading up to her right-hand-man oldest son leaving, that she fell completely apart when he left).
During Covid, my obaachan (Japanese grandma) passed away due to a stroke. She was in Japan, so we couldn’t go be with her or attend her funeral.
So on the day we got the news, I climbed into bed with my youngest daughter and we just looked at the photos we took from our family trip we managed to slip in before the world shut down and remembered obaachan and cried.
I still revert to my old way of coping every now and then. Like the death of my Aunty in Japan, after just seeing her. Her cousins are my age. I didn’t let myself mourn fully, I don’t want to feel it all.
I really love how the Pasifika people work through grief. They often have an extended time where they take the body home or to a special hall. People sleep there, eat there. People come and go to pay their respects. They sing songs, share stories, laugh, cry. It’s beautiful. Then finally send them off to their resting place having fully moved through all the emotions, collectively and alone when needed.
wow, Mika – what a truly beautiful share. I feel honored that you've shared your evolving relationship with grief over the years with me 🤍 your experience about armoring up and pretending someone is still alive really hits, especially with grandparents who live far away
I don't have children myself, but I could read the sadness of having a daughter leave for 18 months in your words. thinking about it now fills me with so much empathy for my own parents
what a beautiful way to celebrate your obaachan – I'm sorry that you weren't able to be with her physically, yet you found such a profound way to honor her spirit
the Pasifika people's way of grief is so inspiring and heartbreaking. I'm thinking of all the times when I was at a funeral for a loved one and couldn't bear knowing that our last few moments with them are so rushed, filing in behind others to say goodbye
thanks for sharing your stories, Mika – grateful to receive them <3
Your writing gives me chills and brings me right back to elementary school recess. Your gift of the written word is powerful, and one that I am thrilled that you are willing to openly share with others. "Like a muscle that goes unused, my grief muscle atrophied over the years" — specifically love this (undeniably relatable) and the idea of permission to feel both the little AND big that's held in the spectrum of emotions.
This was beautifully written, Cissy. Thank you for this - embracing grief is so difficult, and your writing really made me look into my self to see how I've been hiding away from so much, only for it to grow and torment me.
On a lighter note - I love that your priorities for a new house are to be able to host and cultivate more of a community!!! That's goals for me when I get there 💪
so hard to hide from that which feels like it torments us. the beautiful thing about my grief process this time around was I was able allow myself to hit "bottom" then gently float back up, no longer feeling as heavy as I felt on my way down
yes! hosting to build even more intimate community in the form of bringing people together is a big intention of mine this year :)
"Tapping into the range of our emotional fluidity is about recognizing that “the night is darkest just before dawn,” but also that the day is often most beautiful just before dusk. To feel the full spectrum of our emotions is to allow ourselves to freely navigate to the other side and back."
I really like this way of experiencing grief; to permit yourself to fully experience what's in front of you. By doing so, you can better appreciate what's there now (the day before the dusk), the rougher waters ahead (the night) and a new beginning (a new day).
Beautifully expressed Cissy. I particularly love, "To feel the full spectrum of our emotions is to allow ourselves to freely navigate to the other side and back." G/grief is complicated and complex, while occasionally it could also be extremely simple, if we would just allow it to 'be'. Thank you for this reminder!
thanks for reading, Matthew – glad it resonated with you :) it feels like such a simple act to surrender to truly one of the most challenging and complex (if not the most) emotions
Such and interesting piece that really made me reflect.
In the past, when a grandparent died, I would armour up and pretend they were still alive, not really feeling all the emotions of losing them. It worked well, that they didn’t live close by, because I was able to keep up this facade.
Then, my oldest daughter decided to go on a church mission and she would be away for 18 months. I knew I couldn’t tap into my go-to coping mechanism. I would be reminded every day she would not be around.
So I did something different. I decided to lean into the feeling BEFORE she left. I had cries in the shower and just felt it all.
Then on the day she left, I was sad, but it didn’t unexpectedly take over me (like my friend who was just so busy leading up to her right-hand-man oldest son leaving, that she fell completely apart when he left).
During Covid, my obaachan (Japanese grandma) passed away due to a stroke. She was in Japan, so we couldn’t go be with her or attend her funeral.
So on the day we got the news, I climbed into bed with my youngest daughter and we just looked at the photos we took from our family trip we managed to slip in before the world shut down and remembered obaachan and cried.
I still revert to my old way of coping every now and then. Like the death of my Aunty in Japan, after just seeing her. Her cousins are my age. I didn’t let myself mourn fully, I don’t want to feel it all.
I really love how the Pasifika people work through grief. They often have an extended time where they take the body home or to a special hall. People sleep there, eat there. People come and go to pay their respects. They sing songs, share stories, laugh, cry. It’s beautiful. Then finally send them off to their resting place having fully moved through all the emotions, collectively and alone when needed.
wow, Mika – what a truly beautiful share. I feel honored that you've shared your evolving relationship with grief over the years with me 🤍 your experience about armoring up and pretending someone is still alive really hits, especially with grandparents who live far away
I don't have children myself, but I could read the sadness of having a daughter leave for 18 months in your words. thinking about it now fills me with so much empathy for my own parents
what a beautiful way to celebrate your obaachan – I'm sorry that you weren't able to be with her physically, yet you found such a profound way to honor her spirit
the Pasifika people's way of grief is so inspiring and heartbreaking. I'm thinking of all the times when I was at a funeral for a loved one and couldn't bear knowing that our last few moments with them are so rushed, filing in behind others to say goodbye
thanks for sharing your stories, Mika – grateful to receive them <3
Your writing gives me chills and brings me right back to elementary school recess. Your gift of the written word is powerful, and one that I am thrilled that you are willing to openly share with others. "Like a muscle that goes unused, my grief muscle atrophied over the years" — specifically love this (undeniably relatable) and the idea of permission to feel both the little AND big that's held in the spectrum of emotions.
so much gratitude for you, Kel – for being by my side all those years ago on the playground and for being here through it all 🤍
This was beautifully written, Cissy. Thank you for this - embracing grief is so difficult, and your writing really made me look into my self to see how I've been hiding away from so much, only for it to grow and torment me.
On a lighter note - I love that your priorities for a new house are to be able to host and cultivate more of a community!!! That's goals for me when I get there 💪
so hard to hide from that which feels like it torments us. the beautiful thing about my grief process this time around was I was able allow myself to hit "bottom" then gently float back up, no longer feeling as heavy as I felt on my way down
yes! hosting to build even more intimate community in the form of bringing people together is a big intention of mine this year :)
"Tapping into the range of our emotional fluidity is about recognizing that “the night is darkest just before dawn,” but also that the day is often most beautiful just before dusk. To feel the full spectrum of our emotions is to allow ourselves to freely navigate to the other side and back."
I really like this way of experiencing grief; to permit yourself to fully experience what's in front of you. By doing so, you can better appreciate what's there now (the day before the dusk), the rougher waters ahead (the night) and a new beginning (a new day).
Well put Cissy :)
love that articulation, Kiran! full permission at dusk is the way 🌅
Beautifully expressed Cissy. I particularly love, "To feel the full spectrum of our emotions is to allow ourselves to freely navigate to the other side and back." G/grief is complicated and complex, while occasionally it could also be extremely simple, if we would just allow it to 'be'. Thank you for this reminder!
thanks for reading, Matthew – glad it resonated with you :) it feels like such a simple act to surrender to truly one of the most challenging and complex (if not the most) emotions