What I’ve Learned From Growing Up With Loss

Mommy, what happens when we die?

My oldest is always good for minivan-stopping moments. Trying to toss his velcro shoe out the window. Determining that blank-staring milking cows are maniacs. Going waaaay existential.

At four-years-old, he again (yes, again) flew his old-soul flag and asked the ages-old question. While other children focused on the flying house fueled by colorful balloons in the movie Up, my son was deeply troubled that the main character’s wife died. Thus our first conversation about death and dying.

And I thought the birds-and-bees talk would be the tough one.

Turns out, I am much better with a conversation about what happens to those of us left behind. Many, if not most of us, are. I was eight when my grandfather passed away unexpectedly, just days after an aunt. At her funeral I nearly passed out at the side of her open casket, wondering why we couldn’t see her legs. When Grandpa died, I was disappointed I was going to miss a party at school because of his funeral. And the morning of his passing I colored a picture of Lucy from Peanuts printed with the caption What a beautiful day to be alive! and in green crayon I wrote that day’s date, March 12th, 1979. My second grade self didn’t understand that my beloved grandfather was gone yet at the same time grasped the sad irony of my crayola art.

Then my dad’s parents died my junior year in college. Their loss bookended what was year of emotional highs and lows. I was elected president of my sorority and later got engaged. I was so sidelined by my grandmother’s death at the beginning of the school year I dropped Physics 101, which put me off the med school track. To say I was fully consumed by the loss of my grandparents is a massive understatement. Two of my most prized keepsakes are a jewel-geared wristwatch my grandfather gave my grandmother 80 years ago, and the final letter Grandma wrote me days before she died. The watch I wear on special occasions. But it’s the letter I still have trouble reading after all these years, her words fully unaware of was was to come. Or not to come.

A few days ago, my last living grandparent passed away in her sleep. She weighed about as much in pounds as she lived in years…97. Her life ended in struggle shrouded by a pandemic: since February she suffered four broken bones, endured three surgeries, and because of the required social distancing, she learned of her daughter’s death through a Skype conversation. The COVID pandemic prevented her from even receiving a hug until about a week ago, when her care facility allowed my aunt in to her room to see her.

With Grandma’s passing I feel so many emotions. Sadness, certainly, that she is no longer with us. Relief, that her long path of suffering has come to an end and she is at peace. Anger, that she had to spend most of this difficult year separated from family because of COVID. And amongst those emotions, I find myself in a state of realization and reflection. It occurs to me that I’ve grown up with loss and and that each time that loss has felt different, due to my age, my circumstances and my maturity. As I reflect on how the passing of my grandparents at age eight, then at 20, and now as I knock on the door of 50, I see how each time I accept and learn a little more about being in mourning and still being a part of a world that moves ahead. It feels so wrong, to feel forced to spin with the rest of the world at a time of sadness and loss, where normal being and living should more appropriately be suspended for a time. But as my mom told me years ago

That’s the way this is. Sometimes you cry. And sometimes you laugh. There’s a place for both.

Both sadness and enjoyment can coexist. Mourning and the daily routine are forced together in this way too hectic world. I’ve learned that to fully feel the sadness and come to terms with the void that loss creates I must embrace the good, the challenging and even the bad that goes with living.

I still take my son out to practice driving, enjoying his energy and the music he chooses to play. The drudgery of grocery shopping is still a several-times-weekly event. I practice yoga, play “pull” with our dog and share TikTok videos with my kids. My daughter and I still struggle through homeschool math. Life as we otherwise know it still happens. It keeps me sane, and a bit pleasantly insane. And reminds me how fast the time really goes. How precious the memories are, and how to best honor our dearly-departed loved ones is to honor the legacy of life.