In my experience, one of the most difficult parts of coping with the loss of a loved one is how to manage the years that follow. Most of us receive the immediate help we need - friends attend funerals, relatives pour over photographs and reminisce, colleagues send emails expressing sympathy. But consider the vacuum that happens later. I've never met anyone who's stopped completely thinking about the person he or she loved, our memories flood in and out and wash over us at anticipated and unexpected times. Yet for the most part, a year after, five years later, 15--the outreach that once provided so much comfort is mostly gone. How odd is it that despite how connected we are today, finding meaningful ways to celebrate those who have passed away can be so hard to do? The reason it's often frustrating is because there are so few guidelines to follow. A search on Amazon offers thousands of books on grieving, but hardly anything on concrete steps for remembering. And think about your local bookstore or library. Usually there are two or three shelves devoted to coping with death, many offering helpful advice and specific guidance for moving on. But when it comes to identifying explicit ways to keep the memory of loved ones alive? I can't say I've come across a satisfying option. And there's another explanation why it's challenging. Mourning generally follows a precise choreography. Between the rituals of burial and the recitation of certain prayers, between the wakes and shiva calls--the bereaved, and those who console them, know their role and take their place. To say it another way, when someone we love dies, we usually benefit from being the passive recipients of support. But when it comes to sustaining connections after loss, that work is up to us. Not long ago hundreds of people attended the memorial services for my parents. Both times, in those first awful days and weeks that followed, I never had to look far to share a memory or hear one. Conversations were effortless. In some ways, looking back, mourning was made slightly easier because it seemed I'd always have the opportunity to talk about my mom and dad. But a few years after they were gone, that cozy cocoon burst open. While I no longer needed traditional grief support, I craved a new and different type of advice. How could I recognize their absence without making my family and friends uncomfortable? And what should I do with their belongings, not just the clothing and furniture, but all those pieces of paper-the ticket stubs, the birth certificates and marriage licenses, the emails and letters they wrote me? In some respects, because strategies like these are seldom discussed, I felt lonelier than when my parents died. This is the experience of nearly every mourner-not just those who've lost a parent. Despite our social media circles, news feeds, and virtual support groups, ensuring those closest to us aren't forgotten is often an isolating task. And while it feels good to make a donation or run a race in their memory, we have opportunities to do so much more. What's become pressing to me is finding and sharing tools for remembering that can be incorporated into anyone's life, whenever or however suddenly the mood strikes. Excerpted from Passed and Present: Keeping Memories of Loved Ones Alive by Allison Gilbert All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
