by Stuart Gibbs
This is a sad story, but it has a happy ending.
On the first day of March in 2018, I went to an event to celebrate the release of Hope Nation, the book that preceded this one. I had been friends with the editor, Rose Brock, for years and wanted to support her amazing project. I listened to the writers Atia Abawi, Nicola Yoon, and Marie Lu each speak about adversity they had overcome. I met the wonderful writer Julie Buxbaum, who subsequently became a close friend. Afterward, Rose and I went out for Mexican food. It was a lovely evening.
That night, Rose told me about the book that you are holding in your hands right now. She asked me if I would write an essay. My immediate response was to tell Rose that I had nothing to write about. It’s not as though my life has been completely free from adversity. And yet, I am a white man in a culture that gives white men advantages most other people don’t have. My parents have always been loving, caring, and supportive. I have a wonderful relationship with my sister. I have managed to get a career doing something that I love. I have a large group of friends. I have been able to travel all over the world and have amazing experiences. I have never had to fight in a war or live under an oppressive government. I haven’t battled cancer or ALS or addiction.
So I told Rose that I should probably pass on writing a piece. “I’ve never had to overcome anything,” I told her.
Less than a month later, my wife died.
It shouldn’t have happened. She’d had a routine surgery, and things went wrong afterward.
It was devastating.
But I think it was probably even worse for my children.
My son was only twelve at the time, and my daughter was just about to turn ten. There is certainly no good time to lose a parent, but I think those ages are particularly fraught. Younger kids might not have grasped the enormity of what had happened. And of course, as you get older, the death of a parent is part of the natural course of life.
But losing a parent when you are a tween is just awful.
It was a terrible, horrible twist of fate, and my kids knew it. They knew they had suddenly been dealt a terrible hand. They knew it was unfair. They knew it was cruel.
And they couldn’t do anything to change it.
To be honest, I can’t tell you exactly what my children went through. Every single person experiences grief differently.
Although I can tell you a few things that helped.
The way I figured out how to get through my grief was to try to figure out how to help my children get through their grief. But a lot of the time, the tools that worked for them worked for me, too.
I really, really hope you don’t ever have to go through something tragic in your life. Obviously, at some point, you are going to lose a loved one, but I hope that it happens in the natural course of events, and that the death isn’t sudden and devastating. But if that happens, maybe what I’m about to say here will help you, too.
Talk to people. Hopefully, you have family and friends you can confide in. (Although, I realize, it’s possible that you might have just lost your closest confidant.) Let them into your life. Let them help you. Don’t be afraid to tell them what you need, whether it’s a game of catch or a sandwich from your favorite deli or just a hug. (Hugs when you are grieving are really important.)
Fun fact: several of the other writers of essays in this book were among the many people who helped me. They were there to talk on the phone, offer advice, and offer those hugs I mentioned. At the time of my wife’s death, I was only just getting to know some of them, but they would become very close friends over the ensuing years.
And while I’m on the subject of talking to people . . .
I know that in many places, there is a stigma about therapy. Where I grew up, telling people you went to therapy was like saying that you believed in unicorns. Which is a shame, because therapy is incredibly helpful. Therapists can help you handle the loss of a loved one, help you deal with your parents’ divorce, or possibly even convince you that there are no such things as unicorns. My children and I have all seen therapists individually—although some people prefer group therapy. There are even summer camps for kids going through grief. And if you fear that a therapist will cost too much money, you should know that in most cities, there are options for therapy that are free, supported by generous donors.
This might seem odd to say, but a lot of people don’t do this. Perhaps they find it awkward to talk about someone who just died. Or maybe they think it’s wrong to do so. I have heard many stories of families in grief who never even spoke about the deceased family member, almost as if they had never existed. This would not be a positive behavior . . . And yet, I can see why some people might do it.
Right after my wife died, I found myself unsure whether or not I should share stories about her with my kids—because I feared those stories would upset them. But you know what? They never did. My kids always appreciated the stories. I even asked my therapist if this was the right thing to do. She told me, “You never want to pretend that the person who died never existed.” So if you’re grieving—or helping a friend through grief—it’s nice to share stories about the person who died.
Frankly, no one knows the exact right thing to say to someone who is grieving. Because everyone is different. What is right for you might not be right for someone else. And so, there are going to be things that people say to you that, no matter how well meaning, still set your teeth on edge.
