Grappling with Grief: JB's Monday Momentum #34
Thoughts on grief, good friends, and carrying love forward
Estimated reading time: five minutes
Welcome to Monday Momentum, the weekly newsletter where I discuss practical wisdom, uncovering insights to enhance our lives one thoughtful moment at a time. While I have confidence in the ideas I write about, I am still learning them. I acknowledge that what works for me may not work for everyone. Take each idea as you see fit and let me know what you think!
Hello friend,
A bit of a heavier one today.
On June 10th, I lost a best friend. On June 20th, I lost my grandmother. In ten days—just 240 hours—I lost two of the closest people in my life. I am sad. I am angry. I am confused. I am feeling things no single word can capture.
What follows are the thoughts I’ve carried with me over the past two weeks. Some are lessons I’ve learned, others are reminders I wish I didn’t need.
I am far from making sense of any of this. These words may be scattered. But I believe writing them will help me feel just a tad bit better, and maybe they’ll help someone else grieving.
If you missed the last edition—“Clarity Begins Where Control Ends”—you can click here to check it out.
A Question I am Contemplating:
How can we respond in times of grief?
People often talk about grief like it's something you work through, something you “navigate” or “process.” I don’t feel like I’m doing any of that.1 I feel like I’m just in it. Like I’ve been dropped in the middle of something I don’t understand.
Life can change so fast. There’s no warning system. No explanation. One week, you’re texting someone and laughing, and the next, you’re standing in a room full of people trying to say goodbye. It feels unfair to even try to put that into words.
And when everything feels unfair, confusing, and heavy, I’m learning that the best thing you can do is let yourself be human. Let yourself cry. Sit in the silence. Laugh when something’s funny. Hurt when it hurts. Letting yourself feel it all doesn’t mean you’re falling apart; suppressing it all is what ends up breaking you.
The single most important thing I’ve been reminded of over the last two weeks is how important good friends (and family) are. Not just friends, good friends. In times of grief, no one is more needed. Surrounding yourself with people who don’t need to say anything special—who can just be—cannot be overstated in making it through the hardest moments. Having friends who can sit with you, make you laugh, let you cry, that makes all the difference. (Trust me, it is much more comforting and hopeful to cry into a friend’s arms than into a pillow.) These people may not help you understand what’s happened,2 but they help you feel a little more normal. And in times when it is so hard to feel normal, that may just be the most important thing.
One idea that’s been sitting with me comes from Alex Hormozi, an entrepreneur and writer. He says, “The single greatest skill you can develop is the ability to stay in a good mood in the absence of things to be in a good mood about.” That line has felt especially relevant lately. Two of the closest people in my life are suddenly gone. On paper, there’s not much reason to be in a good mood. And yet, I still have friends around me. I still have family. I’ve had good conversations, good meals. Those things don’t erase the grief, and they don’t downplay the lives that have been lost. But they do remind me there’s still something to be grateful for. And if I can find even a little bit of a good mood in the middle of all this—not because everything is okay, but in spite of the fact that it’s not—I think that matters. It’s hard. But it feels like an effort worth making. Especially when you realize that grief doesn’t only come with pain, it also comes with the weight of what someone left you.
There’s no reversing loss, but what someone leaves behind—their words, their actions, the way they loved—those things last. They shape you. They remind you of who they were, and, in a way, who you are because of them. In carrying those things forward, a part of that person stays with you. Over time, their presence shows up in the way you speak, the way you care, the way you show up for others. They stay alive in the world through you.
Whatever it is they left behind is now your privilege—and in my eyes—your obligation to pass on to those still around you.
My friend and my grandmother were different in many ways (shocker, I know), but they each loved and cared so well. There was nothing half-hearted about the way they showed up for others. They were present. They were thoughtful. I’ll miss watching them carry out their love. But I’m so grateful I got to experience it. And man, how excited I am to pass that love I received from them onto the next person. That next person may never know the love they’re receiving from me is also from my grandmother and my friend, but I will. And with that knowledge, I know they are still with me. I’ll carry their legacy forward, always.
I don’t have a neat way to end these thoughts. I just know I’ve been changed by what I’ve lost, and by what I was lucky enough to have while it lasted.
Love those around you, deeply; life is precious. How I miss you, Jammy and Giles.
A bible verse that has helped me:
"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." — Jeremiah 29:11
Goal for the Week:
Allow myself to experience it all
Just building on what I said earlier, allowing myself to feel everything is really important during times of grief. I know that if I try to push those emotions down, they’ll resurface later in ways and places they don’t belong. Letting heavy emotions build up like that is never a good thing.
What I’m listening to (one podcast, one artist, one song):
The Gringos
“1979 (Remastered 2012)” — The Smashing Pumpkins3
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Take care,
James
Not that I am doubting that this is to come, but right now it is still so soon. I am not there yet.
Trying to make sense of why tragic events happen often leads nowhere. It’s only natural to ask, but I think fixating on the why during grief can sometimes do more harm than good.
I can’t even tell you how many times I was in Giles’ car with this song (or another by The Smashing Pumpkins) playing. Without hesitation, he’d turn to me and say, “Dude, James, you like these guys? I think you could get behind them.” I swear, it felt like it happened more often than not. And every time I’d think, “Yes, bro, they’re fine, and yes, you’ve already asked me that six times.” But that was just another way Giles showed his care for you.
Good words Godson. I love and admire your thoughts. Especially regarding your loved ones living through you by the person you are and showing that love in your actions towards others.
Thanks for sharing, James.