Special Edition IV: Rest, Repair, Reroot
Personal reflections on compounded grief, shock, and loss
Dear Friends:
I’m wrecked, and 2025 isn’t over yet. We still have 2 months to go…
On October 11, my granddad (my dad’s dad) passed away peacefully at age 99. (He was 2 months shy of his 100th birthday!) He was a strong, loving presence in my life. I was able to say good-bye to him on his death bed. And, I miss him deeply.
Granddad lived a good, full, long, loving life. If I hadn’t lost my dad to a cardiac event (and falling off of a roof) just 4 months ago, I think my grief would be somewhere in the “normal” range. But, this blow on top of still-fresh aching really hurts.
I feel like a tree after a sudden rockslide, off-balance, half of my roots exposed to the canyon below.
I feel like a possum playing dead on the road–I was just barely getting my bearings back(!), and then another rush of wheels going by knocked me frozen. Here I am, locked up, on my back, eyes wide, belly up, limbs stiff. Again.
I feel like my life is a small engine running low on fuel, spitting and sputtering. I peek in the gas tank to check the level, and there’s nothing but black, black, black. No shine of liquid smiling back at me. I pour in the little bit I have, my friends and family pour in all they can, but it's leaking out the bottom faster than anyone can fill.
There’s nothing to do except turn the engine off and try to patch the leak.
Nothing to do but wait for my nervous system to unlock again.
Nothing to do but slowly work to reroot myself.
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As a lover of books, I have found a giant, systematic void in our culture’s storytelling (I discuss that in this review). It seems like the majority of stories follow the rites of passage of adolescence and young adulthood. Then, we have some stories of retirees. But, what about the 40 years between when we are 20 and when we are 60? Four decades is a lot of years, and it’s not like life stops or we stop growing and learning and changing.
It seems like a gross oversight, and I’m feeling it. Where are the stories about how to lose and parent and grieve while still parenting? Where are the stories about how to navigate the difficult family dynamics of mid-life? Where are the stories about how to heal from loss and what it looks like? (Seriously, if you have recommendations, send them my way!)
So, I sit here with my life-skills toolbox open on my lap. It’s only half full, but there are a few things I’m using:
I’m claiming quiet time for myself, cancelling anything that I can feel would siphon off what little energy I have.
I’m resting in my friendships–my dear friends who immediately and consistently show up with food and flowers, hugs and space.
I’m finding peace in the twilight-mind-space of half-creative practices: coloring with acrylic paint markers in an adult coloring book and resurrecting a very dusty piano-playing skill.
I’m still attending the 8-week Mindful Self-Compassion course I signed up for. I’m not sure how much is sinking in, but I’m still showing up! Perhaps some residue will stick around.
I’m starting to read It’s OK That You’re Not OK: Meeting Grief and Loss in a Culture That Doesn’t Understand by Megan Devine that a friend gifted to me–because if fiction isn’t filling the void, then maybe nonfiction can?
All this while leaning on the strength, patience, and presence of my husband and children.
In my messy house.
As the days get colder and colder and the holidays creep closer and closer.
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While I put together my order for two custom memorial lockets (instead of just one) and sneak off to play antique, melancholy nocturnes and sonatas every chance I get, I know I’m not in the clear. I have other elderly people in my life whom I love dearly.
What is that saying? Grief is love with nowhere to go? Grief is the price we pay for loving so deeply?
All of this to say, I will be back to writing when my curiosity and creativity are twitching again. In the meantime, may the rest of 2025 be kind to all of us.
Kate
*Below is a self-indulgent compilation of my memories of my granddad for premium subscribers, if interested.
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