So instead, I’m going to highlight a few of the articles here in Melinda’s Grief Corner in case you haven’t dug into the (tiny) archive yet or are new to this space (welcome!).

If you’re feeling EXHAUSTED + griefy:

If you’re feeling tender or hesitant about sharing your grief with others:

If you’re looking for a grief-y movie recommendation:

If you are the friend of a griever and you want to know how to support them:

And lastly, if you want an elegant grief metaphor:

I hope these highlights support you wherever you are in your grief!

Until next time, big hugs.

I know it isn’t super common in regular conversation to drop the “D” word when talking about a loved one who is no longer here. But the other phrases don’t feel right to me. I felt that early on in the first few days after my dad died. When I would call my friends to tell them the horrible news, I always said “my dad died.” When I told my boss, I said he died. A year after he had died I was still using the “D” word.

Does it make people uncomfortable? Absolutely. But it isn’t my intention to make normal conversations awkward, whether I’m talking to strangers or people close to me. For me, I wanted to express his death and the loss of him in a way that felt right for me.

Saying he “passed away” feels wrong to me. To me, he is very much still part of my life. My giggle sounds like his. The recipes I cook are the ones he taught me how to make and I use his chef’s knife when I’m in the kitchen. When I’m on a walk in my neighborhood and stop to talk to someone I meet and pet their dog, I’m doing what he used to do on any regular day. So to me he didn’t pass away or pass on. He died.

“Died” also feels the most true because it is what happened. And it also carries the weight of the loss of his life. “Died” is heartbreaking, explicit, final and incontrovertible. No other phrase or word that we use in the English language feels that way to me. And that is also probably why it isn’t common practice to say “died.” The weight of it is too real and the cut of it too deep.

I share all this because I believe it is important for folks to respect the language grievers use to describe their experience of death loss (I say death loss because of course there are other types of losses - divorce, being laid off, loss of mobility due to an accident or age etc.). I describe my dad as dead, but if I’m talking about a friend who has also experienced the death of a loved one then I’ll use the word they choose to use. So even though I don’t say “passed away” for myself, I will say that when speaking with someone about their person.

Dear reader, I encourage you to find words and phrases that feel true to you and your grief. And all parts of your grief. I used to say death day. I hated saying “death anniversary” because anniversaries trigger images of balloons and bouquets - definitely NOT the image I have for the death day. Now I’ve started to say “sunset day” to describe the day my dad died. I saw that “sunset” was how they described the day Rev. Jesse Jackson passed away during his funeral service. And I thought it was beautiful.

If you’re looking for some inspiration for words beyond “passed away” I highly recommend you check out the website Grief In Six Words where folks describe their grief. Not all of the entries feature words outside of “passed away,” but it’s a lovely space to see how others describe their grief. And a place you can also share if you feel called to do so.

Until next time, big hugs.

Each grief-y day has been a different experience for me. Even when it is the same day - the first Christmas felt different from the second Christmas without my dad. The first death day felt very different from the second death day.

Now I wish there was some kind of grief-y hazmat suit that I could create that we could all wear on these grief-y days. Obviously technology has not caught up to that! But I’m here to offer you the things I do to prepare for those big days. And of course resources that will help support you around those big days.

I block off the day on my calendar

I do this weeks - if not months - before the actual day. Caveat - I am fortunate enough to do this. I have a job where I can take off however much time I need to myself. And I don’t have kids, so I’m not responsible for childcare. The idea here is to create as much space as I can on the grief-y day in case I need that. Maybe I won’t want to get out of bed that day. Maybe I won’t want to leave my house. I can’t know that beforehand, but I can prepare for that possibility by clearing out that day on my calendar.

Now, if you are not able to do that an alternative could be that you carve out some time to yourself on that day. Even if it’s 15 minutes in your car alone to just feel, scream, cry, nap - whatever you need to do to acknowledge how you feel on that day. Ask for help on that day. If you have a partner or spouse, ask if they can help carry a bit of the domestic load that day. See if you can have a neighbor or a friend watch your kids for an hour. Anything you can do to just give yourself some space.

I let people know that the grief-y day is coming.

I also do this a week or two before the actual grief-y day. The big thing here is that I only communicate this to people who are in my ‘grief circle.’ For me, that happens to be my grief support group and those in my life who have also experienced the loss of a parent. Because they get it. And I communicate the type of support I’ll need that day. I normally ask for folks to check in with me that day and if I don’t respond to not be alarmed - sometimes answering a text feels like a heavy lift when you are in the feels!

I give myself grace on the day

There is no ‘right’ way to grieve. And there is definitely no right way to feel on a grief-y day. On some days, I have felt nothing. Not necessarily numb or even empty. I just don’t feel anything. On other days I could not stop crying. There were days I wanted to be around people. And there were days I wanted to be alone in my living room with the curtains drawn.

No matter what, I didn’t judge myself. I didn’t question how I was feeling or what I wanted to do with that day. I just went with it and let myself be. Because living through a grief-y day can be hard enough. It doesn’t make it easier if we judge ourselves or are self-critical on those days (or any day for that matter!).

On your next grief-y day, or on any day you’re feeling extra feel-y, give this episode from the Good Mourning podcast a listen. The hosts discuss how they have survived grief-y days and they share tips and stories from their listener community on how to make it through those tough days.

And if there is something you do to help you get through tough grief-y days, please share in the comments!

Until next time, big hugs.

Year two felt more like a dark hallway I was walking through. I’d stumble in the dark, trying to feel my way out. It wasn’t all bad, but it also was definitely not all great.

I’ve learned a lot and a lot of those lessons were painful. But I also learned how to endure, how to rebuild, and how to heal. Mostly though, I’ve learned that grief is not only something I experience. It is something I live with everyday. Some days it’s in the background. Other days I’m drowning in it. But to describe grief as only a feeling, well, that does not do it justice.

This is also the first year of this newsletter! So to honor that moment I want to share the three things I’ve learned in Grief Year Two.

1. Never underestimate the heaviness of secondary losses.

I talked about learning about secondary losses in one of my early newsletters. Think about it like this - the death of your person is the stone that drops into a pond. The ripples are your secondary losses - loss of identity, financial stability, sense of security, relationships with other people, etc.

Many things shifted for me after my dad died - friendships ended, I left DC after living there for 6 years, I lost my independence for a bit when I decided to move in with my mom. Each of those losses felt like pouring more salt on the wound. I didn’t anticipate my secondary losses, and that made them extremely difficult. And that meant I had to mourn those too.

2. There is no right way to grieve.

My grief is my own. If you have lost someone, your grief is also your own. Maybe, like me, you’re also an only child. Or maybe you also lost your dad. Maybe we’re the same age, with the same background, with the same love for cats and deadlifting.

All of that can be true yet our grief can look like night and day. We can process differently and we may need different types of support. Both of our griefs (grieves? Not sure what the plural is here!) are completely valid and are deserving of support. But there is no ‘right way’ to grieve. There is no correct timeline. There is no correct amount of tears you need to cry. There is no right way to feel. It is all valid and it is all unique.

3. You do not need to grieve alone.

Being in community with grievers is the best thing I have done for my grief. As many of you know, I host an in-person grief support group through The Dinner Party here in the Virginia Beach area. Each month we get together to be with each other and talk about our people and what our grief looks like at that moment in time. We also have a group text where we can come in and get ongoing support from each other inbetween our meetings. And we have a shared google calendar where we all put in our big grief days, so that folks can check in on each other when they know someone is going through a tough day.

I love our little group. I love every meeting we have. I love being connected in the group text. I love spending time with folks outside of the meetings too. I love that our people get to be remembered because we are still talking about them, still sharing stories, still saying their names. I love facilitating a space where it is safe to cry, it is safe to share, and it is ok to not be ok.

I hope to keep hosting our little group for many months to come. Because grievers speak the same language. We know what the hurt feels like, we know what the challenges are, we know why something completely mundane can make you break and ruin your day. That is the ultimate definition of being seen at your most vulnerable. And to me, that feels like the most healing experience.

Thank you for being with me this past year! I’m planning on chugging along, sharing my feels and resources as I move into Grief Year Three.

If you feel open, I’d love for you to share what you have learned about grief in the comments!

Big hugs!

First, for all who are new to Melinda’s Grief Corner - welcome! Thank you for coming along my grief journey with me. I hope you find community here. And I hope that my newsletters about the rollercoaster ride that is grief bring you some comfort in your own grief journey.

Melinda’s Grief Corner (aka MGC) comes out every other Sunday! I took a bit of a break in January, but my first newsletter back came out earlier this month! If you’re new here, or if you’d like to go back and browse past newsletters you can check out the Melinda’s Grief Corner section of Article Club. And you can also find my very first newsletter where I talk about why I started this newsletter.

Second, as a gentle reminder Mark Isero - our fearless leader of Article Club - is taking a break for about six months to reflect and take stock! Paid subscriptions are on pause! You can read more about Mark’s thoughts on this hiatus here.

Last thing - today’s MGC newsletter is very short! I’m coming in with two griefy resources for folks who are looking for some online community support.

The first one is a free webinar hosted by What’s Your Grief on adjusting to living alone. This webinar is taking place on February 25, 2026 at 8:00pm Eastern and you can register here. I’ve really loved being part of the What’s Your Grief community and many of the articles are resources I share here with you all. If grief has reshaped your life in such a way that you are now living alone, I think this could be a great webinar to work through that enormous adjustment with all of the practical issues it brings up and the emotional toll it can also take.

The second one is another community event. This one is going to be hosted by The Dinner Party. As some folks who have been reading my newsletter for a bit may remember, The Dinner Party is the organization that helped me start my own in-person grief support group. This online event is to celebrate all of the ways folks who are part of The Dinner Party have helped the community as a whole walk with our grief. It is also a time to checkout what is in store for The Dinner Party this year! If you’re curious about The Dinner Party and you’re a griever between 18 - 45 years old, definitely check out this event. It will take place on February 26th, 2026 at 7:00pm Eastern. I’ll be there too! You can register here.

Until next time, big hugs from me to you!

I know. I’ve left you for a month and I’m coming back with a heavy newsletter! And it’s a blast from the (recent) past, because I wrote this while on my little break!

I’m writing this about 2 weeks after finding out a guy I was seeing earlier last year is in a new relationship with someone he met while we were together. I know when it rains it pours. Most of, if not all of us, know that kind of sting. Especially when you’re the one who didn’t end the relationship you were in with them (hi, I am “the one”). No one likes being the one who didn’t get a chance to “be happy” first by being the first one in a new relationship. And no one likes feeling like they were lied to by someone they trusted.

Now in the pre-grief era this would have absolutely still stung. Pre-grief Melinda would still have been hurt and would have drowned her feelings in spin classes and ice cream (which post-grief Melinda is doing, some things don’t change). But in the post-grief era, pain and hurt dig a bit deeper as I’ve talked about before.

The sting of rejection is one thing. But the absolute gut punch of not being able to be comforted by my dad is another. And that has become the biggest part of me processing this entire situation.

Many of us know the soft landing that our person gave us when they were alive. We know how their hugs feel, how their hands feel when they reach for our hand across the table to give a squeeze. We know the feelings of safety and security as we cry, vent, and break in front of them. It doesn’t matter how big or relatively small the hurt we could be going through, we know they anchor us when we feel lost. They give us strength when we feel we have none. They give us the support we need to try and pick up the pieces and move forward.

In my case, I know exactly what my dad would say and do. Which I almost think makes it harder for me. I would go over to his house and tell him “daddy, a boy didn’t like me, he picked someone else” shrinking back into that little girl who had a crush on Jeremy in the 5th grade and Jeremy definitely did not know I existed (your loss Jeremy! 5th grade Melinda was AMAZING!).

He would say “and that boy is stupid, he just made the biggest mistake of his life which believe me he will regret if he doesn’t already, now come in and I’ll make you something to eat.” And then he’d hug me, tell me I’m smart and beautiful and that he loves me. And I would feel a little bit lighter than I did just a few minutes before.

Sometimes knowing exactly how our people would comfort and care for us makes the grief feel even sharper. It takes the knife in your heart and twists it even more. Because you can understand exactly what you have lost. That knowing feels like the pinnacle of grief.

We obviously cannot get back what we have lost, but I do believe we can still find a way to connect to our people in times when we need a helping hand, or a warm hug, or just an ear to listen to. I recently discovered Postal Service for the Dead, an organization that collects letters grievers write to their loved ones. You can send them a letter you have written to your person and you have choices on whether you want one of their staff to read it or to keep it private. The letters are then archived into a collection of letter from other folks who also wrote to their person.

I love the idea of being able to tell my dad in writing that a boy didn’t like me and to still be able to process my heartbreak with him, even though he is not here on this Earth. It makes it feel like I’m able to say the words to him that I wanted him to hear. And while I can’t get the hug or the meal he would have made for me, I can still include him in this way. And I can still close my eyes and draw strength from the support I know he would send me.

I encourage you to look into Postal Service for the Dead if it feels supportive for you!

Big hugs until next time,

Melinda

• Why the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day is so weird;

• Why New Year’s Eve may be the griefy-est day of the year;

• How I’m coping with the end of the year and;

• What I’m bringing into 2026 to continue to support my grief (and what I’m leaving behind too!)

I’m taking a tiny break for the month of January, so no newsletters next month. But I will be back in February! In the meantime, if you haven’t already, go through the MGC archive for more of my thoughts and musings on grief!

I had a lot of anticipatory grief because who knows what this will look like. If we eat turkey at Thanksgiving does that mean it will still feel like Thanksgiving? If we put up a Christmas tree will we feel super festive? If I bake a billion holiday cookies can I make a fort out of them to protect me from my griefy-ness? How many cookies do I need to eat to feel less griefy?

In the end it wasn’t actually the holidays that got me.

What got me was going to a UVA basketball game. And this is when dear reader I learned that grief does not care when or where you cry.

The Friday after Thanksgiving I headed up to Charlottesville with my uncle. I got us tickets to a UVA basketball game, an activity my dad and I both loved.

We watched the games together all of the time. When UVA won the NCAA tournament in 2019 he was the first person I called, so excited and absolutely screaming at him through the phone while I was dancing around a crowded DC sports bar. He loved it. We loved it. We loved it together.

I hadn’t cried over Thanksgiving. I was surprised to say it was actually fine.

And then I sat in the John Paul Jones Arena to watch an exhibition game. I looked at the banners around the stadium and I went completely numb.

Amongst the hustle and bustle of alumni and students dressed in blue and orange, I felt crushed under the weight of my grief. I didn’t cry buckets - how would I explain that to the family of 5 next to me just trying to enjoy their nachos? But, dear reader I was drowning in grief waves.

Later, after UVA had thankfully beat out Holy Cross by double digits (I still maintain though the ref made some horrendous calls), I remembered a Reddit post that my grief-y friend Ben sent me.

It was about grief waves just like this one. The ones that come out of nowhere. The ones that should not be here because hey Thanksgiving was literally yesterday and you were doing SO WELL.

The writer of the post, u/GSnow, says about these grief waves “After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out.”

I was wiped out at JPJ Arena while also screaming at the ref (honestly how is it NOT a foul when the player fell on the floor?). The day I got into UVA was one of the best days of my life and I think my dad’s. He wore UVA caps, socks, and sweaters all the time. He told everyone, including the cashier at CVS, that I graduated from UVA. He taught me to love basketball. And together we loved UVA basketball.

So dear reader, that grief wave may have started by a tiny ripple that was being at a UVA basketball game. But it became a giant 100 foot tall wave because being there brought up how proud I knew, and know, my dad is of me.

It’s bigger than just the game. It’s bigger than not being able to share the game with him. It’s knowing what it feels like to be someone else’s joy. And that person is no longer on this Earth.

I hope this Reddit post gives you comfort and grounding in the grief waves this holiday season, and at any time of the year.

Big hugs and a life boat to help with the grief waves from me to you.

If you’ve got a griever in your life, it can sometimes be really sticky navigating this time. Do you acknowledge how bittersweet this season feels? Do you continue old traditions or do you make new ones? And what exactly is an appropriate gift to get your griever?

Well I’m here to help you out with that last question. Here, I’ve listed a few gift ideas for the griever in your life. Caveat, none of these are affiliated links. In fact everything I’ve listed I’ve either bought for myself or for a fellow griever or was recommended to me by grievers in my life. I wanted to deliver a list that was griever-approved for you!

Memorial jewelry, for the griever who wants to keep their loved one close each day.

I recently purchased this ring for myself after a long search for memorial jewelry that could hold ashes since my dad was cremated. The company also offers necklaces and bracelets if your griever prefers those instead of rings! Or if you aren’t sure of their ring size!

Also, pro-tip, you (or your griever) can contact the funeral home that did the service for their loved one and they can fill these pieces with ashes so you don’t need to.

If your griever’s person wasn’t cremated, or cremation jewelry isn’t a good fit, you can get them a piece of jewelry with their person’s thumbprint. I know a few folks who wear a pendant made by Thumbies, a company that specializes in this type of memorial jewelry.

A coffee mug or a cozy sweatshirt that acknowledges just how grief-y the holiday season can be.

When I first saw that The Dinner Party had merch for the holiday season, I squealed with delight. And I immediately bought this mug and this sweatshirt which I plan on using and wearing all season long. Highly recommend for any griever in your life no matter who they lost or how long its been since their loss.

