Grief Partners

Photo: Tanner David in Chicago

Grief and Praise

Inside every death, inside grief from loss, there are two people. Death partners.

Us, and the person who has died.

When my son died, one of the things that impacted me right away was the bizarre role reversal.

He went from being my child, to my ancestor.

From a soul it was my responsibility to guide, to my teacher.

I have regularly sat on my practice mat beneath his altar to receive instruction.

The wisdom that has flowed through these sessions has been profound.

And if I hadn’t put into practice what I felt he was instructing me to do, I am not sure where I’d be.

It has been him who has come to me in moments of terror. When the world has seemed too unsafe to inhabit.

When he was alive, Tanner had trouble allowing love to penetrate him. Unfortunately, this is part an inherited legacy. How our family did love early on. Love hurt. So we shut down.

His instructions to me from the other side has been to open as wide as I possibly can to love. To stay in a state of reception, and he would provide enough love to keep me alive. I trusted that completely. And it has materialized.

If you have sent me love, thank you. It’s been my life blood connection, my tether, to this world.

When I’ve inevitably questioned whether or not this had to happen, if it was something I had the power to prevent, it has been him who has impressed upon me the deeper truths inherent in his departure.

In the week before he left, he gave me so many gifts. He told me what a good childhood he had. He thanked me for being his mom, and for always being there for him. He told me if I ever felt scared or unsafe or needed help, I could ask him for whatever I needed.

He didn’t die intentionally. He had meant for all of these things to happen in the physical. He was sweet like that. But I believe all of these things came up because his soul knew he was getting ready to leave. And he would be my ancestor. I fully believe he left me instructions to call on him. Another miracle.

This period, while rife with unimaginable, and at times unbearable pain. Has been peppered with magic, beauty, and so much love. I’d be missing it all if he hadn’t told me to stay open, and out of self blame.

While I ache for him everyday, long for him in a way that’s physically painful at times, a new relationship with him is starting to come into view.

——

I wrote all this as praise for my son.

The most incredible grief partner.

And as encouragement for anyone else who may suffer a loss. (Inshallah not of a child)

I won’t fluff loss up as just some transition.

It clearly isn’t “just” that for those who mourn.

Instead, perhaps as a template one can draw on from inside of our pain. Our grief partner is there, and my sense is that they very much want to be of service to us.

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In his eulogy I borrowed words from Martin Practel’s book “The Smell of Dust on Rain”,

“Grief expressed out loud, whether in or out of character, unchoreographed and honest, for someone we have lost, is in itself the greatest praise we could ever give them.

Grief is praise, because it is the natural way love honors what it misses”.

I went on to ask attendees “Instead of the regular stoicism we are so accustomed to in the West, our outdated traditions of “not openly displaying our grief”. It is my job as Tanner’s mother, to see that he is well mourned, and that adequate praise is given to him, & his life to help him on his journey to the next world.”

So this is part of fulfilling the promise I made. I am going to praise my son every chance I get. Even if it is praise for what he is doing as my ancestor. And I’m going to share it. Because what is praise of it isn’t shared?