Grief &Loss: Dealing with Death Anniversaries, Birthdays, Holidays

1) The first year’s birth/death/anniversary/holidays are usually the hardest.

Because we don’t know what to expect, they can seem overwhelming as they approach for the first time. We may want to feel a certain way but find we feel completely different when the day’s finally arrived. We may place heavy expectations for that day and find our expectations aren’t met. We may be feeling like, “Who am I now that my loved one is gone, and how do I handle this anniversary?” Or, we may expect to feel deep grief or sorrow and be surprised to feel “fine,” which can sometimes lead to unwanted (and unnecessary) feelings of guilt.

My little sister, McLean (or Miki-7) and me (18) at Disneyworld for her “Make-a-Wish” vacation. Such a fun family trip, only months before she died of cancer.

The first year after Miki died, I felt thoughtful, peaceful, and yes, sad at the thought of missing her growing up years; but it was a nice day spent with friends at college, remembering her incredible, short life. The first year after Shannon died felt more like a finish line I’d been hoping to get through. I felt like I wanted to be alone, like I wanted to remember her fondly, but I still had too much pain and grief and even anger over her death and how it changed my life, to experience that day as I’d hoped. It felt more like a success just to make it through.

Christmas without Shannon and Rob, my brother-in-law, was tough, and that first year, I put tremendous pressure on myself to “make it perfect.” As I write in This is How We Grow, “I realize the pressure to make Christmas perfect is unreasonable and self-inflicted. I don’t even believe in perfection, but it’s been such a hard year that I want the gift I give to be a peaceful Christmas for our family” (loc. 1341, Kindle). Others may feel the opposite—wanting to completely check out, to not even celebrate at all.

Yes, the first year is almost always the hardest.

2) Time helps, but there’s no set time limit for grief.

Many people are told they should grieve for “x” amount of months or weeks, but that’s not how grief works. There is no time limit, and the intensity and duration of grief (and how hard it might or might not be to get through anniversary days) really depends on many other factors—like how the person died and what your relationship was like before they died.

Those whose loved ones died in unexpected, sudden or traumatic ways may experience longer or more complicated grief, including trauma and anger. Suicide can be especially difficult. And those who had an estranged or uncertain relationship with the deceased may also struggle more over time.

This is how I remember Shannon–right behind me, playing, laughing, being my best friend. Being my sister.

Monday, on Shannon’s birthday, was the first year I felt free to celebrate and remember her with joy. The first few years, I remember feeling angry that some of her friends or other family members were “celebrating” her birthday. I felt like her death had left me with such a burden to sort through that I couldn’t celebrate her. Because of how she died—a stupid, drunken mistake, an overdose, but by her own hand—it made it even harder. I didn’t want to celebrate her. Instead, I tried to ignore her birthday and I geared up to remember her on her death day.

This year, almost eight years later, I felt the opposite. On her death day in October, I spoke at a This is How We Grow book club, sharing our story. It honored her and was fun for me. No remorse. No pain. Just a simple, normal day. But on her birthday, on Monday, I finally felt ready to celebrate—to celebrate the gift of having had her as my sister and to celebrate the blessing of now raising her children, our children. I gave myself and my family gifts in honor of Shannon. I went and had a massage, because that’s what I would have done with her and because she was a massage therapist, and that’s how she took care of me. I thought of her and missed her and loved her. I had a lovely, quiet lunch, almost like taking her to lunch, remembering her goodness and her loving heart. And I took my family—our family—out to play on the golf course as the sun set and to get ice cream in honor of her birthday, so we could remember our sister, mother, and aunt.

3) It’s okay to let it be “just a day.”

I recall hearing someone on a TV show talking about the second anniversary of the death of her husband and how she had realized “it was really just another day, and that’s okay.” It took the pressure off for her. This person chose to remember her loved one on his birthday, when she could feel joyful and nostalgic, rather than to remember his painful death. Of course, this was after she had spent significant time working through her grief, which is very important to do. Yet, as we work through our grief, it can be healing to let go of the power of “that day” and realize it’s really just another day. This has helped me tremendously over the years to do the same for my sisters’ death days, as the time was right.

4) It’s also okay to remember; in fact, remembering is good.

OJ & me on our wedding day, with Shannon & Rob, just before their wedding. Shannon was so beautiful that night; I’ll never forget it. We loved having them there with us as our lives began.

Remember the good times. Remember their strengths. Remember what you loved most about them. Often, on the birth or death day of my sister or brother-in-law, we have a family dinner and remember them. My two sons who were my nephews share stories of their “first parents,” and my other four sons and daughters share memories of their crazy aunt and uncle. My husband and I share funny times from college and our early-married years with them. It’s good to remember. It’s also good for kids to know they can remember and to feel safe doing so.

It’s also good to remember others’ loved ones. The year I published my memoir, This is How We Grow, a friend who had been helping me with edits showed up at my door on “Shannon day,” as I call her death day, with homemade oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. “I read in your book how she used to bake these for you and I just wanted to let you know, I remember.” It still brings tears to my eyes.

Send a note, an email or text, stop by and give a hug, or drop off some flowers just to show you haven’t forgotten. When my little sister Miki died, one of her best friends showed up every year on her birthday with flowers for my mom. From the time she was 8 until she left for college, this friend remembered. And we have never forgotten it.

5) Let yourself feel about and experience birthdays, death days, holidays, or anniversaries however you feel is best.

The kids and I, sending balloons to Shannon, on the 5th anniversary of her death.

There is no “right” or “wrong” when it comes to these days. Sometimes, it’s healthier to cry and mourn. Sometimes, it’s healthier to laugh and celebrate. Sometimes, it’s healthier to just let it be another day, and sometimes, it’s healthier to look ahead and plan the day.

I’ve spent such days going for a hike, writing in my journal, sleeping in and napping later, speaking about my loved one at a book club or other event, playing with my kids and remembering as we send balloons up to heaven, reading in a hammock, calling and talking with my family or friends about them, sharing my feelings with my husband, or sobbing in a bath. Each of these has felt right for that day and for that time of my progression through grief.

6) Honor their memory, & honor yourself for carrying on.

As the years progress, it becomes less about what “I have lost” and more about who they were, what they taught me, and what I can leave behind in honor of them. I can carry on. I can learn from their lives. I can grow. Then, I can share that growth with others.

I’ve attempted to do so in This is How We Grow. It honors my sister and brother-in-law, and father-in-law, and all whom I lost during that time of my life. I wouldn’t be doing what I do now—writing and teaching—without my sister, and brother-in-law, and all whom I’ve lost. I am grateful beyond words for this gift they’ve given me. I try to honor them by never taking it for granted.

My dear friend, Jody. “Second mom” to my kids, as I’ve been “second mom” to hers. I’ll never forget her.

In less than two weeks, my family will spend an afternoon with my friend, Jody’s, husband and three children, eat a home-cooked meal, share memories, and send balloons to remember her. It will feel comforting to be with them, remembering together. Then, on the actual death day, they will spend it together alone, and I will be speaking to a women’s group about women’s mental health and how to take care of themselves, in honor of my friend who struggled to do the same. It’s another way to remember—to use her memory to fuel my passion to help others. To learn from her lessons and then teach, so others might be prevented from the same fate.

That’s one of the best ways we can honor our loved ones who have passed on—to learn from them and then to share what we have learned; to let their legacy be one of hope, of peace, of compassion, and great love.

What are your thoughts and feelings about death, birth, anniversary, and holidays? How do you cope with them? What have you learned? Share with us by leaving a comment, below.

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