Allison Gilbert's Blog, page 10

Sheryl Sandberg on Losing Her Husband, Embracing Option B, and the Importance of Finding Support and Community

Sheryl Sandberg was married to Dave Goldberg for 11 years when she found him lying by an elliptical machine in a small pool of blood. They were on vacation in Mexico celebrating a friend’s 50th birthday when Goldberg went to the resort’s gym to workout. His heart failed. When Sandberg found him, his face was already faintly blue.

In the hospital, someone asked Sandberg if she wanted to see her husband again to say good-bye. “I did – and I did not want to leave,” she writes in her revealing and empowering book, Option B: Facing Adversity, Building Resilience, and Finding Joy. “I thought that if I just stayed in that room and held him, if I refused to let go, I would wake up from this nightmare.” One of her closest friends helped her physically part ways: She put her arms around Sandberg’s waist, preventing her from “running back into that room.”

And so begins Sandberg’s heart-wrenching nosedive into widowhood and her indefatigable quest to help her two young children heal, and ultimately thrive, in the face of this family-altering loss. What she learns about rebounding from adversity (unimaginable setbacks of all kinds, not just the death of a loved one) becomes the uplifting backbone of this book. One of the most essential takeaways is the healing power of community.

Two weeks after Goldberg died, Sandberg and her two children went to Kara, a grief support organization in Palo Alto. Meeting other people who were farther along in their grief journey helped them see they “wouldn’t be stuck in the void of acute grief forever.” Sandberg’s kids also went to Experience Camps. These week-long programs are free, offered in California, Maine, Georgia, and New York, and designed for children who have lost a sibling, parent, or primary caregiver. Carefully planned activities helped her kids recognize “their emotions were normal and other kids felt them too.”

Community, Sandberg and her co-author Adam Grant argue, gives us the strength we sometimes can’t find by ourselves. This is true, and why I relish hosting Memory Bashes for hospitals, hospices, funeral homes, and religious groups across the country. A Memory Bash is an excuse to get together as a group — eating, drinking, having a good time — while celebrating loved ones who have passed away in the company of others drawn to do the same. It’s a joyful concept I write about in Passed and Present: Keeping Memories of Loved Ones Alive. Participants learn new ways to preserve a loved one’s handwriting. They share stories. They create Memory Magnets, a quick no-mess project that enables the easy display of cherished photographs when they get home. And every Memory Bash ends with a commemorative toast — a group of new friends forming a circle, raising their glasses high, with each person taking a turn to say their loved one’s name out loud.

Sandberg’s writes it’s not been easy to replace her outsize grief with feelings of joy and gratitude. It’s been a gradual and ragged journey, and she’d trade every lesson learned to have Dave back. But Option A is not available. The best she can do (and the best we can all do) is crush Option B. Giving yourself opportunities to receive support from your family, friends, and community helps.

Soledad O’Brien on Her Beloved Grandfather, the Significance of a Photograph, and the Importance of Telling Stories

Soledad O’Brien and I met in the first days of MSNBC. We both left years after launch but crossed paths again at CNN where she was an anchor and I was a producer. Today, Soledad runs Starfish Media Group, a multi-platform media production and distribution company dedicated to exploring critical social issues such as race, class, wealth, and poverty.

I’m grateful for Soledad’s outsize support of my work. When Passed and Present was published, she welcomed me into her NYC offices and recorded four exceptional videos about why remembering loved ones is so important to do. You can watch them here. Now, Soledad is generously helping me again by lending her singular voice to my grief and resilience blog. Our conversation is below.

Allison: What one memento reminds you most of your loved ones? Where do you keep it?

Soledad: I have this great photo of my grandparents in the 1940’s at a famous hotel in Cuba called La Floridita. My grandfather used to tell people that he helped create La Floridita. It has always been one of my favorite pictures. I keep it in a small album in my room.

Allison: The loss of a loved one can sometimes feel isolating. Have you had to address this experience, and what lessons did you learn as a result?

Soledad: Losing someone can sometimes make me feel lonely. It always seems like a little piece of me has been taken away. Eventually, once I have reminisced about all of the good memories I have of them, I begin to feel better. I find that the more I think about the good times, the better I feel.

Allison: What is the most satisfying way you’ve developed for keeping your loved one’s memory alive?

Soledad: My life’s work has been to share real stories with real people. Naturally when it comes to loved ones I have lost, my favorite way to remember them is to share stories about them. (To read more about the healing power of sharing stories, please read my Q & A with New York Times bestselling author, Christina Baker Kline.)

Allison: Loss is a great teacher. In what way have you derived greater joy and meaning from life following loss?

