OMG how did they die?
You're too young to lose both your parents!
I was in a sorority in college. We had several meaningful rituals between the beer nuggets and Jungle Juice. One of my favorite rituals (that only happened during formal events) was one of our rose ceremonies. The storyteller uses a rose as a visual while expressing the importance of remembering your friends throughout your life - even after graduation (the storyteller removes some of the rose petals), after marriage (removes some of the rose petals), after kiddos, after illness, after whatever life throws your way… because one day you will need your friends/sorority sisters and this (holds up the rose with no petals left) will be all that’s left.
I always believed that just meant “keep in touch”. I didn’t realize it meant so much more.
I signed up for a 1.5 hour grief group at my local library. Just like any griefy in-person thing, I was one second away from turning around. No parking? Forget it, I’ll just skip it. I’m the youngest one here…by a landslide? Forget it, I’m outta here. They want me to wear a name tag? Forget it, I’m not into this. There’s no snacks? Forget it, I’m going to grab a matcha somewhere.
But I stayed. I got my name tag, picked a seat and set my phone to airplane mode. Here we go. I’m already planning my exit.
Let me reiterate how my much I love griefy stuff. I really do! Sad camp. Griefy authors. Griefy novels. Griefy podcasts. My weekly grief Circle. My sad camp friends. My Circle friends. I have found such a wonderfully supportive community through my grief. I feel safe and validated and normal and not so fucking alone. I talk about my mom so much in normal everyday stories that I don’t tear up when I say “my mom died”. (I do still tear up when friends send me photos of pigs or avocados though).
This library grief group was different - I felt depleted and pitied and alone and sad. Everyone there was significantly older than me. Everyone lost their partner. Everyone was barely hanging on.
We started by going around the room and each person shared a little bit about their person. Every single person shared HOW their partner died. Vivid details. I heard every typer of cancer. I heard death dates, medicine types, morphine measurements and family drama. I know this person over here died suddenly and that person over there “lost their battle” after 5 years.
On my turn, everyone gasped when I said I lost both my parents. One woman even interrupted saying “You’re so young! How did they die? Were they sick?”
Somewhere along in my grief journey, I heard someone say “the way someone dies is the LEAST interesting thing about them”. But what is the FIRST question anyone asks after someone dies:
How did they die?
I said my mom’s name: Karen. I talked about how we planned her funeral together. How we went to the florist several times to change what color roses she wanted at her funeral. How we had her dress picked out for the season she died: teal for summer/spring and maroon for fall/winter. How she wanted the song from Moana to be played at her funeral (the one where the grandmother dies and becomes a stingray). How my Mom wanted to make sure her grandson wasn’t bored at her funeral, so she bought coloring books and crayons (markers might get on the furniture and that wouldn’t be good). I probably went a bit over the time allotment. But damnit if those strangers in grief weren’t going to get a sense of who my Mom was!
I didn’t know who ANY of their people were. I only know… how they died.
The group leader began reading a printout of normal things you’re feeling in grief…so you feel “normal”. Number 1 was something along the lines of “eating meals is probably really difficult without your partner”. Everyone’s heads nodded.
Except mine. I didn’t lose my fucking partner.
And eating is great for me NOW because I’m not making my Mom Lime Jello because that’s all she can taste and then scrounging around eating snacks for dinner for myself. I’m eating full meals now.
We then spoke about how hard sleeping is after you lose someone. Everyone’s heads nodded again. This time some people were crying just thinking about that 3AM hour and how utterly lonely it is.
Am I sleeping OK? Yes, I’m sleeping AMAZINGLY because I’m not waking up every 3 hours to give my Mom morphine.
I wasn’t fitting in at all. And it wasn’t the age gap or the library room or the group leader. It was the meat of it. The core. The heart. The essence. The good stuff.
These people were sharing all the details of the THINGS that happened to their person. I can’t tell you one single story about their person’s life! But I know every detail of their death.
And death is the least interesting thing about someone!
Ahhh now I get it. This group didn’t go deep or get to the heart of their people. There was no character in this group - just death! I have zero connection to any of these people because the character/content/core wasn’t there.
Right after Sad Camp, I joined an online grief group. I was hoping for MORE connection to people who understood death. I needed/craved more people that “get it”. But that was another grief group that fell short. There were too many people on the call and we tried squishing everyone into 1 hour. 30 people in 60 minutes? I didn’t feel any connection to those people’s people.
Part of my healing with groups is that connection. If it’s a one and done (like today’s library grief group) or a 30 people on a zoom call that only lasts an hour, it does not work for me. I’ve tried them and they just don’t fit.
I need to hear (and share!) the good stuff. Sad Camp provided the space for vulnerable sharing. My weekly Circle provides that space. These groups have the time and the space for stories - the good ones, the painful ones, the hilarious ones, the really, really hard ones. Finding someone else that gets it is rare and special. Once you hear someone else sharing, it’s easier to find a story or two to share yourself. I wonder if my library griefy people would open up differently if there was an ongoing group setting.
Back to the rose ceremony in my sorority, I now appreciate the message. It’s more than just “keep in touch”. It’s share with me. Be vulnerable with me. Trust me. SO I CAN BE THE SAME BACK TO YOU.
For my Sad Camp friends, I remember hugging all of you on the last day, exchanging emails and instagram handles and thinking “I have 29 griefy friends that get it”.
That’s actually not the case. I do have a solid handful of those people that I text or Facetime regularly. But a bunch of those people I don’t talk to anymore. They just didn’t fit. We shared a beautiful time on our in-person retreat, but some of those people didn’t fit. And that’s OK. I have my handful of amazing Sad Camp friends. And my Circle friend (just one! And she’s local!)
This library grief group today wasn’t a failure. I went into it thinking #1 - I can leave whenever and #2 - wouldn’t it be great if I met a new griefy friend? I met lovely people! But nobody fit my grief.
And that’s OK.
One woman did give me her email address and invited me to come over for dinner. She said: “I love cooking but I hate eating”. I won’t be calling her. And that’s OK too. Her vibe isn’t my vibe. She doesn’t fit for me, and that’s OK.
But further more, I will keep trying. It’s hard to continually put yourself out there. Job hunting. Online dating. Grief group. Another grief group. Another grief group. Another grief group. ANOTHA ONE! ANOTHA ONE!
It’s a practice. Practice seeing what fits. Practice feeling uncomfortable and checking in with yourself: what feels off with this group? Practice meeting new people. Practice NOT over promising (Ohh I’d love to come to dinner! I’ll call you!). I said “It was a pleasure meeting you. Thank you.” Practice talking about this experience… or writing about it. Because there’s always a wisdom exchange. Take what you need. Leave what you don’t. Practice makes progress.
And please dear god STOP asking people “how did they die?”.
And always ask for their name.
~Jen
Lovvvvve you guys, my griefy fraaaaaaands:
