Grief Gang

 TW: Please be advised that this post covers parental and pregnancy loss. 

My closest friends and I have this understanding that we touch base and check in especially when something is amiss. They haven’t replied in a while, socials have gone dark, or we just know it’s been a rough patch, we do a wellness check. The holidays warrant a check-in for many of us (especially since many of us are in a situation-ship with Grief). 

Grief seeps into everything. Even the things you wouldn’t consider to be grief. Yebba’s Evergreen (honestly anything Yebba makes) points me to my mother. How I interact with my sister, my friends, the adventures I take, all of it, I either think of her or the reality of loss dictates the urgency of my choices. I have lost enough and capturing the moment is my driving force. 

Loss is a weird thing, mostly because you don’t really have a frame of reference for it. But Loss has also been an invitation into a taboo club - The Grief Gang. No one really talks about how loss and grief impacts you until you’re in the club. I can’t begin to tell you how many people reached out to me after my mother passed. I mean people I have very shallow connections with. “Let me know if you need to talk!” “It’s really an ongoing thing.” “Whatever you need!” And while some of it was just nice sentiments, it highlighted this “other” group that I knew nothing about. Loss created a connecting point between us. 

It’s been nice (for lack of a better term) to have friends who are in this club too. They get it. They get what loss feels like it. They check in around anniversaries (Grief Day is what I call it). They offer language to the things I don’t understand. And silence for the things I’m not willing to address yet. 

We have a mutual understanding especially with the holidays; they can be partially tricky. We’ve always been told it’s the most wonderful time of the year and before we joined the Grief Gang it had been. But now it’s a little bittersweet. It’s sprinkled with reminders of the one we lost, the moments we shared, and the moments we imagined that we will never realize. Like just between the laughs and holiday cheer *clink clink*, is a pause, a micro beat, where the grief lives. We catch each other’s eyes across the table, we shoot a text, a “whew chile” and all is understood. It’s understood but it’s almost never talked about. 

In that spirit, I texted some vv special girlfriends. I asked them to share their experience in the Grief Gang and they delivered. 

Paris has added Toni to the conversation.

I think about my mom everyday. It has been 3 years and not a single day goes by that she does not cross my mind. Add to that, the thought of Sheila Freeman is usually accompanied by her mother, who passed away 4 months after her.  Grief is always with me.

 In the beginning, Grief crashed up against my heart over and over like the most violent of waves. Grief was a hurricane. It was the first to greet me in the mornings, met me for lunch in the afternoon, and clung to me in bed at night. I could hardly go an hour, let alone a day without feeling bowled over by the thought of her. My mother being gone, unreachable was incomprehensible. It is a deep, soul level sadness I was not prepared for. But as time went on, and one year turned into two, those waves of sorrow became less and less violent. Grief became a constant, ever present fixture in my life. Less clingy and less needy for attention, just secure in knowing that I would never forget those early days.

While it didn’t (and doesn’t for that matter) make my stomach lurch anymore, it brings tenderness when it shows up now. When I am celebrating an accomplishment, enjoying a hike through a beautiful forest, enjoying a meal with my loved ones, or exploring a new city, Grief is there gently reminding me someone is missing. My Grief, I now understand to be with me for life, is constantly reminding me that the one person I want to call and tell about all the mundane and magical moments in my life, is no longer here. What’s more, I sometimes grieve that the nudging no longer feels jarring or malicious.

And so, my Grief is a constant hum, a vibration in the background of my day to day. I grieve the life I could have shared with her, and I grieve the pain of early grief because it means that time continues to pass. And the most interesting realization about my new life partner is that it is a welcome reminder of my deep love for my mother. 

 

Paris has added Mayra to the conversation.

My father was one of my first best friends, and I didn’t fully realize it until he was gone. A real ride or die. Known to us, and really all the neighborhood kids we messed with, affectionately as “Papi”. I remember sitting to write the eulogy for his funeral, one of the things that jumped out in my memory was how Papi used to chaperone all the field trips in elementary school. He was THE chaperone. Always checking yes on the box without a doubt, I wanted him there and he loved being in the mix. Until I started to get a little bit older, around 5th grade to be exact. I cringe when I think about it now, but I remember pre-teen me not wanting him to come anymore; being too cool to have my dad around. Ironically, the day would come where I would learn that I really was the only person thinking like that.