For the griever who loves a book or loves a list and wants grief support in bite sized pieces.

The folks over at What’s Your Grief created a great book which is a compilation of lists to help your griever work through loss. This is also a great option for grievers who are having a difficult time focusing or concentrating (a very common symptom of grief) since the lists are easily digestible. I found this really helpful in the first few months after my dad’s death.

When you aren’t sure what to get your griever, so you want a professional to help you out.

I adore Here For You, a company that curates gift packages for those who are going through a loss. I’ve sent a couple of packages to friends as a way to honor the death anniversary of their person and let them know I’m thinking of them. You can create your own package or you can go with suggestions made by Here For You.

You don’t have a griever in your life, but you still want to support grievers out there.

There are many grief organizations out there that are offering some great support and resources for us grievers. One of my favorites, and one I’m involved with, is The Dinner Party. They help connect young grievers so they can feel supported and find community as they grieve death loss. I’m currently the host of an in-person grief group here in Virginia Beach through The Dinner Party and it honestly is really amazing to connect with fellow grievers in person each month.

If you don’t have a griever in your life, but still want to help out, consider making a donation to them this holiday season.

Big hugs,

Melinda

As many dads do, and as many Navy vets do, he loved a military movie. A Few Good Men, Top Gun, Independence Day - I mean you name it, we watched it at least 3 or 4 times. I chuckle at the thought that I became a lawyer because I watched A Few Good Men one too many times. And I absolutely cry at the Tom Cruise and Val Kilmer scene in Top Gun Maverick (comment if you do too!).

Last week I watched Kathryn Bigelow’s new movie - House of Dynamite - on Netflix. It isn’t strictly a military movie (don’t worry, I won’t spoil it!) but suffice to say the U.S. military plays a huge part in the film. Years ago I watched The Hurt Locker and Zero Dark Thirty with my dad during one of our Blockbuster/Redbox rental weekends.

Now dear reader, I thought watching House of Dynamite was going to give me the feels for completely different reasons (it is intense to say the very least!). But the biggest thing I felt was just sadness. Or more a sense of incompleteness. Because I couldn’t share it with my dad.

It felt like I was trying to complete a puzzle, but I was missing the pieces. Like I was trying to drive somewhere, but I had no gas in the tank. I was experiencing something that I loved, and I couldn’t share it with someone who I know would also love it.

The act of sharing is something I’ve always felt is so deeply human. To me, it is the definition of feeling seen. Nothing feels as good as someone recommending something to me - a movie, a book, a restaurant - and then experiencing that thing and falling in love with it. And the flip side is true too. I love saying to someone “I think you’ll like this” and seeing their face light up with joy when they experience it.

When you’re grieving someone, the act of sharing something with them has been torn away from you. This is obvious. But that feels, at least to me, like it’s own separate thing you also have to grief. There is your person. Then there is your ability to show love in sharing with them. In your ability to connect with them by saying “I really think you’ll like this” and seeing their reaction.

Papa Lim would have loved House of Dynamite (he loved a Kathryn Bigelow movie). He would have had lots to say as a Navy vet who served almost exclusively on submarines. He would have wanted to know what I thought of the movie. All of those things are their own separate grief. And I think, if you are a griever, you’ll know what that feeling feels like.

If you’re open, I’d love for you to share in the comments something you enjoyed recently that your person would have loved to share with you.

I’ve been going through a lot of what I’m calling “small g” grief. For me, the death of my dad is “capital G” grief. Actually, more like all caps GRIEF. “Small g” grief has looked like changes that are completely out of my control - people leaving my life to move on to other things, friends growing distant, a budding relationship with a man I really like fizzling out and not because I wanted that, watching people I love change because of our shared all caps GRIEF.

It got me thinking - and really feeling - how loss really morphed for me after The Big Loss. There have been stages I’ve spoken about before - the shock, the disassociation, the grappling with permanence of loss. But that all had to do with The Big Loss.

Life moved forward after my dad died as was always going to do. Except now when something shifts, when something breaks, when someone leaves it stings a bit more. It carries more weight now. It bites harder. That all happened after The Big Loss and a lot of times is not directly connected to it at all.

Why is that? Honestly I don’t know. But I wanted to share it because it is something I feel other grievers can relate to. When you’re world goes upside down because someone dies, your sense of stability crumbles. And then every shift, every movement, every change from then on can rattle you even more. Or put another way - when your foundation cracks, you can kind of feel like a house of cards.

Now, again, I share all of that because I’m hoping if you feel that way you know you’re not alone. But I share it too because one thing I’ve also been learning this month is how much people can survive. How much pain they can endure, how much grief they can carry, and how they can still find support, love and connection at the same time.

I’ve learned this through my in-person grief group (more reflections on that in a later newsletter). I’ve been fortunate enough to hear their stories, feel the weight of their loss, and I’m constantly in awe of how much they have had to endure. And how they have been able to continue to push forward and build a life for themselves.

And so I share both sides of that coin. That heartbreak does not feel good in this place we call grief. But that we can also survive, we can find a way forward, we can hold our pain and also build anew.

I know not everyone is fortunate enough to have an in-person grief group near them, so one resource I want to share is the new season of All There Is by Anderson Cooper. I’ve mentioned this a few times before, but in this podcast Anderson talks with folks who have experienced significant loss. His guests share how they keep going, the grief they carry, and everything in between.

I hope you’ll give it a listen and I hope it’ll inspire you as much as it inspires me.

Big Hugs xx.

My grief-y-est (yes, we’re creating that word right here!) grief trap doors are now objects. And they run the absolute gamut. My days can sometimes feel a bit like playing whack-a-mole where thing after thing reminds me of my dad. And then some days are silent - no grief trap doors, no objects that make me immediately want to crawl back into bed.

My most recent experience of repeatedly falling through these grief trap doors via objects was a few weekends ago. One of my very good friends from law school was visiting me and it was one of the first times I’ve been able to host a friend in my new home. And she had just celebrated her 40th birthday, so it felt like celebrations all around!

The first day she was here, I got an L.L. Bean catalog in the mail that morning. AKA the first grief trap door and the first grief-y object. My dad used to read the L.L. Bean catalog like it was the most interesting piece of literature on the face of the earth. Each fall/winter he would spend an entire afternoon perusing through the catalog to pick out one, if any at all, thing to buy for himself. Normally a coat or a sweater since he was constantly cold and he felt that L.L. Bean made quality warm clothes (which I believe too!).

Later that day we visited a new athletic clothing store that opened up near my home. Yes, dear reader, the second grief trap door! This was a store my dad never knew about, but it is veteran owned and my dad served in the Navy for 24 years. They had a line of caps and I absolutely would have bought one for Christmas for him. I found myself saying out loud “he would have really liked this place.”

And then finally, the third grief-y object! On my way to a wine shop, I spotted a Toyota pick-up truck that looks exactly like the one my dad owned and that we still have. Another regular, ordinary thing that just made the day even more grief-y.

When you’re grieving, it isn’t just the objects your person once owned that take on new meaning and can sometimes carry pain. It isn’t just the photos of them. It is any and every object that can be a reminder of them. And dear reader, those are everywhere. And they can turn any ordinary day into a very grief-y one instantly.

I found this video of Nora McInenry talking about her dead husband’s vacuum (I say dead husband because she remarried!) and how even though it doesn’t work she won’t get rid of it. Knowing that she’s out there with a broken pink vacuum that gives her the feels helps me feel less alone and less ridiculous! And I hope it does the same for you.

If you’re open to sharing, I’d love to know what was the last grief-y object that really brought up big feelings for you!

Drop it in the comments. Let’s talk about and cry over broken vacuums and L.L. Bean catalogs together.

Big hugs xx.

Hello Melinda’s Grief Corner readers! Quick thing - today’s newsletter is short. Things have been difficult over here this past week for me - lots of what I call ‘grief trap doors.’ These are moments when something in your life happens - you hear a song, you see an object, you get a flashback - that brings your grief up to the surface.

I’ve also had new things happen - I adopted a kitten! One of my foster kittens has now become my forever cat. Yes, I foster failed. Yes, this was entirely expected. And yes the moment of adopting this little kitten is bittersweet. Because I’m already in love with her. And my dad will never get to meet her.

Which brings me to a metaphor about grief that has stuck with me. It is one of the only metaphors of grief that really hit me when I first heard it. One of my oldest friends whose father also passed shared this with me a few months ago and I read this quote often. Sadly, I don’t know who said this. But whoever did, thank you.

I hope this resonates with you too.

Big hugs as always.

This newsletter isn’t really for grievers. It is for the folks trying to support a griever.

In the first 6 months of my dad dying, I heard A LOT of things from folks who cared about me that were supposed to sound supportive. But to be incredibly honest, a lot of it wasn’t. A lot of it sounded like empty platitudes (“it’ll get better soon”) or dismissive (“I mean at least you got to say goodbye to him”) or just bizarre (“it’s sad your dog died too, but at least she’s with your dad now!”).

And look, I get it. I’m not blaming people for trying. As a society, we don’t talk about death or grief enough in my opinion, so what ends up happening is when we hear someone has lost a loved one we get SUPER awkward (at best). We’re trying to snatch words out of the air in an attempt to respond. And we fall flat a lot of the time.

So this newsletter is my attempt to help you, dear reader, help your griever. This is of course not an exhaustive list! And it may not work for your specific person. But think of it as a starting point, the building blocks of support to help you help them especially in the very early days of grief.

1. Do not say “I’m here for whatever you need.” Do offer to help in a specific way.

This is a biggie! As a griever who just lost their person, it can be nearly impossible to get through a day. Not only are you trying to process your emotions, but you also have your existing responsibilities. And you now have to do all of the things you have to get done when someone dies - plan the service, call Social Security or pension plans to halt payments, call the DMV to notify of the death, contact everyone to let them know this person died and details of the service if there will be one, etc. You essentially take on a part-time job along with your life that may include an actual full-time job and your other responsibilities.

As a griever, it can also be difficult to even know what you need. Some days I didn’t even know if I had washed my hair. Figuring out what support I needed? That’s like trying to get me to solve a Rubik’s cube (which I’ve never done).

What is more helpful is to offer very specific support. Start with basic needs. Your griever needs to eat. Offer to go grocery shopping for them once a week or, if your schedule is too busy for that, offer to order groceries that will be sent to their house. You can also be even more specific. Maybe your griever has young children. Offer to babysit for an afternoon just so they can get some time to themselves or they can have time to get through all of the death admin.

You can also lean into your own skill set. Maybe you’re really good at organizing events. Offer to be the one to put in the order for flowers at the service. Maybe you’ve got a huge car. Offer to be the one to pick up family members from the airport who are flying in for the service. Maybe you like to exercise. Offer to go on a walk with your griever once a week and tell them that they can decide if they want to talk about the loss or not. Specifics help and they simplify things for grievers!

2. Do not try to skirt around the loss. Do acknowledge the loss and give your griever the space to talk about it or not.

This is a little bit more nuanced. A lot of times folks think that if they bring up the loss to their griever, it makes it worse. So what they do instead is to not ask how the griever is doing and talk about something else. Or they try to talk about something happy with the intent that they don’t want to upset the griever further.

It is completely ok to acknowledge the loss. You will not make your griever sadder by bringing it up and asking how they are feeling. Your griever always feels the loss, some days it's loud and some days it's a whisper. They will never forget their person died. You bringing it up is not going to remind them; they already know.

