Keeping Their Memory Alive in Grief

Last weekend was rough. To be honest, weekends aren’t what they used to be right now; one could argue, are they ever? If you’re on my email list, you know all of the thoughts floating around in my head that probably led to a climactic, post-shower cry session. In my “Fear” blog post I wrote back in August of last year, I discussed my fear of the gap; time passing between Matt’s death and the present. I worry about forgetting intricate pieces of Matt; his touch, his laugh, his gaze. All of it. I worry that memories will fall into an abyss and that I will inherently feel “less connected” to him. As the world *hopefully* opens up again, the stark reality that I’m doing life without Matt becomes increasingly apparent. There was safety in Baltimore, living amongst our friends who all “knew.” There’s safety in living amidst the memories, day in and day out, as if it solidified the longevity of my connection to Matt. What I’ve realized through my own experience, and through some SERIOUS coaching, is that my relationship with Matt, now and always, is my choice. I choose how he shows up in my every day; how strong our connection remains; how he integrates in my future chapter. I personally choose to believe that Matt’s spirit is with me now and always; but regardless of your spiritual beliefs or non-beliefs, you can STILL remain connected to your lost loved one in so many ways. Keeping their memory alive ensures they are always present. In this blog, I cover just a few of the many, many ways we can carry our loved ones with us as we navigate through a human life without them present. I asked friends, family members and followers about how “keeping their memory alive” shows up for them. Thank you to all who contributed to this post; hearing from a variety of grievers is essential. Grief is a universal experience, and yet, we all experience it so uniquely. Candid conversation about this helps so many know they are not alone.

Keeping their memory alive through tangible items

Across the board, most of my respondents mentioned special items previously owned by or related to their loved one as a means of keeping their memory alive. One such responder, and dear friend, mentioned “I keep my dad’s super tacky yellow polo he wore all the time on my dresser as a reminder; and Matt’s blue blocker sunglasses right next to it as well.” A few others mentioned wearing rings as a necklace, similar to how I wear my wedding rings. From tee-shirt blankets to oversized sweatshirts to charms with their loved ones’ fingerprints, these simple items have morphed into treasured pieces kept close at hand. A friend who lost his young wife a couple years ago mentioned she wanted to be cremated. In addition to spreading her ashes over some of her most beloved places, he said  “I have a small thing of her ashes attached to our dog’s harness; we all got small ceramic turtles and sealed in some ashes to keep at home.” 

When Matt died, in the process of moving and purging, I created a “Matt box” for me and a “Dad Box” for Bryson with pieces I wanted each of us to have. I divided up the rest of his things I decided to keep amongst his closest friends and family (I still have a few to give out because of the pandemic). I’m not sure if people chose to keep these items or not; but with each, I just knew they were going to the right person to serve as a little reminder from Matt.

Tattoos are another popular memory marker amongst grievers. From song quotes like I have, to phrases in loved ones handwriting, to symbols and names…tattoos are special. They’re a permanent reminder that a special soul is always with you; simultaneously, they usher in conversations about a lost loved one that could otherwise never happen.

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Keeping their memory alive through conversation 

I still talk to Matt every day; sometimes, I even yell at him or say “look what your dog did now!” It’s a way for me to keep him abreast of what’s going on, ask his advice (even when I know I won’t hear his response),  and just connect with him. Sometimes, I’m crying. But most of the time, it’s more casual like he’s actually in the room with me. I can typically imagine his response, which again, brings him back to me. Another family member of ours mentioned that she does the same and talks to Matt daily. It’s more than keeping his memory alive; it’s keeping all of him in the present.

Just as important, I talk about Matt, a lot. And not just through my blog or coaching, but in regular, every day conversation. I know not everyone is comfortable with this, but for me, it’s an integral part of my journey forward. Matt was and is a huge part of my life. I love recounting some of the Matt-isms and Matt stories that pop up in our every day. My friends and I did this frequently in Baltimore. I think it subliminally got me through a lot of the really hard days last year. It reminded me that Matt would not be forgotten; that other people would say his name, remember him, and that, like me, would hold onto him.

I’m not alone in this. Other grievers I spoke with also talk to or about their loved ones often. Maybe it’s a simple toast at the end a long a night; maybe it’s when trouble hits; maybe it’s amidst a wonderful moment you hope they’re witnessing from afar.  I like to think Matt is listening for me; he’s responding in the same way I imagine he would. 