I’ll tell you mine. I hated when people told me, “I’m sure your wife is up in Heaven, looking down on you.” And here’s why: It seemed to me that, if my wife was in Heaven, the last thing she’d want to be doing would be looking down on us. Because all it would do was remind her that we were going on with our lives without her, which would certainly be upsetting to her. If anything, my wife would have been much happier going to a spa all day. But no one ever says, “I’m sure your wife is in Heaven, getting a fantastic massage,” because, even I can admit, that sounds weird.
The point is, those people who are saying things you don’t like are still trying their best to help. And that’s a good thing. So at the very least, accept that every wishful statement like that is an act of kindness.
And speaking of statements:
This is something you have to do before the ones you love are gone. It’s a tradition in my family, dating back to my father’s childhood.
The story goes that he was with his cousin Myles, and Myles always told his father that he loved him. So my father asked why he did this, and Myles replied that he never knew if it would be the last time he saw his father.
So my father started always telling his parents that he loved them. And the tradition got passed down. In my family, we always finish conversations and phone calls by saying that we love each other. For a long time, the slightly morbid reasons for this were forgotten. We just did it.
And then my wife died.
But I knew that the last thing I had ever said to her was “I love you.” It was also the last thing the kids had said to her—and the last thing she had told them. Which actually helped us to get through our grief.
Because there is nothing worse than thinking that someone died without you ever telling them that you loved them. After all, saying those three words is not a very hard thing to do. It takes no physical effort at all. But it means the world to people.
We have now arrived at my final piece of advice, which may also be the most unusual:
When you’re grieving, you might feel that it’s wrong to experience any joy at all, that everyone expects you to just be sad all the time. But think about that. Would the person who just died want you to be sad all the time? Would they even want you to be sad for just a few weeks? Or even a few days? I’m guessing the answer is no.
That doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t be sad. You should. If you’re suffering from grief, it is totally okay to cry or mope or sulk or spend long periods of time in bed. But you can also cut yourself some slack. You can swap jokes with your friends. You can tell funny stories about the person who died. And you can even allow yourself some fun.
Remember, back at the beginning of this essay, when I said that there would be a happy ending? Well, here it is: the night of my wife’s funeral, her wake turned into a dance party.
This was not planned.
Here’s what happened: I was talking to my wife’s best friend (who, to protect her reputation, I will call Patsy). My wife had always told me that when she and Patsy were younger and they might have had too much to drink, Patsy would occasionally insist on dancing like Bob Fosse (who was a famous choreographer). My wife thought Patsy was not very good at dancing like this and always found it kind of embarrassing. But I had never seen Patsy’s dancing.
And that night, Patsy started telling me about how my wife had always loved when they danced like Bob Fosse. Which was wrong, of course. My wife had obviously lied to Patsy about enjoying it so as to not hurt Patsy’s feelings. But I wasn’t about to tell Patsy that. Instead, I seized upon the opportunity to finally see Patsy dance. So I put on some Bob Fosse music (for the record, it was “All That Jazz” from Chicago). And Patsy danced.
I don’t really remember if her dancing was any good or not. Because a curious thing happened. Other people started dancing, too. I always have a dance mix ready to go on my phone, so I started playing it, and pretty soon, everyone was dancing. And as we danced, we realized that this wasn’t disrespectful at all. In fact, it was probably exactly what my wife would have wanted us to do.
It ended up being a very good dance party. People danced on the furniture. (I know your parents don’t like when you do this, but there are exceptions to every rule.) There were conga lines. There was really bad disco. And for a while, everyone was happy. That didn’t mean we didn’t still feel sad on the inside, but for a little while, at least, there was light in the darkness.
I realize that isn’t exactly an “and we all lived happily ever after” ending. Honestly, my kids and I haven’t reached that point yet. At this writing, it is not quite three years since my wife died, and we are still dealing with it. Our lives have gone on. We still miss her. We still have bad days. But we have good days, too. Days of hope and laughter and joy.
There is no quick and easy way past grief. It takes time and work and good friends. But you can get through it.
And it couldn’t hurt to always have a dance mix ready to go on your phone.
STUART GIBBS is the author of four New York Times bestselling series—Spy School, FunJungle, Moon Base Alpha, and Charlie Thorne—as well as the new Once Upon a Tim series. He has also written for movies and television—and he has researched capybaras. Really. You can learn more about what he’s up to at www.stuartgibbs.com.