Soledad: Everyone deals with loss differently, but it is a part of life. It’s something we all have to deal with at some point or another. I have not let loss derail my positive energy, but rather, I try to keep my chin up and think of all of the wonderful memories we shared. The lessons I learned from them, and what that person brought into my life, are all far more valuable to me than the sadness I feel because they’re gone.

Why Writing About Grief Is An Uplifting Experience

You might assume I’d be the last person you’d want to meet at a cocktail party. And, really, who’d blame you? I’ve written four books about grief and loss, and yet I’ve been told, quite lovingly, I’m really fun to be around. My husband has often said that if he had to sum me up in one word he’d choose, “passionate.” I really like that description. You might even call me bubbly.

Each book I’ve written is the result of successfully pushing through an unwanted experience and using that moment for something more powerful than anger and self-pity.

I wrote my first book, Covering Catastrophe, after nearly dying on 9/11. I was a producer at WNBC-TV in New York and when the second tower collapsed I thought I was going to be buried alive. The dust cloud smashed me into a sidewalk and emergency crews dragged me off the street so I wouldn’t be crushed by falling debris. I was taken by ambulance to the Emergency Room at Bellevue Hospital. Doctors cut off my clothes to examine my skin, and shoved tubes down my throat so I could breathe.

Physically, I was fine. Emotionally, though, I was in trouble. I had panic attacks for days. Because of what I and so many other journalists experienced, I decided to write a book documenting what it was like to be a broadcaster that day, both personally and professionally. Creating this book with other reporters and producers was cathartic for all of us, and what happened after publication was even better. Covering Catastrophe was turned into a documentary by the U.S. State Department and we donated all the royalties to 9/11-related charities. My coeditors and I went on to transfer our publishing rights to the National September 11 Memorial & Museum, funneling proceeds into the Museum to fund its programs and exhibitions in perpetuity. Giving back is the best emotional Band-Aid I know.

Three days after September 11, my father died of cancer. I was 31. Almost immediately (and because my mother had died several years earlier) I felt compelled to write about my parents’ deaths. Always Too Soon was hard to write because for the years it took me to complete, my parents’ deaths were always with me. I had to deal with how much I missed them with every period and comma I typed. What kept me going was the hope I’d help others cope with similar pain. My muse was an imaginary group of readers who needed comfort and validation. Writing felt right.

Later, in Parentless Parents, I wrote not only about how the loss of my parents affected me, but also the myriad ways their absence continues to impact my children. Since the book came out, Parentless Parents support groups have taken shape all over the country, and the Parentless Parents Community Page on Facebook continues to grow. Conversations with readers, both in person and online, have been meaningful and real — for these courageous men and women, and for me. The more we connect about our losses, the more we grow to understand we’re not alone.

And now with my newest book, Passed and Present, I’ve learned that honoring and celebrating the past has significant restorative power. In fact, being proactive about remembering loved ones drives resilience, sparks creativity, and brings remarkable joy. Nostalgia is one of grief’s best antidotes. (To read more about how we can all live our fullest lives when we accept that absence and presence can coexist, read my article featured in O, the Oprah Magazine).

In truth, my upbeat attitude is shaped by creating new and different conversations about loss and connecting with so many thoughtful and open-hearted readers. Ultimately, the most important lessons I’ve learned from writing are these:

First, I’m not alone. And second, being proactive about nurturing relationships – the loved ones who have passed and all our friends, family, and other connections in the present – stirs and propels enormous joy.

Emily Rapp Black on Losing Her Son and How Grief Fuels Her Creative, Writing Life

Emily Rapp Black lost her son when he was nearly 3 years old. Ronan died of Tay-Sachs disease, a rare genetic disorder that slowly and irreversibly destroyed his nervous system. Emily wrote her New York Times bestselling memoir, The Still Point of the Turning World, as a means to grapple with her unimaginable grief.

I first met Emily when she responded to a guest blog post I wrote about my book Parentless Parents.  Emily’s son had been diagnosed with this always-fatal illness when she told me she’d already discovered an unexpected and extraordinary lesson. “As a writer,” she reflected, “I was shocked to discover that the experience of horrible grief actually galvanized me to write in a way I had not in years.” Emily, without warning, had hit on an essential truth about grief and resilience: our deepest sorrow can spark tremendous creativity and fuel our capacity to rebound and move forward.

Emily is now an Assistant Professor of Creative Writing at UC-Riverside and her latest book, Casa Azul Cripple, is coming out in 2018. The book explores the intersection of pain, art, and disability through the life and work of Frida Kahlo.

Allison: What one memento reminds you most of Ronan?

