Special Labor Day Edition: Grief Atlas

A deluge of loving advice from Substackers around the world

About two weeks ago, I posted a note on Substack about grieving my father:

Over two thousand people have responded with likes, which is not something that has ever happened to me before.

What blew my mind further was the avalanche of thoughtful guidance from folks who have been through the loss of a parent or close loved one.

It seemed worthy of collection and preservation. It was worth too much to me to let it get lost in the Notes shuffle.

I opened so many tabs collecting your comments to include in this post that my browser crashed. Your love for this stranger in Boston overwhelmed the force of the internet, and the connection is strong here in the city.

I wrote this sonnet after assembling all of your advice into the list that follows it:

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Grief Atlas

I find myself lost: in need of a map,
An atlas, something to explain the way
Forward, a list of instructions. I’m taxed,
But I can forge ahead for one more day.

It’s the topography I need to know,
Where the hills and valleys lie, where to fly
At night, safely: where this small plane can go
Without slamming into a mountainside.

I’ll turn pages with one hand as I steer,
Align the pitch and yaw, but it’s so hard
To do it all alone. This much is clear:
Grief’s easier when others lend their hearts.

Revealed: encyclopedia, so vast,
The day I give up solitude and ask.

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Black Bees: I understand that you're going through a difficult time, and I want to share that today is Krishna Janmashtami, a celebration of the birth of Lord Krishna.

From a Vedic perspective, this day symbolizes hope, renewal, and the triumph of good over adversity.

Krishna's life teaches us about resilience, love, and the importance of community. In times of sorrow, it can be comforting to remember that even in darkness, there is light and support available.

Perhaps this celebration can serve as a reminder that you are not alone, and that the love and strength of family and friends can help you through this challenging moment.

If you feel comfortable, reaching out to others for support or sharing your feelings can be a way to connect and find solace. Sending you warm thoughts and virtual hugs. 🫶

Poetical: Hang in there. Yesterday was my Mom’s funeral. I wrote the obituary and the eulogy.

I’m the youngest, too. It was good work that really helped me remember the good stuff after her long decline with dementia.

Don’t get me wrong, it sucks to have to wade through this stuff alone and feel like the people who should have shown up for you didn’t. But doing these things is really important and a useful way to start processing grief and loss.

People who duck these sorts of tasks will have to take the same steps through grief. There’s no short cut. So be proud of yourself for doing the work. Sending hugs.

Amy Delcambre: I’m so sorry you lost your dad, and I know it’s so hard to memorialize someone you’re aching for.

I have been in a similar place…. I wrote the obits for my son who was stillborn at 33 weeks and less than five years later for my husband. It’s now been five years since I lost my husband and I’m glad I was the one who got to put their memories into immortal closing words because I knew and loved them in a way that was special only to me, and you get to do that in honoring your dad.

I hope the words come to you and this uncomfortable task—and it is uncomfortable, brings you peace and relief and a sense of love-fueled duty. It felt like the last thing I could do, writing something that showed anyone who read about who they were and made sure that they were really seen.

Wendy Elizabeth Williams: Lizzy, sending you a HUGE hug! I have been through the departure of family members, it never gets easier…but you remember the love, the memories, the presence of your Dad in your life.

I do not know you, nor your family or relationship to your Dad…but I do know grief quite well at nearly age 72. Take the time to let it out, do not put a time frame on it. Some days will be rough, some will ease up a bit. Just hold on, moment by moment. One minute, one hour, one day.

John Olchak: Hang in there. It does get easier, but not in a straight line.

Joel P: 🫶🏻 I feel your pain. I wrote my father’s. It’s a tough gig.

I got a lot of comfort remembering his life as it played out in mine and then writing about it. Brought back a lot of fond memories. I hope it does for you as well.

Daniel Buecher: You’ve been given a wonderful opportunity to dive deep inside and bring out your true picture of your father as you know him. Write it all down. Others can help edit. You will be really glad in 30 or so years you did this now. God bless you. ❤️

Lisa Brendle: So sorry for your loss. Include the lessons he taught you, the pranks, his favorite foods and any bad dad jokes he might have told.

Have fun with it. Life is too short to be serious all of the time. He is memorable, tell the world what made him memorable.

Not That “Karen”: My condolences for the loss of your father. It is a an extremely painful and heart wrenching time when you lose a parent, knowing that one of the people who loved you first and unconditionally is now beyond reach.