A lot of times grievers feel like there is a maximum amount of time they can talk about grief. They worry that they are bringing the mood down or that they are annoying people by bringing up their loss. And so they shrink before they are actually ready to stop talking about it. They stop themselves because they don’t want to be a downer, or they don’t want to annoy people, or they feel like they are being too much.

Letting your griever know you are open to talking about the loss is extremely helpful. It is like a sigh of relief to them when they do feel like they want to talk about it or give it space. And sometimes it can feel hurtful to not acknowledge it. Let them know they can talk about it if they want to and then let them decide. Grievers just want to be witnessed and seen in their feelings.

3. Do not stop checking in after the funeral. Do continue to check in and make note of hard days.

This is a big one. After the funeral, a lot of people around a griever will stop checking in. Your griever is now trying to figure out how to live in a new world where their person is no longer there. And that doesn’t really end because the world for them is different now.

Dropping off after the funeral hurts. It hurts to realize that folks have moved on with their lives while you are still navigating big feelings. So continue to check in on your griever. Make a note to check in on them on big days - the holidays, birthdays, anniversaries. Just a short text of “hey I know this day may be hard for you, I’m here to chat or listen if you need it” can feel really supportive.

And that’s the list! Again, just to get you started in supporting your griever. One last thing - definitely watch Nora McInerney’s TED Talk where she highlights the one phrase you should not say to someone grieving.

Until next time, big hugs!

Two quick things before we get started! One - no video from me this week sadly! I’m fostering several kittens and it’s been difficult to record a video without one of them stepping on my keyboard and stopping the recording!

Two - don’t forget my in-person MGC gathering through The Dinner Party is happening this coming Saturday (September 13th) here in Virginia Beach! If you or someone you know would like to attend, you can register here!

I’m a firm believer that we do not say goodbye to summer until the Equinox, but at the same time I adore fall. I love cooking soups and stews. I love baking with nutmeg, cinnamon, and clove. I love leather jackets and beanies. And I love taking walks in the crisp fall morning air.

I’ve been feeling a shift in my grief during this transitioning time between summer and fall and it’s made me realize that grief is also kind of seasonal. Not necessarily as predictable as the actual seasons, but grief ebbs and flows in its own way.

And I would be completely crazy-pants to not mention the fact that as we move into colder months here in the U.S. it means that the holidays are right around the corner. And the holidays can be a massive grief trigger for many of us!

So I thought I’d let you in on how I’m planning on supporting myself for these last few months of the year. I hope it’ll inspire you to put together your own little grief resource list if these next few months and the holiday season feel particularly sticky for you.

And not all of these resources are directly grief related! Which I think is important. We’re grieving, but we’re also whole humans with thoughts, feelings, and needs outside of our grief.

Here goes!

1. Cookies by Vaughn Vreeland, which I’ve preordered! Cookie season to me is its very own season. And I’ve loved many of Vaughn Vreeland’s recipes on the New York Times Cooking App. My dad also had a sweet tooth, so I always like to think he’d love to know I've got the oven on with a batch of fresh baked cookies just minutes away.

2. Volunteering with my local SPCA. I’ve been fostering animals the past couple of months, and I’ve also taken on some shifts as front desk greeter once a week. Being around animals is always super fun and also getting involve with the community feels really grounding!

3. Morning walks a few days a week before work. We all know that the days are about to get shorter - I mean sunset at 5:00pm is absolute madness even for me who has a ridiculously early bedtime. But to take advantage of the early mornings, I’m intentionally taking a 20-30 minute walk a few times a week at the park down the street from me before I start work to just get some sunshine before the inevitable early sunset!

4. Finally diving into The Grieving Body by Mary-Frances O’Connor, Ph.D. This has been on my grief booklist, but I haven’t had a chance to dive into it yet. I’m at a place in my grief where I’m open to learning about grief from a different angle, and this seems like an excellent book to start with!

5. Planning a standing get together with a friend each week. I’ve started this a bit already - every Sunday I meet up with a friend for a yoga class and a coffee afterwards. And it has been so lovely! During the colder months its so tempting to just nest at home, but knowing I’ve got a standing Sunday yoga + coffee date helps me feel connected, which can be difficult when grief comes up!

And that is it friends! I hope you find ways to support yourself this last little section of the year. And feel free to share in the comments something you’ll be doing (or not doing!) in the coming months to support yourself.

Big hugs,

Melinda

Hi everyone! It’s Melinda. Welcome to Melinda’s Grief Corner! MGC comes out twice a month on Sundays. If this is your first time here, be sure to check out past posts to learn more about the inspiration behind this new Article Club feature and read about other grief-y topics I’ve covered with resources I’ve shared!

Spoiler alert! I’ve got a fun announcement in the video and also at the end of this newsletter! I hope you check it out!

Dear reader, let me set the scene.

It’s currently 12:25 am on a Wednesday morning. I’m logging onto work in less than 6 hours. And I am WIDE awake. I’ve been wide awake for a little over an hour. And no, this is not how I normally sit down to write MGC.

Close friends of mine would gasp in shock if you told them that I was staring at a screen this late at night. People in my life know that if you text me after 6:30 pm on any day of the week that ends in “day,” you won’t get a response from me until the next day because my notifications are silenced. And if you REALLY need me, you’re going to have to call me twice because, again, my notifications are silenced and the call won’t go through unless you call twice.

All to say, I really value my sleep. I don’t do screens in bed. I have an actual alarm clock because I refuse to use my phone in my bedroom. I have one of those lamps that has the option to glow red (I know creepy, yet good for sleep apparently!) to help me wind down for bed and induce better quality sleep. And generally I don’t have trouble with sleep.

That is until the grief era where sleep has been very erratic. In an earlier MGC newsletter I talked about how I was exhausted after my dad died. But there have also been periods of this grief era where sleep has been so incredibly elusive. So why today on this random Tuesday night/Wednesday morning?

Because next month it’ll be 18 months since my dad died. And it isn’t only the amount of time that feels weird - although wrapping my mind around the fact that the 2-year mark will be here before I know it is very strange - it is everything that has happened in those 18 months. It is everything he has missed.