Emily: I have a plaster cast of Ronan’s hand that an artist friend, Terri Rolland, made for him in the weeks before he died.

Allison: Where do you keep the plaster cast?

Emily: It is safe on a special shelf with my girlfriend Weber, in her Boston apartment, along with pictures of her daughter, Violet. I like the idea of his hand being there, in my friend’s home, because it feels like a physical reminder that his presence resonated with so many people, and that his short life had meaning and import.

Allison: Being proactive about remembering loved ones makes us happier. Have you found this to be the case?

Emily: I think it makes us feel more connected, and so it’s a kind of happiness, but with a bit of blood in it, if you will. I think it’s good to understand that part of moving ahead with purpose and joy is to be able to hold the “both/and.” To both miss the person AND understand that their suffering is over. So moving on is not casting off those memories, but understanding how to incorporate them into the lived experience of the every day without that person. (To read more about how we can all live our fullest lives when we accept that absence and presence can coexist, read my article featured in O, the Oprah Magazine).

Allison: What do you know now about keeping the memory of Ronan one alive that you didn’t know when he died?

Emily: How important it is, and also, how difficult it can be: that revisiting that pain can be something we’d rather avoid, but that it’s necessary.

Allison: Loss is a great teacher. In what way have you derived greater joy and meaning from life following loss?

Emily: Parenting Ronan changed my life in every significant way. It made me let go of the worry and care about what people thought of me, my work, my body, or my choices. It made my writing more fierce, honest, and frankly, better. It has galvanized a passion for pediatric hospice, and for igniting conversations about quality of life and end of life care. It taught me how much the world belongs to everyone, without exception.

Old Christina Baker Kline on Losing Her Mom, Learning on Her Sisters, and Why Talking About Complicated Relationships Helps

This month’s Q&A on grief and resilience is very special to me. I got to speak with #1 New York Times bestselling author of Orphan Train, Christina Baker Kline. Her latest book, A Piece of the World, is out right now. Go get a copy! This fantastic story is about the relationship between the artist Andrew Wyeth and the subject of his best-known painting, Christina’s World.

Christina and I have been friends for more than a decade. We worked together on my second book, Always Too Soon, and it’s her name alongside mine on the cover. Ever since that exciting time, I’ve been in awe of Christina’s writing (she’s also the author of The Way Life Should Be, Sweet Water, Bird in Hand, and Desire Lines) and thrilled to be part of her life.

In our conversation, Christina talks about the loss of her mother and how traveling, purchasing art, and eating cornbread and grits keeps her memory alive. These themes echo the essential lesson in Passed and Present: that being proactive about remembering loved ones drives resilience, sparks creativity, and brings remarkable joy.

Allison: Being proactive about remembering loved ones makes you happier. Have you found this to be the case?

Christina: My mother was a complicated woman, and my memories of her are complicated. I’ve found that actively talking about her with my sisters and father, as often as one of us wishes, helps immensely. It’s really useful to think about her as a whole person, with positives and negatives; it helps me make sense of her legacy.

Allison: What one memento reminds you most of your mother?

Christina: My mother did something very special with me and my three sisters, which I am now doing now with my three boys: she bought art for us, even before we had homes of our own, when purchasing “real” art was generally beyond our budgets. These weren’t expensive pieces, necessarily — mostly local artists in Maine whose work we admired. But the paintings and pottery in my home that my mother and I chose together, or she picked out with me in mind, are especially resonant now that she is gone. Every piece reminds me of her. (It is perhaps no coincidence that my new novel is about a work of art, Christina’s World, painted in Maine by Andrew Wyeth.)

Allison: Where do you keep these pieces of art (in private, out in the open)?

Christina: I proudly display (and use) the artisan-made bowl and pitcher we found in a craft shop in the Lake District; watercolors, engravings (often of places we went together), and paintings from Maine, England, and other meaningful places hang all over my house.

Allison: How do food, recipes, and cooking factor into the way you celebrate the past?

Christina: My mother was born and raised in North Carolina; her favorite regional foods included shrimp and grits, cornbread, and black-eyed peas. I raised my East Coast boys on grits and am proud to have made them fans. Mom became a lover of fiddleheads after moving to Maine, and I love them too, but have yet to convince my boys!

Allison: Is there anything you do outside of holidays and anniversaries to keep your loved one present (gardening, cooking, playing music, going on trips)?

Christina: My parents were enthusiastic shoestring travelers with their four daughters; they didn’t let a lack of money keep them from exploring the world. My mother was particularly intrepid. In her honor, and with her in mind, my husband and I seek out-of-the-way adventures with our kids, as she loved to do. We don’t take cruises or stay in fancy resorts. Whenever I’m wandering in a foreign country, I think of her.

