Grief & Loss

When I first started thinking about my first grief teachers, I thought immediately of Cassie. She is the first person I remember losing. The first death I remember understanding as a loss. The more I sit with that, though, the less certain I am that she was my first grief teacher. I think grief had already found me. I was five when my parents divorced. It was tumultuous and chaotic and traumatic. At one point, my dad kidnapped us. After that, he moved about eight hours away,

Photo: © Ayuna / Stocksy United Death is messy. No kidding, I can almost hear you say. Of course it is. Yes, I hear you. Those parts are obvious. I'm talking about the mess after. What you don’t know is coming. The grief that comes for you when you don’t expect it. The shock of realizing the death happens once, but the losses keep coming. So many other things died when that person died. When my dad died, it wasn't only my dad who died. My hope died too. Hope that we could ha

The Backpack There's a backpack I'm always wearing. It's worn in like the purple canvas Jansport I carried through middle school and high school. Comfortable and sturdy. Faded and covered with patches and pins collected over the years. When I close my eyes, I can still feel the worn straps pressing gently into my shoulders. I can smell the faint mustiness of old canvas. I can still see the water stains from the day a flash flood filled the backseat of my little faded red 1983