Since he died on March 9, 2024 (side note - I can’t ever seem to just say ‘2024’ or ‘March’ I have to say the whole date, anyone else like this?), so many things have happened. I almost want to say too many things.

I moved back home after living away for 18 years. I bought my first house. I became a mentor at work. I got recognized for being an excellent mentor at work. I learned how to safely lift weights by working with my personal trainer. I became strong enough to squat 145 pounds (this happened in the past 48 hours!). I made new friends. I got strong enough to do an actual push-up. I joined a new book club. I got back into hot yoga. I visited Seattle for the first time. I started MGC. I started volunteering and fostering animals for the SPCA. My first foster puppy got adopted. Did I mention I freaking bought a house?!

Life isn’t just the number of months and days we live. It’s also the experiences we have, the goals we achieve, the relationships we form and nurture. And for grievers, it is the life we continue to live that we can’t share with our person anymore.

Not really at least. Not in the same way. Not in the way we want to or we have in the past. There are countless times, where for a split second I’ll think “oh I need to call my dad to tell him this, he’ll love this” and then I crash into the cold hard reality that I can’t do that. And there are also countless times where I’ve thought “I can’t figure this out, let me ask him what I should do” and I’m broken all over again.

In navigating (more like stumbling) this for nearly a year and a half (eek!), I came across the concept of “continuing bonds.” It’s the idea that we can continue to have a relationship with our person who died and that this practice can also be healthy for us. Now, caveat here - this is NOT helpful for everyone. There are many people who are not comforted by this. So I just want to give space to that and validate that experience.

Continuing bonds can look different for everyone, but one way to look at it is how we continue to integrate our person into our lives without even really thinking about it. For example, I have my dad’s coffee cup and I regularly use it. I also kept a bunch of his baseball caps and I’ll wear them occasionally. A more active example is when I talk to him. I do this a lot in the car (not sure why) or when I’m puttering about my house. A lot of the time it’ll be about a problem I’m facing where I just say out loud “so what do you think, what should I do about this?” or sometimes I’ll just randomly say “I miss you.”

I’m still working through continuing bonds in my own life. Sometimes having my dad so present in my life makes the loss feel bigger and makes me even more grief-y. Sometimes its comforting to have him that close. It’s not just one thing. And I share that in case it feels complex for you.

The folks over at What’s Your Grief (MGC favorite resource!) put together a very helpful article about this as well as a podcast that I highly recommend checking out if this is something that intrigues you. Again, it isn’t for everyone! And that’s ok too.

Until next time,

Big Hugs.

Oh! You made it to the end! Thank you for reading this far through and for also watching the video!

MGC IRL is in just a few weeks! You can learn more about it here! Hope to see you there!

Spoiler alert - this a newsletter that isn’t a newsletter at all! When I sat down to write this week’s MGC entry and to record a video for it, I couldn’t think of anything to say. Grievers know that grief is always around, always filling the air, always lurking in the shadows, always by your side. So there are certainly plenty of things I could discuss or reflect upon for all of you.

But I didn’t want to force it. I didn’t want to try to push words onto a Google Doc just because I know every two weeks MGC comes out. Instead, I wanted to give space to the fact that right now I couldn’t create a newsletter. And that’s ok. The words will come back in due time.

So this a just a tiny reminder from me to you to take a break. Don’t force it. If you’re grieving and today you just need the space to cry, then do that. Don’t force yourself to smile. And if you’re grieving and you feel like should feel a certain way - don’t feel that way. You don’t have to be a puddle on the floor. You can just be how you are today. Again don’t force it. Take a breath. Grief (and sometimes newsletters!) don’t move on an exact timeline.

Big hugs until next time,

Melinda

I’ve been an avid reader for as long as I can remember. My dad liked to tell this story that whenever we were in the car driving somewhere and there was a big 18-wheeler next to us, I would try to sound out the word written on the truck. He’d help me out when I was trying to figure out how to read “Wonderbread” or “FedEx.” I grew up just a few blocks away from the public library. My mom was also a huge reader and I would always get to borrow a new book (or stack of books) each time she would go to pick up her next read.

This continued as I grew up. I would read under the covers with a flashlight when I was in grade school. I ended up majoring in English Literature in college. I’ve joined various book clubs throughout my life and at one point I kept a running spreadsheet of the books I had read.

Then it all stopped when my dad died.

I could barely read the headline on a news article in the months after he died. I had friends who would send me articles to read in the weeks after he died as a distraction from my grief (note: this did not work) and I would literally laugh out loud. No way can I read this New Yorker article that is 5,000 words. I can’t even remember if I washed my hair this morning. No way can my brain comprehend reading an article or book right now.

I stayed that way for a really long time. I didn’t read a single book in 2024. I read lots of articles on grief. I listened to a lot of podcasts too. But the books I did turn to were either really short and concise, or I saved them to a list on my Notes app for later.

It wasn’t until a few months ago that I joined a book club through the yoga studio where I’m a member. One book a month. Fiction. And normally something easy to read - we’re not trying to get through War and Peace over here. I felt like I could do that, right? I wasn’t entirely sure, and I was honestly kind of afraid I couldn’t.

But, dear reader, I did! I read that first book for book club and then I read the next month’s book too! And I kept going. And then I started to read other books, fun fiction at first because that was easy to get through. Then I started to get through my Grief Books list in my Notes app. I started to be able to read quickly again, I could concentrate again. I felt like my old self again.

When we enter our grieving era, we lose a lot of who we once were. We are completely different people. How could we not be? We just went through a massive event that will be a time marker for our lives. And sometimes, we may be scared we will not see our old self again. Even after grief settles a bit and it becomes a bit more manageable. We worry, did I lose who I was too?

