Here for the rituals

Anniversaries, Birthdays, deathaversaries. When it comes to grief they suck; they just do. When I was writing my book, Normal Broken, I wanted the whole chapter on them to be just that one line because that’s the whole truth. But my editor told me I had to elaborate. Ugh.

Seven years out from my daughter’s death here is what I have learned. They still suck and always will. But I don’t dread them as much as I used to. In fact, there is a part of me that appreciates the grief release I experience around these days. It reminds me that the grief is still there. It’s still a part of me.

Now, had you tried to explain this to me prior to losing Adelaide I would have thought you were crazy. I would have thought the whole point of grieving was to heal from it and move on. But the reality is that the healing is continuous and there is no moving on - or going back to the person you were or the life you had before for that matter.

However, the grief does eventually settle in us – it becomes a part of us infiltrating every cell of our existence. We learn to live with it and in time that crushing, all-encompassing pain, only resurfaces when called out to by an emotional trigger… like an anniversary, birthday, or deathaversary for example.

I no longer cry about missing Adelaide every day, or even every week. I may have even gone months. That doesn’t mean I’m not constantly thinking about her, but the pain of her absence is familiar now.

Yet, when those special days come around, I know my emotions are going to sit closer to the surface. And then, at some point (and I never know when), my grief will erupt because it always does. The difference is that now, instead of resisting the pain, I’m relieved but it. Not in a “thank goodness that’s over” kind of way, but in a “thank goodness I can still feel that” way.

Because, as we know, grief is love – and if I there comes a day when I no longer feel grief’s sharp pain, then has time lessened my love for her as well?

Welcome to the unanswerable and irrational thoughts running through my brain while I’m trying to go back to sleep at 2am.

I needn’t have worried my pretty little head though, because last week, on the morning of her birthday, I was flattened by a tsunami of grief. And as terrible as it was, I was also so freaking grateful.

Everyone I’ve ever met who has lost someone meaningful in their life always wishes for one more hug, conversation, or day with their loved one. We crave their presence but after they die, we have to learn a whole new way to connect with them. These anniversaries deepen that desire for connection until it feels more akin desperation.

What I’ve learned recently is that the best way to find connection on these difficult anniversaries is through ritual.

Coincidentally, I found myself reading two books this fall written by dear friends, that are going to be published in the next few months, and they made me realize how integral ritual already is to my relationship with Adelaide.

Stephanie Sarazin’s, “The Little Book of Loss Rituals” details the history and value of death, dying and loss rituals. I was floored at how many I already employ: from getting a memorial tattoo, to spending time in nature, to honoring Adelaide through acts of service. And these are just a few of the rituals listed that I identified utilizing. Each of these helps me to maintain a connection Adelaide in the only way left to me. The book also gave me ideas for a few new rituals to try.

Then there is Jessica Fein’s book, “The Magnificent Maybe” which explores her journey trying to answer the question: does consciousness live on and if so, can we connect with our loved ones after they’ve died? Her research took her all over the country and beyond. Again, I found myself nodding along as I read about Jessie’s trip to a psychic, her exploration of different scientific and religious beliefs, and a visit to a Day of the Dead celebration.

I can’t help but wonder, if seven years later the pain is more sparing, not because the grief has lessened in anyway, but because I have found ways to connect with Adelaide spiritually. Through rituals like releasing ladybugs on her birthday or writing letters to her in a journal – I keep her presence in my life.

I will forever miss her physical presence, but I have no doubt that she is with me in some capacity – even if that is just her memory living on through my work, words, actions.

The Little Book of Loss Rituals and The Magnificent Maybe are both available for pre-order and I HIGHLY recommend them to anyone looking for a little more connection with their passed loved ones – so basically, everyone.

ID: Jackson, Miguel, Kelly, and Anessa smiling for the camera with their hands out holding live ladybugs. They are outside in a suburban backyard and wearing sweaters or jackets for cool fall day.