It was the big spring field trip to this waterpark, probably the last one of the year; we were ready to go, hyped to get out of school and have shenanigans all day. Until the teacher found out that someone had dropped last minute and we were one chaperone short. I remember her making a mass announcement, that if anyone had an adult at home that they could call to speak up or we wouldn’t be able to go. Almost immediately, all the eyes in the room collectively shot to me. Knowing that I consistently had someone who could drop me off and pick me up for a reason; my dad was available. A preacher by night and stay at home dad by day. Everyone pressed for me to call him, begging almost. I remember biting the bullet (still not realizing how dope my dad was, how in demand this man was by these kids who also, in a way, grew up with him) and dialing our home number. He picked up and I told him what was wrong. Almost instantly you could hear him smiling through the phone, without hesitation he said yes. So excited, hyped even. He was at the school in less than 20 minutes with a whole lunch packed. And when he walked in the room? It was like a celebrity had come in, all the kids collectively shouting “MR RAMOS!”. He was beaming. He saved the day. He showed up. That’s who he was. When I called, he came. That’s what made him Papi. When he passed, I remember sitting on his ottoman chair in tears asking myself “what am I supposed to do now?”. A whole adult me, feeling an overwhelming child-like helplessness. When you live your life with a constant dependable presence, it’s kind of terrifying to look around and realize that you are your own adult now. Who was going to come when I called? Who was going to show up and fix it? Even when I didn’t ask, he just had this way that made being in cahoots with him feel like the safest place in existence. Before I could get a chance to tell him what was wrong he would beat me to it and look at me with an assuring nod and wink...like “say less.” I think that’s one of the things that makes my heart ache the most when grief creeps in; the absence that makes you feel like you’re flying solo. In time you slowly make peace with this wild concept that a whole person who once existed in your world just stopped existing. You grow around your grief. Their absence, while still there, fades into the background. Life and its natural ebb & flow begins to take center stage and whether you like it or not you plummet forward into existence without them. But a wise person once told me “God leaves no vacancies” and in these last 6 years, I’ve caught comforting glimpses of Papi in the people I love; in their quirks, expressions, mannerisms. The moments where I feel defeated, like “If Papi was here (fill in the blank with a frustrating task he made look easy)” and they pull up without hesitation to show me how to do something. Or take the task on entirely. I’ve felt it in the ways they have shared their own fathers with me, the warm dad hugs when I’ve needed them the most. It’s the antidote to the “flying solo” feeling and in the best of ways it feels like his final nod & wink.

Paris has added Mel to the conversation.

First and foremost, let’s get this right out the way from the jump...managing loss or let’s even go as far as to say, managing the expectation of loss is like welcoming the polar vortex in Chicago.

It’s never the right time.

It arrives like a bat out of hell regardless of our expectation or maturity with its arrival.
It always comes after an extended heat wave.

And my closet is unprepared.

I’m going to wake up in the morning and Paris is going to step outside with Baby Sis in some cute shorts and a long sleeve t-shirt (just because she’s got a little Chicago sense left in her), and I, am going to spend about 15 min running around looking for hats, gloves, scarves, and socks (my son and I do not do socks but we make it happen because well...it’s appropriate and required vortex attire). The never, always, unprepared arrival of the Chicago vortex is the backbone of whatever peace and understanding I pull together at this exact time of year in managing my grief. My therapist would indicate that I have arrived in “maintenance mode” - whatever the heck that means.

Her: We are here, so how will you honor your grief this year, Melissa? 

My brain: Yea, let’s not do this right now. I am having too much fun in these here streets.   

My mouth: Well ya know, I’m going to reflect and allow myself to... 

It arrives every year, but the holiday season brings these layers of grief that even the Buttercream Cake recipe will try to reject this layer into the fold.  It’s just too heavy for the funfetti and frosted greatness.  Yet, my grief finds its way to acceptance and healing. It really does, in ways that I am unprepared for, but hold on to for the next go ‘round.

