4 Things I’ve Learned About Celebrating the Departed
On Saturday, we celebrated Daryl’s 46th birthday. Birthdays in themselves are not extraordinary, but birthdays for the dead are a little different. So, here I was this past weekend cleaning my apartment, rearranging furniture to make space for a celebration for my dead husband. I made an invitation. I bought beer and wine and lots of desserts, and I asked friends to come and raise a toast. Children even came and enjoyed themselves. Pictures were taken, we laughed and shared memories, some I’d never heard before and others so well worn I look forward to hearing them again.
#1: Impostor Syndrome Exists for Widows, Too
Grief is terrible, death sucks, cancer sucks, all of it mostly feels terrible. Just two days ago, I was feeling dark and gloomy. I did not want to leave my house, let alone entertain anyone. Yet, I entered the Closet of Doom with much trepidation to find decorations and photos.
Every year around his birthday I get a little anxious about if I’m remembering Daryl the right way, if there’s more I should be doing. I worry that his birthday is too close to Thanksgiving and maybe no one will be able to come. It’s performance anxiety that boils down to this: I’m not grieving correctly. Eventually, I talk myself off the cliff and just keep it simple and remember that what matters is that we be together.
#2: One Memorial Does Not Fit All
For the last few years, I’ve celebrated International Daryl Grove Week. Each day I share memories of Daryl on social media and ask friends to do the same. I started a score card of different options based on things Daryl would do and enjoy. It has been a truly lovely way to connect with friends and even to get those who didn’t know him at all to build a picture of who he was.
I’ll never do a 10K in his memory, or start a foundation in his name because that’s not who he was or who I am. And, quite honestly, it takes money and influence and a lot of organizing to do those things, and right now, I don’t have the funds or the energy. However, I will happily share his memory and encourage others to support organizations that align with Daryl’s (and my) beliefs and values. Two years ago it was a medical debt forgiveness organization, last year it was mutual aid, and this year it was to help those being brutally targeted by ICE find legal aid.
#3: It’s Okay to Continue to Celebrate a Loved One Who Has Died
So much of our culture is obsessed with death and terror in nearly every other way, yet makes us feel it’s taboo or strange to have a birthday for a dead person, to speak their name, to talk about them or how they died. Somehow, actual death makes us absurdly fragile. We can talk in great detail about some grisly or apocalyptic film or TV series, or (god help me), a murder podcast, but when it comes to mentioning the name of a loved one lost to another person, people clam up. We suddenly have no language beyond “prayers,” or “I can’t imagine,” or some other hollow phrase.
I can do small talk until the cows come home, but it feels really strange when you know someone knew your person died and they say nothing. That erasure is more terrifying and strange than any dystopian fantasy you can tell me to watch.
#4: Name Your Grief, Recognize the Dead
Recently, at a (living) friend’s birthday party, I caught up with a friend I hadn’t seen in a while. She is grieving the death of both of her parents and has written about it and shared about it on social media so beautifully. As soon as I mentioned how much I appreciated what she had shared, and how sorry I was for her tremendous losses, it was like a spell broke. For the next hour, we stood by the trash can at the restaurant like two excited teenagers shouting above the music, talking about death and grief: comparing hospice experiences, odd things that brought us comfort while our loved one was dying, how insane grief is, how people don’t talk about it even though it is (spoiler) going to happen to ALL OF US, death doulas, death cafes, grief groups, how writing has helped us, on and on.
I realize not everyone can go there, or is afraid to do so, but at the very least, going there with someone who is there is going to help you navigate it when it comes for you and yours. No, I don’t want to talk about death all of the time, but once you have gone through it you feel like you must at least a little bit every day. Like an inoculation.
I refuse to go gently, I refuse to let Daryl’s memory go gently. I will continue celebrating his life in all the ways I can. I refuse because I know other people in my life, strangers included, need life after a death modeled, too. The more we talk about grief, the less alone we feel. I will die on this hill (and hope you celebrate me later ;)