Sharing pictures, videos, the memories, and all the ways Matt continues to show up in the lives of others, is more important than you will ever know.

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Keeping their memory alive through legacies, traditions, and events

I would be amiss if I didn’t mention A Matter of Hope here, as it’s one of the most public and massive ways we all choose to keep Matt with us. The event in and of itself is a reflection of Matt and many of the things he loved: summer, sunshine, music, games, Saturday, beer, and, most importantly, spending time with the people he loved (which expanded exponentially every weekend). It also directly impacts a battle he fought so ferociously and courageously; a battle we will all continue to fight until we win. A Baltimore friend started his own nonprofit in honor of his wife Rachel to help cancer patients through the rigors of chemotherapy with sacks filled with comfort items, goodies, and games. I encourage you to check out Sailors Sacks for more information on how you can help.

Another griever mentioned doing things that “were special with that person” with children or other close family members. Holidays, vacations, special traditions…they can all still happen, even when our loved ones aren’t physically here. In fact, maybe it’s even more important now? 

One friend mentioned, “I lost my grandfather, who was basically a father to me. He loved jager on his birthdays and holidays, so on the anniversary of his death/on holidays, I’ll do one of those (literally the only time I ever drink jager these days)…to me, reminders are everything, and that will never change.”

Another fellow griever mentioned that many of her closest friends gave their children middle names associated with a friend who tragically died far too young. This will be a conversation piece these children will have always; they will understand the depths of love that continue to perpetuate, and through them a legacy will live on.

On Christmas Eve this year, I thought about opening a bottle of Taylor Port Matt and I purchased. After our honeymoon in Portugal in 2017, Matt REALLY got into Port, especially around the holidays when he’d force feed everyone a small glass. The Thanksgiving before he passed, he had just prepped for a big procedure and felt terrible. He  wanted to have a glass with everyone for Thanksgiving, but just couldn’t do it. He just wanted a nice holiday. It’s a gutting memory. This Christmas Eve, I didn’t end up opening that port; I worried it would be too hard for everyone on a day that will always be TOUGH for our family. Perhaps I will next year. Perhaps this is his nod of support.

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Keeping their memory alive through music and nature

I’m not going to lie, I had a hard time listening to songs that reminded me of Matt last year. Now, I’ll often play a song that brings back happy memories, and I’m not afraid when the song makes me cry. Sometimes, it feels good to just cry. The memories filled with laughter, dancing the night away, and poor karaoke skills…I love those memories. I miss them. In the widow community, we sometimes call a musical interlude mixed with memories,  “a grief sess.” I’ve had me a few good ones lately.

One woman who lost her step dad mentioned, “ I saw a hawk on our fence after my step dad passed away. And when I see them, I know it’s him. He was a pilot and loved flying. When I saw that hawk that day I just knew that he was getting to fly all the time. I have seen them every time I’ve moved somewhere, and now, we have one that likes to hang around our house here.” From cardinals to eagles to butterflies, many find their loved ones in nature, bringing them messages or simply letting them know, “I’m here.”

Rainbows. Sunsets. Sunrises. Many of us can feel and see our loved ones through these beautiful, natural moments.

A fellow widow friend I’m so lucky to have met through my coaching community, Dr. Linda Shanti mentioned that in addition to planting a garden in honor of her late husband, she “raised monarchs to release on the first anniversary of his passing.” There is a whole story behind this, and the events that occurred that day, Linda so graciously shared with me and will be featured in my next blog post. This will be my FIRST “guest blog post” featuring another widow, and I am so excited to introduce you to Linda, a Licensed Clinical Psychologist and art therapist, her story of signs, connection, and how it integrates in her journey forward. 

I share these with the intent of inspiring you, whether you’re a current or future griever, to consider the proposition that you get to decide how your loved ones shows up in your story and your journey forward. Keeping their memory alive, or more importantly, keeping your connection to them vibrantly present, is a choice. I’m not saying it’s easy, without pain, or “different” from the relationship you had on earth. It is; everything is different. Knowing Matt is here spiritually with me doesn’t take away from the fact that he isn’t here, physically. It doesn’t negate the pain. But, if this is the road I’m on now, I prefer to take him along for the ride.

Until next time,

Xtina