I too am the youngest child, but wrote both of my parents obituaries and my father’s eulogy with tears literally streaming down my face the entire time. I tried to infuse the words with all the love I had in my heart for them to serve as one last tribute.

Mark Harryman: When one of my two sisters passed away I wound up having to write an obituary for her. In a time of grief it was hard to concentrate and write something that I felt had any meaning.

As I look back on it the feeling of writing it still makes me sad yet knowing how I took time to reflect and think about my sister while writing was important. I became connected with her and felt closer to her, closer than I had been in years.

It was not anything I wanted to do nor was it an accomplishment that I had written it. I only felt that I was close to her, more so than for a while.

Dominika Gaines: Writing my Dad’s obit gave me great solace. I wrote what I thought he would consider most significant of his numerous accomplishments. Of course, costs being what they are, it was highly edited. But it made me so proud! May you find similar joy in this task.

Susan Allen: Hugs from Sacramento. I’m also the youngest, and did this for my parents as well.

I decided to tell the truth, but in a (hopefully) funny way. There were tears, both happy and sad. It was the hardest thing. Once I got started, after a few tearful sentences, I realized the folks attending needed to know that they were the best.

Denise Shelton: It’s an honor, Lizzy. Embrace it. The worst obituaries are by non-writers. They drone on about job, the hobbies, and the club memberships and fail to mark the truly unique qualities that will be missed. It’s hard, but necessary. It takes a writer.

Robin du Plessis: Lizzy, reading over all the many comments here so many have offered you wisdom in writing your dad's eulogy. Take their wisdom, honor your dad with your own words and stories of him.

It is a hard task but you can do it. Remember to breathe as you put pen to paper.

Dwana Bush, M.D.: I understand. Think of it like a closing ceremony. 🙏🏻

John Nielson: Lots of hugs to you! I’m the youngest and the only one who still lived in town, the one who saw to my parents’ daily needs, so believe me, I understand.,

One of the kindest things my parents did for us was to have written their obituaries and to have made funeral and burial plans. They did it while in their sixties and didn’t pass until well into their nineties. Of course when the time came we had to update and add things, but it seemed like the heavy lifting had already been done. My editor niece was right onto the task.

When I was much younger I was a performing artist who did several tours abroad for the Arts America program of the US State Department as a sort of cultural ambassador. Our coordinator was Beverly Gerstein, who prior to a tour in a more troubled part of the globe required several things of us, which included making a will, and she personally suggested planning our funerals in some detail as well.

For an unmarried thirty year old without children or much of a life outside music that was a profound experience. It took some deep thought, personal assessment and frank discussions with my parents. Forty years later I can take out that funeral plan and compare it to my current life and values.

It reminds me I need to do another update, for my own life appraisal and to make the eventuality of my passing a little easier for my son. Life and death often surprise us, so no matter your age sketch out an obit to make it easier on your loved ones should you pass before them.

Gary Bloomer: I feel your pain and frustration and I pass on my deepest sympathies and condolences for your loss.

Twenty years ago I found myself in the same situation. The sudden death of my dad and a family in disarray through a combination of trauma, loss, blame, shame, ignorance, and denial.

A pastor who had never met my dad was approached to preside over the service and despite being given a raft of information about my dad’s life, the draft eulogy he presented sounded empty and flat, so I asked my mum if she would have any objections to me writing and delivering a tribute to my dad on the day of his funeral.

If you can manage it, consider including an element of humour; sharing something personal and meaningful and memorable might help everyone come to terms with the loss.

Nanojaner: A Physicist to Speak at My Funeral

You want a physicist to speak at your funeral. You want the physicist to talk to your grieving family about the conservation of energy, so they will understand that your energy has not died. You want the physicist to remind your sobbing mother about the first law of thermodynamics; that no energy gets created in the universe, and none is destroyed. You want your mother to know that all your energy, every vibration, every BTU of heat, every wave of every particle that was her beloved child remains with her in this world. You want the physicist to tell your weeping father that amid energies of the cosmos, you gave as good as you got.

And at one point you’d hope that the physicist would step down from the pulpit and walk to your brokenhearted spouse there in the pew and tell him that all the photons that ever bounced off your face, all the particles whose paths were interrupted by your smile, by the touch of your hair, hundreds of trillions of particles, have raced off like children, their ways forever changed by you. And as your widow rocks in the arms of a loving family, may the physicist let her know that all the photons that bounced from you were gathered in the particle detectors that are her eyes, that those photons created within her constellations of electromagnetically charged neurons whose energy will go on forever.

