Channeling What We’ve Lost into How We Live
This past week, I said goodbye to my grandma, my last living grandparent, who passed away at 99. Nearly a century packed with love and selflessness, she raised 10 kids and showered her 20 grandchildren and 28 great-grands with the sweetest attention. Her magical way of making everyone feel special—along with her cabinet brimming with “fun fruits” for visiting grandkids—is part of the joyful, generous legacy she leaves behind.
Funny enough, I was the only grandchild that never called her “grandma.” Ever since I was a toddler, she’s been “Gabby” to me. My grandpa jokingly encouraged this nickname as a nod to her “gift for gab.” As I grew older, I realized that she not only lived up to this moniker, but that I may have inherited her tendency toward chattiness.
Reflecting on the unique way this remarkable woman touched all our lives, I realize that each goodbye carries its own weight. As my kids would say, losing Gabby “hit different.” But not in a bad way. In fact, her passing felt like somewhat of a relief; she’s been asking for years why it was “taking God so long to call her home.” She’s now at peace, and I’m reminded that grief isn’t one-size-fits-all—it changes with the person and the story.
When my husband, Matt, died at the age of 48, grief felt like a tidal wave crashing down, relentless and suffocating. And some days it still does. With Gabby’s passing, I’m feeling more of a gentle ebb than a riptide. Missing her doesn’t pull me under—she was blessed with a long, full life, unlike Matt, whose time was heartbreakingly cut short.
Comparison is the Thief of Joy
But here’s what I’m learning: you can’t compare grief. It’s apples and oranges, heartbreak and heartache—each loss leaves its own mark. Our minds may try to stack our sorrows like a scoreboard, but there’s no winner. There’s no right way to mourn; every goodbye writes its own rules.
So, in the aftermath of loss, what if we rebel a little? What if, instead of shrinking under pain, we start weaving bits of the people we’ve lost into our everyday? Wear their unique qualities like armor and dive into life with their unstoppable spirit.
When I’m feeling a wave of grief coming on, I can channel Matt’s contagious laughter and obvious way of changing the subject in awkward silences. I can toss around Gabby’s favorite sayings like “my dogs are barking” or “nothing but the blues.” I can make Matt’s best-ever guacamole or bake Gabby’s famous banana cream pie.
Keeping their memory alive means living louder, loving harder and chasing every day with the kind of joy they’d want for us. That’s how we honor them—and how we remind ourselves that loss, as gut-wrenching as it is, can fuel a life lived even bigger.
It's All Part of the Experience 