Touching on Grief

A friend of mine recently celebrated the first of the ‘firsts’ that go hand-in-hand with mourning. My friend’s mother passed eight months ago and last weekend was her mom’s birthday, which would soon be followed by the first Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year celebrations without her mother’s presence.

“I try to stay focused on the positive and remember the good times,” she told me. “But the firsts are so hard.”

Who can’t relate?  There’s no way around the painful process of both missing and letting go of someone we love; it skips no one. And I stress, the operative word is process; there’s a beginning, but no discernible end.  My experience has been that time can temper the sting, but the reality is, I’ll never fully let go of loved ones who’ve passed on, and because of that, the ache of their absence ebbs and flows.

I decided to share with my friend that, though I’m at peace with my father being gone, I still hang on to a little bit of him. Not quite an hour after he took his last breath in his nursing home bed 12 years ago, my family and I got right to the business of packing up his belongings. Nursing home real estate is in evergreen-demand and we were informed a new resident would be moved in within 48 hours. Suddenly, amongst the shaving cream, undershirts, and toothpaste being piled into a plastic bag, I saw it: my his comb: mint-green and in nearly mint condition. Something about it called to me – perhaps because it was something that belonged to my father that I could actually use. “I want his comb…does anybody mind?” I blurted out. No one did, and it’s been in my bathroom ever since, an indispensable tool needed for creating precision parts when I color my hair (what, you didn’t know?).  

Also in my remembrance collection: a pink scarf from a favorite aunt that drapes across my office chair, a wooden mortar and pestle which once belonged to a dear friend, and a stack of notes from my Godmother, ink-written in her beautiful cursive that I’ve no desire to part with. Parting with the people I love has been quite enough…I want the keepsakes for the comfort they bring. It’s not that I’m unnaturally attached to the objects, but they provide a pleasant diversion from simply holding the memory of a loved one in the ethers of my psyche. Having something tangible that honors a special connection is right up there with teddy bears and hot chocolate.

Let’s face it, even after we’ve hurdled all of the firsts, that hardly means we’ve cut the cord with grief.  The sting can be especially sharp during holidays. We’re in the middle of Hanukkah, and Christmas is around the corner; rough patches are to be expected. Sometimes, an object or two can ease the pain, but I don’t avoid the truism that there’s nothing as cleansing as a good cry.

Perhaps not everyone keeps the custom of retaining mementos, and not everyone needs to. Grieving is at once universal and individual; there are no rules…except, of course, to let your heart be your guide.