Channeling Grief after Henry

Grieftastic

The sad sack I brought home from the Grieftastic Book Fair.

Last Saturday I attended the Grieftastic Book Fair and Brunch in Los Angeles. “Like your school book fair, just sadder.” I couldn’t resist this wry take on grief.

Like many others, I’m trying to contain my grief and shape it into something I recognize. I may not fully comprehend this loss, but I can relate to a book fair. [My son Henry was killed in an accident in 2022. In case you missed it, this is an essay I wrote about his death.]

The event featured 35+ grief authors in panels and discussions. You could upgrade your ticket to include a B.F.F brunch with eggs, pastries, and bellinis. I upgraded, of course. Grieftastic was organized by Meghan Riordan Jarvis, a clinical psychotherapist, author, podcast host, and TEDx speaker. She presided over the event in a hot pink dress to celebrate this community of grief writers and their readers. 

The brunch brought to mind those mornings when Henry came down to breakfast wearing his shirt inside out. He didn’t notice or care if I mentioned it. He was comfortable with his mess. Everyone I met on Saturday was comfortable with their mess. 

After the brunch, eight panels explored a range of topics from “Child loss” to “Grief language and literacy.” Authors dressed brightly and cracked jokes as they spoke about their devastating losses. It’s liberating to laugh at the tragic circumstances that brought me to this event. 

Here are the messages that most resonated with me. 

• Grief cracks you open as you’re exposed to a flood of sadness and despair. Once we’ve “cracked” we’re more receptive to new experiences of all kinds. That was true for Larry Carlat, author of “A Space in the Heart: A Survival Guide for Grieving Parents.” Carlat wouldn’t have visited a medium or explored psychedelics before his son Robbie died. He now refers to himself as “Larry Wuwu.” I get it. I’m not the same person I was before Henry died. I never expected to try Qigong, speak with a medium, or join a sound bath meditation. 

• Deciding to live is harder than hiding in grief. Colin Campell, author of “Finding the Words” reflected on the moment when he decided he wanted to live, despite losing his children Ruby and Hart. He decided that, and I’m paraphrasing, he was willing to wade into the muck of life knowing it was crap. Campbell also explained that his children are a part of him. “I am Ruby. I am Hart.” It was an honor to witness the raw love he expressed.

• Writers should keep something just for themselves. A panel of widows spoke about the importance of keeping a part of their relationship with their late husbands separate from their writing. They also set aside their children’s experiences because that wasn’t their story to tell. As I write about Henry, I will always keep parts of his life private. I’m his memory keeper and protector.

• Any goodness that follows grief doesn’t negate the loss. Henry’s death connected me to a wonderful community of grieving parents and their supporters. It’s made my life meaningful in ways I couldn’t have imagined and I’d give it back in a heartbeat if Henry could be here. That’s also true for bereaved parents who adopt a child. They love their adopted child with their entire being. That doesn’t soften the loss.

In the coming weeks, I’ll be sharing insights from each of these books. 

• “Can Anyone Tell Me?” by Meghan Riordan Jarvis

• “A Space in the Heart: A Survival Guide for Grieving Parents”  by Larry Carlat

• “Finding the Words” by Colin Campbell

• “Curating Grief” by Charlene Lam

On this Thanksgiving, I’m thankful for my wonderful readers and the Substack community.