Somewhere in middle America, a family of 10 to 20 will gather, seated in a circle in the living room, their spirits lifted despite the reason for their being there. Story after story will spill from their hearts, as if their entire lives have been woven together into a quilt, stitched together for just this moment.
There will be tales of Grandpa’s tobacco habit, of him tapping his lapel, and his blunt, sometimes insensitive ways. The dead will be resurrected, just like the fireside legends of old, passed down with love and laughter.
It’s this post-death communal gathering that creates a kind of trance—a pull to each other that feels almost magnetic. “Please,” we beg, “help me see them as I can’t.” Together, they sculpt and chisel the memory of the person, laughing harder than they have in weeks. And in this way, we grieve.
Through the shared stories, the hugs, and the rekindled relationships, we find the promise of something new. And in that moment, we learn how to grieve well.
Love, Jaclynn
RIP Matt 1987-2024
Going On 40 