Allison: Have you ever “repurposed” an item that belonged to your mother (e.g., taken an earring and made it into a charm for a necklace; taken clothing to sew a quilt)?

Christina: When my mother died and my father put their house on the market, he kept the art that was most meaningful to him and encouraged his daughters to divide the rest. Re-framing and matting some of my mother’s beloved pieces that needed some TLC, and hanging them in my home, was a wonderful way to stay connected to her.

Allison: What is the most satisfying way you’ve developed for keeping your mother’s memory alive (sharing stories, cooking certain foods, playing specific music)?

Christina: My mother died exactly four years ago, and sometimes have to work to keep her memory alive, certainly with my boys. I’ve done a lousy job turning digital photos into albums over the past ten years, but before that — when my boys were young — I made quite a few albums. I often find my kids poring over them. One of the amazing things my mother did was make a baby book for each boy. These are more important to them than she might ever have imagined.

Allison: The loss of a loved one can sometimes feel isolating. Have you had to address this experience, and what lessons did you learn as a result?

Christina: With three sisters, there’s always someone to talk to about missing mom. We have a four-way text, and every now and then one of us will post about feeling low, wishing she were here. Articulating our feelings and getting empathetic responses from each other have been important for all of us. (I realize how lucky I am in this way.)

Allison: What do you know now about keeping the memory of your mother alive that you didn’t know when the loss occurred?

Christina: The last three months of my mother’s life were harrowing. She died slowly after a botched operation. At the time, I was shell shocked. I was afraid that the way she died would color my whole experience of her, but as time went on, that part faded. In my novel Orphan Train a character reflects, “I’ve come to think that’s what heaven is: a place in the memory of others where our best selves live on.” My mother’s best self lives on in my memory, in my heart.

Allison: Loss is a great teacher. In what way have you derived greater joy and meaning from life following loss? (Do you live more in the moment? Are you more compassionate? Do you focus more on what’s really important and less on what’s not? Has it fueled creativity or driven you to a new purpose?)

Christina: After my mother died I developed a new clarity about what matters to me. Mom was 73, seemingly healthy and full of vigor; her death came as a shock. If she were here today, I think she’d agree that she was doing too much and spreading herself too thin; she had lost track of what mattered most to her, on some level. Her death forced me to reassess my own priorities and focus more on things that I am passionate about: my family, my work (writing novels), and several philanthropic causes that are close to my heart.

Christina Baker Kline on Losing Her Mom, Learning on Her Sisters, and Why Talking About Complicated Relationships Helps

This month’s Q&A on grief and resilience is very special to me. I got to speak with #1 New York Times bestselling author of Orphan Train, Christina Baker Kline. Her latest book, A Piece of the World, is out right now. Go get a copy! This fantastic story is about the relationship between the artist Andrew Wyeth and the subject of his best-known painting, Christina’s World.

Christina and I have been friends for more than a decade. We worked together on my second book, Always Too Soon, and it’s her name alongside mine on the cover. Ever since that exciting time, I’ve been in awe of Christina’s writing (she’s also the author of The Way Life Should Be, Sweet Water, Bird in Hand, and Desire Lines) and thrilled to be part of her life.

In our conversation, Christina talks about the loss of her mother and how traveling, purchasing art, and eating cornbread and grits keeps her memory alive. These themes echo the essential lesson in Passed and Present: that being proactive about remembering loved ones drives resilience, sparks creativity, and brings remarkable joy.

Allison: Being proactive about remembering loved ones makes you happier. Have you found this to be the case?

Christina: My mother was a complicated woman, and my memories of her are complicated. I’ve found that actively talking about her with my sisters and father, as often as one of us wishes, helps immensely. It’s really useful to think about her as a whole person, with positives and negatives; it helps me make sense of her legacy.

Allison: What one memento reminds you most of your mother?

Christina: My mother did something very special with me and my three sisters, which I am now doing now with my three boys: she bought art for us, even before we had homes of our own, when purchasing “real” art was generally beyond our budgets. These weren’t expensive pieces, necessarily — mostly local artists in Maine whose work we admired. But the paintings and pottery in my home that my mother and I chose together, or she picked out with me in mind, are especially resonant now that she is gone. Every piece reminds me of her. (It is perhaps no coincidence that my new novel is about a work of art, Christina’s World, painted in Maine by Andrew Wyeth.)

Allison: Where do you keep these pieces of art (in private, out in the open)?