And the physicist will remind the congregation of how much of all our energy is given off as heat. There may be a few fanning themselves with their programs as he says it. And he will tell them that the warmth that flowed through you in life is still here, still part of all that we are, even as we who mourn continue the heat of our own lives.

And you’ll want the physicist to explain to those who loved you that they need not have faith; indeed, they should not have faith. Let them know that they can measure, that scientists have measured precisely the conservation of energy and found it accurate, verifiable and consistent across space and time. You can hope your family will examine the evidence and satisfy themselves that the science is sound and that they’ll be comforted to know your energy’s still around. According to the law of the conservation of energy, not a bit of you is gone; you’re just less orderly. Amen.

- Aaron Freeman, NPR, 6/1/05

A Blessing for the Brokenhearted

Blessing for the Brokenhearted by Jan Richardson

Let us agree for now that we will not say the breaking makes us stronger or that it is better to have this pain than to have done without this love.

Let us promise we will not tell ourselves time will heal the wound, when every day our waking opens it anew.

Perhaps for now it can be enough to simply marvel at the mystery of how a heart so broken can go on beating, as if it were made for precisely this—

as if it knows the only cure for love is more of it,

as if it sees the heart’s sole remedy for breaking is to love still,

as if it trusts that its own persistent pulse is the rhythm of a blessing we cannot begin to fathom but will save us nonetheless.

Moving Joy Around: My Mom passed last January, those feelings still sneak up on me and overwhelm me periodically.

I am forever grateful that I was able to speak at her memorial and give her the praise/recognition/gratitude she do deserved.

Donna: Aw man, that’s shitty! Make it the best representation of your dad. You can make people remember him the way you did. He would be so proud.

I was never in that position. I found out my dad died a year or so after he died. My sister googled his name and found out he was dead. I never got to say goodbye. I don’t even know what he died from or if he was alone.

Say goodbye to your dad from those of us who never got the chance to say goodbye to ours.

V Kelly-Sibley: My condolences on your loss. Grief differs for everyone, but it’s hard when you're left carrying the load. I understand how that feels, having been put in that situation twice.

When you get past this initial intense and painful period, you will be grateful for your strength. I’m sure your Dad will be looking at all your efforts and be very proud of you.

Rebecca J. Gomez: I’m sorry for your loss. I wrote my mother’s obituary nearly three years ago. It was tough but also a great way to honor my mom with my writing.

Sober Gemini: ahh, I’m so sorry. I had to write and read my brother’s obituary despite being the youngest in the family. It wasn’t something I wanted to do, but I’m glad I could take the hardship off my sister and mother. Sending you strength and hugs.

Jeanne Grant, Ph.D.: Others have sent hugs and I send them, too. The same with me: I am the youngest, wrote the obituary. So glad I did.

Karen Baumgart: It’s the hardest thing to write, isn’t it? I’m the youngest too, and somehow ended up writing the eulogy for my father (years ago), my beloved grandmother, last year.

Sending big hugs, because although one day you’ll probably feel so glad it was your words on the page, it doesn’t change how difficult it is right now.

Kate Tarrant: Be brave. Be true. Write with compassion and heart, but keep the obit short and sweet unless your dad invented something or cured something.

I wish you love and prayers and peace on this journey of grief.

Ken Macko: Please accept my condolences. Look at it as you’re the writer and you’d do the best job. Just ask yourself, “what do I remember the most and what would make dad proud” ? You’ll nail it. Sending lots of hugs.

Gary Davis: I am so sorry for your loss.

You will do a great job, I’m sure. Look at it as an honor that you’ve been given and a way to show your love for your dad. No one else in your family has the ability to do it the way you’ll be able to do it. 🤗

illustr8d: hugs! this is definitely in the we can do hard things camp and I know I’m a stranger on the internet, but I’m proud of you. that’s a hard thing for sure.

be kind to yourself and let yourself have something special even if it’s a cupcake or buying a favorite tea selection. (my experience is it helps a bit. I haven’t done this, but I’ve done other hard things.)

Jenna B. Neece: I wrote my dad’s obit. It’s hard. I am also the youngest. Sending love and hugs!

Terri R.: HUG. I once had to do two within four months. What really hit hard: When I was talking with the newspaper about the second one and the worker asked: Do you want to use your credit card on file? On file? SIGH.

Jackie: First, I am so sorry for your loss. I buried my father two years ago. Second, you may not feel like it right now but you have all that you need inside of you to honor your father. The memories, the love, the words, it's all there. Ease up on yourself a bit. Breathe. Pray. The words will come. My prayers are with you.

Bugstein: That is a good thing you are doing, but it is so hard. My sister and I wrote our mother’s obituary and then we turned around a year later and wrote the obituary for our older sister. Two years later we collaborated on my sister’s husband obituary . Drained!

Sending you all the virtual hugs I can muster!❤️

Becky Brewer: Tell about all his quirks his love of family his favorite show or book a family story his ethics advice he gave .. you can do this !

Regina-Wink Swinford: I wrote my dad’s obituary. Consider it a last gift to him. I included all the usual stuff and also added the lessons he had taught my brothers and me. It is hard, but a chance to capture your dad in words for those who never met him. Hugs. You got this. ❤️

Rob Walton: It may not look like it today, but tomorrow or the day after that you will come see the ultimate honour that writing an obituary for your parent is. Sending you strength, love and clarity.

Marlene Leber: You got this. Like every great English teacher tells their students… write what you know.

Kerry Shaw: There was a moment in time, when your Dad first noticed your Mom; it was just then the winds of destiny shifted; he trimmed his life’s sails, charted a new suddenly-shifted course that would lead to the beloved very existence of the author of his obituary.

That’s a good place to start; you can wonder easily back and forth in either direction on his life’s timeline from there, reflecting on highlights of accomplishments as he would give value to, as many highs and lows as you may feel so inspired.

Just know, his spirit’s hand is in yours as you go along in the process, moving words around for him. You were chosen for this task, your blessed to have duty, for good reason, perhaps even before you were born. Choose to take joy from it.

Make him laugh.

He’ll be listening.

Carole Hoke: Hugs from here. Thanks for stepping up. It is not an easy thing to do. They should help, but this way you have command of what is said and how. Details you may ask about, and I’m sure you would include, if asked. Good luck. Know you are not alone.

Deborah Taylor-French: Hugs.🤗 Few accept responsibility, good on you for accepting the challenge.

Brenda Johannesen: Hugs to you. And take some comfort that perhaps this task fell to you because you have the skills to fit the job.

It happened to me in my family multiple times, and even though it sucked to do, fact is I had to recognize that I was the best suited.

Robert Atallo: I wrote my mom’s obit 15 years ago. I remember it sucking mightily. Hope you get through it as painlessly and quickly as possible

Anne: Blessings in this sad time.

Forgive and love those who are not coping.

Jeanine Whitney: I lost my brother in April.

My brother gave my father’s eulogy because I could not.

I gave my mother’s eulogy because he could not.

You have my sincere condolences.

Elsie E Connelly: So sorry, sometimes family is not what we think it is.

Sean Valdrow: I had to write my father’s eulogy. You don’t know what to say. Listen to you heart and put what it tells you.

Sherry Burley: I too was in your shoes regarding my mom’s obituary.

I found it very cathartic after I finally sat down and put pen to paper. In the end, it allowed me to smile as I relived her story, her family’s story and our story. I hope you experience the same. I’m so sorry for your loss.

Marian rose: I see you, I hear you. Grief is so tricky. We each handle death so uniquely. Sending big hugs and thank you for being vulnerable enough to ask for one! Comfort and peace as you write.

AVee: This was read at my friends funeral by a relative. Maybe it will help you?

Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there;

I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sun on ripened grain,

I am the gentle autumn rain.

Sean T Nuttall: I had to do my Uncle’s eulogy since none of his 5 kids would. I didn’t want to do it. But I am so happy I did. Good luck & God bless

Paul Jackson: Something which many of us have had to do even though we were very reluctant to do so. You will find the strength and honesty to do your father and family justice and you will be a better person for this experience.

Elena Acosta: Hugs going out to you. Take it as your family’s delegation to the one most reliable to turn the proper phrase. You’ve got this.

Mzlizzi: We didn’t do an obituary for one of our parents.

We did an In Memoriam a year later.

Much more easy to write!

kimmie stardust: Say All The Things. Leave nothing out. Be brutally honest. People will marvel at your candor, and relate with zeal to your honest reflections. It will paint a more vivid picture of the man they knew. Hugs to you.

