Here’s what I’m learning about grief: there is no “right” way to do it. I said goodbye to a dear friend last week. Not the kind of goodbye I’m used to but the permanent kind. She slipped away while sleeping. She was 29.
Death is always hard – but when it comes to someone who was young and bold, everything is layered with additional pain. Last year, a student of mine was killed by a car. I had been teaching him about conjunctions a week before and then, just like that, I was hugging his family and trying to say something, anything of comfort to them. When I got the news about my friend Meredith, I was taken right back to that place.
You know when you take a bite off of a cheap fork or get a tiny piece of tinfoil in your mouth and it makes you shiver? News like this gives me that metallic-y taste in my heart. This can’t be right. First graders and 29 year-olds aren’t supposed to die. There must have been some cosmic mix-up.
Meredith was a magnet. Her joy could be felt a hundred miles away. I know there’s a tendency to make people out to be larger than life once they’re gone – but Meredith really was glorious, no hyperbole necessary. My sister had met her ONE time several years ago. That’s it. And the second I said Meredith’s name to Leah this weekend, she immediately knew who I was talking about – and I could tell that Leah felt this affection towards her that had lasted for years after their encounter. It’s hard to make an impression on someone you meet once for only about an hour. But Meredith did that handily, all the time. She took so much delight in other people. She gave the fiercest hugs and had the best laugh. It was rare to see a photograph of her where she wasn’t being theatrical, entertaining every bystander with her antics.
She was playful and hilarious and loved God more than anything.
Grief makes you second guess everything. What am I supposed to do in response to such heartbreaking news? What should my texts to mutual friends look like? Do I table plans for the day and cry? Am I crying enough? Do Bobby and I still carry on with the budgeting conversation we were planning to have? Do I sit down and write about this? Do I post it online? Is that too heavy? Too sensational? Too 21st century?
“Death ends a life, not a relationship.”
-Morrie, Tuesdays With Morrie
I’m unskilled in this thing called grief but here’s what I’m coming to realize: you do what you can with what you have. Saying goodbye – or dealing with any deep emotion, even if it’s joyful – gets so much harder when we’re trying to package it just right for other people.
So here’s what you do: you cry when the tears come. You jump in the pool and watch Netflix when you need to distract yourself. You read Anne Lamott and hash things out with God. You remember how precious and wild this life really is and call your people and let them know they matter. You pay tribute in whatever way you can muster, imperfect as that may be.
You let the goodbye wash over you again and again in its many different forms.
“The pain passes, but the beauty remains.”
-Renoir
Goodbye for now, Meredith, cherished friend. I will forever be your biggest fan.
Beautiful blog Grace. I am so sorry to hear about your dear friend dying. May she rest in peace… Love, Auntie Kathleen
Dearest Grace, this post made me cry. Thanks for putting it into words. We’re dealing with losses here, too. Life is joyful and painful and frustrating and wonderful and amazing – all at once – and we are privileged to be a part of it. I love you. x0x0
So much sorrow in your young life! I wish I could take it away for you. But you’re living up to your name and I think you’re very wise. That is surely one of the many reasons why Meredith cherished you, just as you cherish her. Go in peace – you’re in all our thoughts and prayers.
I have been thinking a lot about Meredith recently. The other night this led to a talk about the universe and mortality with Kelsey. And it’s all mind blowing, and just incredible that we get to exist at all AND to know each other. I think the more one contemplates oneself’s mortality, things are thrown into perspective and gratitude takes over.
No person is skilled at grief. Just as distance makes the heart grow fond, passing enables one to appreciate the goodness and happiness shared with family and friends. I have no answers, but having experienced family and close friends passing it does not get easier. And I would hope it never does. You will find the love you have for others is a very special ingredient to your own person. Cry, Laugh, Pray and Love all,
….danny
Grace, I’m feeling your grief for Meredith with a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes. I’ve experienced this kind of loss too. My heart joins with yours in sorrow.
Uncle Patrick
There are so many more people I want to introduce to Meredith. Thank you for your words. She has touched so many, and I am comforted in knowing she is celebrating life everlasting now, even more than ever.
Dear Grace,
I am so very sad that your friend died and at such a young age. Your post is heartbreaking and thoughtful and true. My heart is with you.
Love,
Gini
Thank you so, SO much everyone for your words of love and compassion. They have been healing to read. Sending love and gratitude to each of you. Thank you for your continued thoughts and prayers for Meredith and everyone who knew her xoxo
Grace,
I’m so sorry to hear about the loss of your friend, Meredith. Grief is such a difficult thing, but I think you’re taking the right perspective on it.
People never really leave us. We’re always being reminded of them and remembering them with others…
It’s not the same, but it’s a worthwhile endeavor to remember and to make what you can of that memory.
I’m glad you wrote about your experience.
Thanks, Celeste. I appreciate your perspective, particularly since you’ve dealt with so much grief in your own young life. You are wise and strong – thank you for these reminders!