Christina: I proudly display (and use) the artisan-made bowl and pitcher we found in a craft shop in the Lake District; watercolors, engravings (often of places we went together), and paintings from Maine, England, and other meaningful places hang all over my house.

Allison: How do food, recipes, and cooking factor into the way you celebrate the past?

Christina: My mother was born and raised in North Carolina; her favorite regional foods included shrimp and grits, cornbread, and black-eyed peas. I raised my East Coast boys on grits and am proud to have made them fans. Mom became a lover of fiddleheads after moving to Maine, and I love them too, but have yet to convince my boys!

Allison: Is there anything you do outside of holidays and anniversaries to keep your loved one present (gardening, cooking, playing music, going on trips)?

Christina: My parents were enthusiastic shoestring travelers with their four daughters; they didn’t let a lack of money keep them from exploring the world. My mother was particularly intrepid. In her honor, and with her in mind, my husband and I seek out-of-the-way adventures with our kids, as she loved to do. We don’t take cruises or stay in fancy resorts. Whenever I’m wandering in a foreign country, I think of her.

Allison: Have you ever “repurposed” an item that belonged to your mother (e.g., taken an earring and made it into a charm for a necklace; taken clothing to sew a quilt)?

Christina: When my mother died and my father put their house on the market, he kept the art that was most meaningful to him and encouraged his daughters to divide the rest. Re-framing and matting some of my mother’s beloved pieces that needed some TLC, and hanging them in my home, was a wonderful way to stay connected to her.

Allison: What is the most satisfying way you’ve developed for keeping your mother’s memory alive (sharing stories, cooking certain foods, playing specific music)?

Christina: My mother died exactly four years ago, and sometimes have to work to keep her memory alive, certainly with my boys. I’ve done a lousy job turning digital photos into albums over the past ten years, but before that — when my boys were young — I made quite a few albums. I often find my kids poring over them. One of the amazing things my mother did was make a baby book for each boy. These are more important to them than she might ever have imagined.

Allison: The loss of a loved one can sometimes feel isolating. Have you had to address this experience, and what lessons did you learn as a result?

Christina: With three sisters, there’s always someone to talk to about missing mom. We have a four-way text, and every now and then one of us will post about feeling low, wishing she were here. Articulating our feelings and getting empathetic responses from each other have been important for all of us. (I realize how lucky I am in this way.)

Allison: What do you know now about keeping the memory of your mother alive that you didn’t know when the loss occurred?

Christina: The last three months of my mother’s life were harrowing. She died slowly after a botched operation. At the time, I was shell shocked. I was afraid that the way she died would color my whole experience of her, but as time went on, that part faded. In my novel Orphan Train a character reflects, “I’ve come to think that’s what heaven is: a place in the memory of others where our best selves live on.” My mother’s best self lives on in my memory, in my heart.

Allison: Loss is a great teacher. In what way have you derived greater joy and meaning from life following loss? (Do you live more in the moment? Are you more compassionate? Do you focus more on what’s really important and less on what’s not? Has it fueled creativity or driven you to a new purpose?)

Christina: After my mother died I developed a new clarity about what matters to me. Mom was 73, seemingly healthy and full of vigor; her death came as a shock. If she were here today, I think she’d agree that she was doing too much and spreading herself too thin; she had lost track of what mattered most to her, on some level. Her death forced me to reassess my own priorities and focus more on things that I am passionate about: my family, my work (writing novels), and several philanthropic causes that are close to my heart.

Christina Baker Kline on Losing Her Mom, Leaning on Her Sisters, and Why Talking About Complicated Relationships Helps

This month’s Q&A on grief and resilience is very special to me. I got to speak with #1 New York Times bestselling author of Orphan Train, Christina Baker Kline. Her latest book, A Piece of the World, is out right now. Go get a copy! This fantastic story is about the relationship between the artist Andrew Wyeth and the subject of his best-known painting, Christina’s World.

Christina and I have been friends for more than a decade. We worked together on my second book, Always Too Soon, and it’s her name alongside mine on the cover. Ever since that exciting time, I’ve been in awe of Christina’s writing (she’s also the author of The Way Life Should Be, Sweet Water, Bird in Hand, and Desire Lines) and thrilled to be part of her life.

In our conversation, Christina talks about the loss of her mother and how traveling, purchasing art, and eating cornbread and grits keeps her memory alive. These themes echo the essential lesson in Passed and Present: that being proactive about remembering loved ones drives resilience, sparks creativity, and brings remarkable joy.

Allison: Being proactive about remembering loved ones makes you happier. Have you found this to be the case?