And I’m here to tell you, sometimes the pieces do come back together. There will be things that will come back with time. You can find joy in what you did before. It may not be everything. Some things may be lost. But that’s ok too. The change is a testament that your loss and your grief are big, and real, and they matter.

But you’ll also get back to your old self in some ways too. Maybe it’ll just start by picking up a book again, like it did for me.

If you’re interested more in how grief affects our brain, like it did for me, check out this episode from the Good Mourning podcast where the hosts interview Dr. Mary Frances O’Connell who wrote a book on this subject!

Big hugs.

Hello friends! Things have been a bit grief-y over on my end. No obvious reason why - there were no birthdays, anniversaries, or special days. This is what I’ve deemed “the everyday grief.” It’s a kind of grief that lingers in the room. Sometimes there will be something that happens that sharpens the feeling. But most days it’s just there with you.

I say all of this to share why 1) there is no video entry from me today and 2) this newsletter is a bit shorter than normal. And I also say this to normalize the fact that grief is kind of an everyday thing.

When we do talk about grief, which isn’t nearly enough in my opinion, we focus a lot on time markers. The first year. Holidays. Birthdays. Those types of things that our calendars remind us of. But a lot of times, I think, the most difficult part of grief is just living with the constant ache that your loved one is not here with you in the way they once were.

Recently (as in literally two days ago) I made a new dessert recipe - peach cobbler bars - to celebrate stone fruit season (it’s so short! Must take advantage of it while we can!). It is a recipe I never made for my dad. He will never eat these, and I know he would have wanted to because he loved sweets. And he loved when I tried new things in the kitchen. There are no memories connected to him and this tiny, everyday thing that I did this week.

And as small and ordinary as that it, it feels big and grief-y. Those are the moments that we as grievers have to somehow navigate day in and day out. It is the part of grief that is difficult to explain, but also such a huge part of our grief-y feels.

I hope that if you’re feeling this way or have felt this way, that you feel a little less alone knowing that I am over here getting deeply sad over some delicious peach cobbler bars.

And if you’re needing some support, here are a few grief-y resources that have helped me recently:

Black Widow: A Sad-Funny Journey Through Grief for People Who Normally Avoid Books with Words Like "Journey" in the Title by Leslie Gray Streeter. This book is both deeply vulnerable, full of big feelings and also absolutely hilarious. Highly recommend if you want a dash of humor with your grief-yness.

Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zaumer. The intro chapter of this book made me cry. The first 20 pages made me FEEL. I’m still getting through this one since it is just a very emotional read, but so far I do love it and feel like its a gift!

All There Is, Anderson Cooper’s Podcast Episode with David and Amy Sedaris. Again, if you want to laugh and cry all within the span of less than an hour, this is the podcast episode for you!

Big hugs friends.

In my pre-grief era, I always assumed that the death of a loved one would be the one and only loss. Like a contained kind of loss. A colossal one that was finite in that there was the one person - as big and as important as they are - and that their life and love would be the only things I would mourn.

Oh dear, reader. How naive I was! Now of course the death of your (and my) loved one is the main loss. The epicenter of our grief. There is nothing that can measure up to its importance, its significance, and its weight that we must carry.

But it is not the sole loss. There are in fact other losses that ripple out from that center. And those, I have learned, are called “secondary losses.”

I learned about this while (attempting) to earn my “grief Ph.D.” (aka intellectualizing my feelings) in the early weeks and months after my dad’s death. The secondary losses came first. The information on what they were came second.

It started when I slowly started to see friendships fade away. Grief triggers our own feelings about mortality, it brings into focus the fact that everyone we love will die one day (sorry, I know, I’m just a bright ray of sunshine over here), and it is MESSY. So folks in our lives may just stop showing up for us. And that happened for me.

So as I was quite literally writing my dad’s eulogy, I realized folks were pulling away. That they didn’t want to give space to all of my big messy grief feelings. And that’s when I started to mourn friendships that I thought were solid.

The secondary losses for me kept coming. I decided to move out of DC and back home to be with my mom. I ended the lease on my DC apartment. I packed up all of my stuff and in the process of that shed actual belongings that I didn’t want to move into my mom’s house. I lost a sense of independence as I had not lived with my parents (except for very short stints) since I moved away for college in 2006.

I lost communities I was part of - neighborhood friends, the cycling studio I went to all of the time, my weekly pottery class, my neighborhood coffee shop where they knew me and my regular order. I lost my routine - my daily walking route, my weekly farmer’s market, going to the art museum that always brought me joy. I lost my identity - was I even my dad’s daughter anymore (I know weird question), did I still not want to have children, who am I as this person who is moving back home which was never part of my plan?

The questions and the losses kept coming. But in many ways I was fortunate. I could move my job since I was working remotely. I could afford to move in the first place. I didn’t have major responsibilities - a husband, children, or a mortgage - that were tied to DC that would make it difficult to make the choice to move.

But these losses carried their own weight and their own grief. They were not things I knew I would either lose or choose to give up in order to live a life that would make room for my grief. They may not have been my main loss, but they were tethered to it. And they added to my grief.

So as I was in this whirlwind of losing things I never thought I would also lose, I learned the term “secondary losses” from an article on whatsyourgrief.com, a website I have recommended in previous posts! Here is a very helpful visual of what secondary losses feel like:

This article also helpfully explains that secondary losses may not happen all at the same time. They may in fact come up at different points, which makes them unpredictable and that much more jarring. You can’t really prepare for the secondary losses, but you can acknowledge that they are happening. And they can be upsetting as well. To me, it was important to acknowledge that my secondary losses were also painful. Sometimes they cut even deeper, albeit in a different way, because they came out of absolute nowhere.

So dear reader I hope you find this resource helpful! If anything I hope it normalizes this for you. Many, if not everyone, will experience secondary losses. But they aren’t talked about very much and we often don’t think about it until we’re in it. Hopefully, this helps you feel a little more seen in your grief today.

Until next time,

big hugs.