Let me give you a rapid fire snapshot…

• Got married in August, been married for 8 years 
• Polar vortex stays dormant longer than we expected that year  
• October we are pregnant 
• December arrives. We are attending all versions of holiday party’s back to back
• I’m faking my glass of wine at each event.  Transferring sips of it to Zach’s glass when no one is looking (we didn’t want to tell the folks at this particular party just yet).  My love affair with the art of wine is undeniable by all who know me...I’ll save that for another text  
• At the final party before Christmas, I arrive in the bathroom with a red stain on my pants 
• Stepped away to call the emergency line 
• Arrive the next week to no heartbeat 
• We decide to take the path with the least risk to my body 
• I “deliver” at home 
• Christmas arrives. New Year’s arrives 
• 2 years later, Isaiah arrives (our now 6 year old) 
• 3 years ago, we lose my mother in-law at this time 
• Also 3 years ago, I am being carted away to the OR to have my third pregnancy come to a close 

Grief doesn’t apologize for it’s unwelcomed arrival. Grief doesn’t give you time to prepare. 

What I do know now is that my grief, my way of navigating it, is sacred to me. Yes, my faith and understanding is written all over the management of it, but my confession of its cold a** arrival has given me the space and time to actually welcome it.  

Let me use my tools and shoot for these “I” statements: 

• I know that it is coming
• I share that it has arrived and I am sitting in my closet preparing the clothes required to cover me, my emotions, and the navigation of it all
• I give it a big a** hug in honor of the memories and strength that this loss built in me

Grief arrives, it's that unexpected/expected guest that just never gets it right but, you love on it and honor it in all the ways that make sense for you. Don’t let anyone or anything tell you differently.  

Especially the clothes you think you don’t have in your closet in preparation for it’s arrival.  

Grief can be such a wildly isolating thing and it’s nice to be reminded that I’m not alone, especially with the holidays upon us.

Three years ago my mom passed just a week before thanksgiving, but it’s actually Christmas where I miss her more than usual. The ache of her absence is always in my skin but during this time of year grief really does a number on me. My mom loved any reason to go all out. She wanted to make cookies, matching pajamas, decorate the tree, big family meal, and an even bigger family breakfast. She celebrated every single moment of life and Christmas was the chef’s kiss. I haven’t found the motivation to even begin having a Christmas spirit. Partly because So Cal and palm trees don't scream Christmas special but also because her energy cannot be matched.

In all honesty, my mom lives in every moment & in everything. She’s in good food, random adventures, and in the moments I muster the courage of a white man. That’s the “for better or for worse” of grief. You never forget them, but you never forget them. And your grief gave your admission to a gang you never knew you needed. So whether this is your first holiday season in the gang or your 20th, you’ve got the memories of who you lost and you’ve got your franns to remind you that you’re not alone. & that’s a beautiful gift to have.

Meet the Authors

This is a very special Text featuring some of my real life girlfriends. They’ve shared some of their private thoughts with us, here is a greater picture of who they are. 

Toni (@yafavoutdoorauntie): Welcome back Toni! She’s a Chicago native turned Cali girl! With her strong wanderlust, she is always taking on a new adventure and is our favorite activities coordinator. When she’s not working in quality assurance, she’s taking in all the world has to offer. Toni is Paris’s sister and dog-mom to Nutmeg.

Mayra (@ypwawa): Mayra is a Cali girl hanging out in Chicago! She recently completed her master’s degree - the first in her family! *snap snap* Mayra has a big heart, you can always count on her for a listening ear, to check if you’ve eaten, or just give you a hug when you need it most. She really is a titi to all the kids! Mayra is always stepping out of the box and learning that she can be both/and. She may be an admissions counselor by day but her true passions are preaching and writing. Mayra is also the editor for T2MG.

Mel (@melissatribuemartin): Mel! A Chicago girl with a deep sense of adventure and an all around boss. She occupies many professional roles but my favorite is President of the Secret Black Society. Seriously, if you need a plug, Mel has the perfect reference. More than anything, Mel values organic transparency and love both personally and to her tribe. Mel is wife to Zachary and mommi to Isaiah. (& goddie to Baby Sis).

Thanks to each girlfriend for being willing to share in this very special post highlighting grief. I am grateful for what you’ve shared with me and the Franns.