Christina: My mother was a complicated woman, and my memories of her are complicated. I’ve found that actively talking about her with my sisters and father, as often as one of us wishes, helps immensely. It’s really useful to think about her as a whole person, with positives and negatives; it helps me make sense of her legacy.

 

Allison: What one memento reminds you most of your mother?  

Christina:  My mother did something very special with me and my three sisters, which I am now doing now with my three boys: she bought art for us, even before we had homes of our own, when purchasing “real” art was generally beyond our budgets. These weren’t expensive pieces, necessarily — mostly local artists in Maine whose work we admired. But the paintings and pottery in my home that my mother and I chose together, or she picked out with me in mind, are especially resonant now that she is gone. Every piece reminds me of her. (It is perhaps no coincidence that my new novel is about a work of art, Christina’s World, painted in Maine by Andrew Wyeth.)

 

Allison: Where do you keep these pieces of art (in private, out in the open)?  

Christina: I proudly display (and use) the artisan-made bowl and pitcher we found in a craft shop in the Lake District; watercolors, engravings (often of places we went together), and paintings from Maine, England, and other meaningful places hang all over my house.

 

Allison: How do food, recipes, and cooking factor into the way you celebrate the past?

Christina: My mother was born and raised in North Carolina; her favorite regional foods included shrimp and grits, cornbread, and black-eyed peas. I raised my East Coast boys on grits and am proud to have made them fans.  Mom became a lover of fiddleheads after moving to Maine, and I love them too, but have yet to convince my boys!

 

Allison: Is there anything you do outside of holidays and anniversaries to keep your loved one present (gardening, cooking, playing music, going on trips)?

Christina: My parents were enthusiastic shoestring travelers with their four daughters; they didn’t let a lack of money keep them from exploring the world. My mother was particularly intrepid. In her honor, and with her in mind, my husband and I seek out-of-the-way adventures with our kids, as she loved to do. We don’t take cruises or stay in fancy resorts. Whenever I’m wandering in a foreign country, I think of her.

 

Allison: Have you ever “repurposed” an item that belonged to your mother (e.g., taken an earring and made it into a charm for a necklace; taken clothing to sew a quilt)?  

Christina: When my mother died and my father put their house on the market, he kept the art that was most meaningful to him and encouraged his daughters to divide the rest. Re-framing and matting some of my mother’s beloved pieces that needed some TLC, and hanging them in my home, was a wonderful way to stay connected to her.

 

Allison: What is the most satisfying way you’ve developed for keeping your mother’s memory alive (sharing stories, cooking certain foods, playing specific music)?

Christina: My mother died exactly four years ago, and sometimes have to work to keep her memory alive, certainly with my boys. I’ve done a lousy job turning digital photos into albums over the past ten years, but before that — when my boys were young — I made quite a few albums. I often find my kids poring over them. One of the amazing things my mother did was make a baby book for each boy. These are more important to them than she might ever have imagined.

 

Allison: The loss of a loved one can sometimes feel isolating. Have you had to address this experience, and what lessons did you learn as a result?

Christina:  With three sisters, there’s always someone to talk to about missing mom. We have a four-way text, and every now and then one of us will post about feeling low, wishing she were here. Articulating our feelings and getting empathetic responses from each other have been important for all of us. (I realize how lucky I am in this way.)

 

Allison: What do you know now about keeping the memory of your mother alive that you didn’t know when the loss occurred?

Christina: The last three months of my mother’s life were harrowing. She died slowly after a botched operation. At the time, I was shell shocked. I was afraid that the way she died would color my whole experience of her, but as time went on, that part faded. In my novel Orphan Train a character reflects, “I’ve come to think that’s what heaven is: a place in the memory of others where our best selves live on.” My mother’s best self lives on in my memory, in my heart.

 

Allison: Loss is a great teacher. In what way have you derived greater joy and meaning from life following loss? (Do you live more in the moment? Are you more compassionate? Do you focus more on what’s really important and less on what’s not? Has it fueled creativity or driven you to a new purpose?)

Christina: After my mother died I developed a new clarity about what matters to me. Mom was 73, seemingly healthy and full of vigor; her death came as a shock. If she were here today, I think she’d agree that she was doing too much and spreading herself too thin; she had lost track of what mattered most to her, on some level. Her death forced me to reassess my own priorities and focus more on things that I am passionate about: my family, my work (writing novels), and several philanthropic causes that are close to my heart.

My 5 Favorite Ways to Remember Loved Ones

I’ve discovered fantastic opportunities for remembering and celebrating my loved ones. And I want you to know them, too. My search for fun and practical ideas started because my mom and dad died pretty young, and then my aunt and uncle passed away a few years later. The strategies I’ve found take advantage of every sense — concepts that harness the power of what I taste, see, smell, touch, and hear.