Little Nell: I didn’t write my Mom’s obituary - the funeral home does that these days - but I did write and deliver a eulogy in church. No one wanted to do it - 5 college educated children and 4 of them incapable of writing something about their mother - family can be so weird.

Of course you have a hug. You’re doing a good thing. Your mom may not be in the right frame of mind at the moment. Make sure you show it to her when you’re done.

Keep it brief, factual. Use other obits as a template. A chronology is possibly the best format. Military service if any very important. Achievements, awards, sports, charities(?) all good stuff. Good luck. This isn’t the sad part. It’s good that you’re doing this.

Susan Fullerton: I have to write my 101 year old mother’s too. I thought someone would write my dad’s and no one did. I hinted to my daughter that she write this one but no go. In every family there is a ‘chosen’ one. It’s you. it’s me. Here’s my hug! 🤗

Thomas M Gregg: I know how it feels. My siblings stuck me with the job of delivering the eulogy at our mother’s funeral. My sister told me that (1) as the oldest of six it was my job and (2) that she knew I could do it.

And she was right. I realized that if I could fix in my mind what I wanted to say, I could do it. It was a hard passage, but I got through it and, I hope, did justice to my mother’s memory.

Danielle van Dreunen: Bravo! My experience was to think of something wonderful he had done, something hilariously funny, and something that my beloved Papa had taught me. (Perhaps my experience might help you.)

Paul Kassel: Accept the mantle. I drafted the obit for my mom, back in 2015, and my sibs gave their feedback. It ended up being a group project that helped us all.

Good luck and I hope you find peace and comfort.

Ellen Khalifa: I am also the youngest and wrote my dad’s obituary. Despite being the youngest, I knew him best. The rest had all gone on to live their lives and in many ways, hardly knew him at all. It’ll be hard today, but you won’t regret this honor later. I send that hug you wanted too.

Steven Zimmerman: Dads are irreplaceable and if you’ve been as fortunate as I to have had a stellar one, then carry him inside wherever you go. Here’s that hug you need..

If the obituary has fallen on you, just sit down and the words will come.

Nan Heldenbrand Morrissette: As you write, try to use your pen to “talk” to your dad. Say the things you didn’t get to say to him before he passed away, in the same words you would use if he stood in front of you. Be brave.

When you are finished, print the entire piece, just to keep for yourself. Put it in a safe place. Then remove those words which are too personal to share. Pass the obituary on as needed.

Remember that writing an obituary is an opportunity to recall some treasured shared times; it’s a gift to you.

TTBax: Losing your Dad is hard enough. I guess I was lucky -my dad. wrote out his own on a yellow lined note pad years before he left me. His passing still hurts. I hope you find peace with memories of your dad.

Sean McPhail: First and foremost, sorry for your loss. My Dad died in 1992 (cancer). I had just turned 21. I was so numb and it was so surreal. I couldn’t fathom a world without my father in it and yet here we were. Fast forward to my mom in 2015 and she also died from cancer. It was hard, but my mom’s pastor asked if me or my older brothers wanted to speak at her memorial. My brothers all declined.

“Too hard.”

“Too emotional.”

“I’d be a wreck.”

me: “I can’t imagine not.”

I didn’t disagree with my brothers, but I had to be a voice for myself and for my mom. I’ve never been a polished speaker—nerves still get me—but this was a last chance for me to speak my gratitude, not just for the woman that had loved me from my first breath, but to all the people that had brought meaning to her life and loved her in return. Many of them were at the memorial.

It’s been 32 years since my father passed, but when I think of my Dad, his love for me is as tangible and real as it was when I was a child. The thought warms me even in the worst of times. Like a wind pointing a boat where it wants to go, my sails are full. This is seasoned with a splash of grief, but that softens with time.

I hope you can find your way to seeing this obituary as an opportunity. If the sequence happens as we hope it will, our parents will leave this world before we do and we will leave this world before our children do. This is not easy but the loss of a parent is an absolute rite of passage, as a big piece of the child in you leaves this world when your parents do. I hope that somewhere within the mourning you find cause to celebrate your father’s life and his love for you. I think of my father and I can’t help but smile. He never met my wife or my kids, but they see him, in me, everyday.

These are defining times. You thought enough to submit this post. I think you’ll do just fine.

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If you would like to honor the memory of my father, Gary Colgan, with a charitable donation, please click the image below to contribute to the American Heart Association in his name. Thank you.