Whether it was last year or decades ago that you lost someone close to your heart, there are numerous concrete ways to celebrate what they still mean to you. In my book, Passed and Present: Keeping Memories of Loved Ones Alive, I reveal 85 fun and innovative strategies for remembering and honoring those we never want to forget. I call these uplifting concepts Forget Me Nots. Here are five of my favorites.

My Five Favorite Ways To Remember Family and Friends Who’ve Passed Away:

“Familysource” Memories — Like crowdsourcing, FamilySourcing doesn’t rely on any one person to get the job done. To begin, upload several cherished photos to a Google Doc. Then, invite friends and family to add theirs. Encourage everyone to write a brief story or caption to accompany each image. Take joy in the notion that remembering can be a social activity. You don’t have to remember alone.
Put the “Social” in Social Media — Post a picture of your loved one but don’t stop there. Ask your friends and family to share their pictures and remembrances as well. This digital back and forth accomplishes two goals: First, it enables you to read stories about your loved one you may never have heard before. And second, it keeps the person you miss most forever contemporary and present. Learn more about using social media to boost connection to loved ones by reading my earlier post.
Frame Their Handwriting — Frame a handwritten recipe or locate your loved one’s signature on a letter, car title, or passport. Seeing your loved one’s handwriting and making it part of your home design can be tremendously stirring and gratifying. Doing so is also a great conversation starter whenever company comes for a visit. Telling stories about your loved one and creating openings for saying their name out loud can be especially healing.
Upcycle Clothing — Reimagine your loved one’s favorite sweater, shirt, or pair of jeans. Gather a few pieces and transform them into teddy bears, throw pillows, or bean bags. Pieces of fabric can also be used to create one-of-a-kind quilts. Read my earlier post on upcycling and how I created a special quilt by repurposing my dad’s neckties.
Eat Ice Cream — Or any food your loved one enjoyed. Taste is one of the strongest memory-boosters we have. My mother loved chocolate ice cream and my father relished Chicken Parmesan. When I eat either one, I feel a profound and wonderful sense of closeness to my parents.

For more ideas on ways to remember your loved ones and additional posts on grief and resilience, visit my website – allisongilbert.com.

Caroline Leavitt on Loss and a New Sense of Purpose

Caroline Leavitt has always occupied a special place in my heart. This incredible author has written 11 books and happens to live in the same town where I got my feet wet being a new mom, Hoboken, New Jersey, a fabulous city outside New York City. I asked Caroline to participate in my Q & A series on grief and resilience because she understands rebounding from adversity from two distinct vantage points – the death of her fiancé and the slow loss of her mother to dementia.

Caroline’s newest book, Cruel Beautiful World, has been praised by NPR Weekend Edition, New York Newsday, Marie Claire, and more.  It’s also been named an Indie Next Pick.

Now, let’s dig in. Nostalgia, the sentimental longing for the past, boosts resilience and makes us happier. This essential realization (that finding ways to stay connected to friends and family makes us stronger) is at the heart of my book, Passed and Present, Keeping Memories of Loved Ones Alive. So, it wasn’t surprising to me that an inexpensive figurine Caroline’s fiancé gave her as a present (a Bullwinkle Moose!) doesn’t bring her down; It lifts Caroline up.

Allison: The loss of a loved one can sometimes feel isolating. Have you had to address this experience, and what lessons did you learn as a result?

Caroline: Oh yes. I lost my fiancé, two days before our wedding. He was a runner, healthy, and he had a glitch in his heart no one knew about. I felt as if a layer had been ripped from life. I tried everything, grief groups (horrible for me, I ended up running out), grief therapists (one was totally unhelpful and told me I was “too much work,” but the one I finally found was wonderful), psychics, mediums, everything.

I traveled around and like my novel Cruel Beautiful World, got into a controlling relationship just to stop the grieving. I finally got out and I learned that there is no way to escape grief. You have to ride it out and you have to know that it will always be there in some fashion, and you WANT it to be there because it means you still have a relationship with the person.

There is no one right way to grieve. I feel that anything that makes you feel better helps. And I learned that sometimes all you can do is tell yourself, I will get through the next five minutes, and then when you do, you try the next five.

Allison: Being proactive about remembering loved ones makes you happier. Have you found this to be the case?

Caroline: Absolutely. A relationship doesn’t end when someone dies. Neither does love. It’s just different.

Right now, I’m grappling with my mother’s dementia. Who she was is lost to me, so I am learning to deal with who she is. I don’t correct her when she tells me she saw her boyfriend, who died two years ago. If she tells me she went shopping and bought jumpers, I ask her what color. So much of Iris in Cruel Beautiful World was my homage to my mother, keeping her alive the way she was, rather than the way she is now. I know she will never be able to read the book (she can’t read anything anymore), but it still makes me feel that we have a bond and that I was able to do this for her.

Allison: What one memento reminds you most of your fiancé?

Caroline: It’s a bendy Bullwinkle Moose he gave me as a surprise. It always makes me smile. Always. And that’s a good thing.

Allison: Where do you keep it?

Caroline: I keep it on my bookshelf.

Allison: Loss is a great teacher. In what way have you derived greater joy and meaning from life following loss? (Do you live more in the moment? Are you more compassionate? Do you focus more on what’s really important and less on what’s not? Has it fueled creativity or driven you to a new purpose?)

Caroline: What a great question. I’ve come to believe that experiencing great loss makes you more compassionate, if you let it. It opens you up, like it is cracking the whole world open. And your joys become greater because of the pain you’ve endured. It definitely propels me to new sense of purpose and to enjoy every second.

Part of why I wrote Charlotte in Cruel Beautiful World was because she was the way I used to be, worrying about the future, trying to fix everything. Sometimes you can’t. Sometimes you just have to let life wash over you, and that’s what I try to do.

I also lost a child when I was 3 ½ months pregnant and that was devastating until I got pregnant again and had a baby, and a friend of mine said, “I know you will always consider that baby you lost as your first child.” I found that so sympathetic and wonderful. My husband and I talk about that lost child even today, and it’s comforting.

Gretchen Rubin Reflects on Memories, Resilience, and Happiness

Perhaps you wouldn’t expect me to feature New York Times bestselling author Gretchen Rubin on my blog.  After all, I focus on grief and resilience and Gretchen tackles all facets of habits and happiness.  Gretchen’s written the groundbreaking books, The Happiness Project, Happier at Home, and Better Than Before: Mastering the Habits of Our Everyday Lives, and she also hosts the popular podcast, Happier with Gretchen Rubin.  Her forthcoming book, The Four Tendencies (about the personality framework she’s discovered) comes out September 12, 2017.  Mark your calendars!  But Gretchen is actually the best person to highlight this time of year!

Being proactive about remembering loved ones can make us happier.  I call this positive and transformational concept the “Reflection Effect” and I write about it in O, the Oprah Magazine, and it’s at the heart of my book, Passed and Present, Keeping Memories of Loved Ones Alive.  So, it’s with this in mind that I turned to Gretchen to find out how she’s derived joy and meaning from life after the loss of her beloved grandparents.  As we spoke about resiliency and overcoming her personal losses, she also shared the importance of keeping a few cherished mementos and how certain smells (hot dogs!) spark comforting memories.

Allison:  Harnessing loss and embracing nostalgia drives happiness, decreases loneliness, sparks creativity, and boosts resilience. Have you found this to be true? 

Gretchen:  Absolutely. One of the things that makes us happy is to remember happy times from the past, or to enjoy tender thoughts of someone we love. Christmas is a very big deal in my family, and my Christmas is happier when I take a moment to appreciate my grandmother’s old Mr. and Mrs. Claus salt-and-pepper shakers. Such small items, but they bring back a lot.

Allison:  What do you know now about keeping the memory of your grandparents alive that you didn’t know when the loss occurred?

Gretchen: In my case, I’ve found that I remember odd, everyday details more than big events. For instance, I remember the fun of going grocery shopping with my grandmother, and how she’d buy my sister and me things that my mother would never buy. Pop-Tarts will remind me of my grandmother for the rest of my life.

Allison:  Is there one memento that reminds you most of your grandparents?

Gretchen:  I have a china pink flamingo that reminds me of my grandparents and their house in North Platte, Nebraska. It’s an odd memento, but when I was a child, I admired it so much – so when I was asked if I wanted to take anything from their house for remembrance, that was the thing I chose.

Allison:  Where do you keep the pink flamingo (in private, out in the open)?

Gretchen:  I keep it on a bookshelf where I see it every day.

Allison:  What is the most satisfying way you’ve developed for keeping your grandparents’ memory alive (sharing stories, cooking certain foods, playing specific music)?

Gretchen:  I’m obsessed with the power of the sense of smell, so I really key into the power of scent to help me hold onto memories. The smell of Lava soap, for instance, instantly makes me think of my grandfather. The smell of hot dogs cooking reminds me of how we’d take a picnic to Cody Park. I used to let these memories slide by, half-remembered, when I noticed smells that carried a memory, but now I use them as a way to spark associations from the past.