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Dear Friends,
As my younger son, Desmond, begins his senior year of high school, I am reminded of the non-death-related grief we experience throughout our lives and carry with us. Some of this grief comes in the form of secondary losses from the death of a person, like the loss of our identity, the loss of future plans, and the loss of hopes and dreams we had for them.
Then there are non-death losses such as divorce, the end of a friendship, property loss, a decline in our health or the health of a loved one. These non-death losses can trigger our grief in surprising ways. When we’ve experienced a significant death loss, it changes our perspective on other kinds of losses that don’t involve the loss of human life.
We may feel more calloused and less empathetic toward others who experience these types of losses, and we may not acknowledge these for ourselves because they seem insignificant in comparison.
I remember attending a writing workshop with a woman years ago whose son had left for college and how she cried and wrote about the grief she was experiencing from it. At the time, a few years after Riley died, I felt numb to her grief. All I could think was, at least your child is alive and thriving. Now, over a decade later, with my grief not as fresh, I feel empathy for her and for myself as I move towards a similar loss and feel the anticipatory grief.
I want to share an excerpt from my essay, Ghost Mother, where I wrote about these other types of losses that can make us grieve:
We walk around with ghosts of ourselves and our loved ones, dead or alive. Ghosts of our younger selves. Ghosts of our younger children, our younger husbands and wives. Relationship ghosts. Ghosts of lipsticks and hairstyles past. Ghosts of memories and forgotten dreams.
When Desmond stands beside me at the doctor’s office and he is almost my height, I remember seeing moms with their older sons when my boys were little, trying to imagine what it would feel like to have a child so tall and capable. Desmond’s presence is large, and I envision all the younger versions of him beside me like Matryoshka nesting dolls: the infant who slept in a wrap over my chest as I kissed his smooth head, the toddler who ran away without looking back, into the street, through the crowded airport, down the endless beach, the five-year-old who would finally hold my hand and snuggle close and beg for more toys, and now the preteen boy ghosting me.
I soothed myself after Riley’s death; my six-year-old boy would have ceased to exist even if he hadn’t died from a brain hemorrhage. I would have mourned all those younger versions of him as he grew and developed into a teenager and an adult. For some reason I found comfort in this. I still would have lost the sweet boy who called me “My Mommy,” gifted me roses from our garden in a plastic cup, and one evening before his bedtime, tucking a blanket around me, “For you, my fine lady.”
When I think of my younger self looking at the window reflection that day, I mourn her. I mourn the safe cocoon that encircled her body. I even mourn her fresh grief. Somehow, it made everything more stunning, like sun shining on broken glass, turning ruin beautiful.
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Journal Prompts
#1 Think of a loss you have experienced. What secondary losses have come from it? Which loss was the most surprising? I was most caught off guard by the loss of friends after Riley died. Write about your secondary loss and try to include a piece of dialogue you remember or a thought you had. One friend wrote in an email weeks after Riley’s death, “I hope you are feeling lighter these days,” before ghosting me.
#2 Make a list of losses you have experienced. This could be people that you know who have passed, relationships that have ended, favorite restaurants or stores that have closed, articles of clothing or jewelry they have lost. Then make a list of images associated with these losses. Write about the losses weaving in your images.
#3 Make a list of your former selves as if they were Matryoshka nesting dolls; child, teenager, college student, professional, bride/groom, new mother or father. Write about a moment with an image for each one. Try to include all the senses. What did you feel, see, hear, smell, taste?
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Writing through Grief is now open.
A 6-week online writing support group.
Fridays at 11am PST | Oct. 2-Nov. 6, 2026
In this safe, supportive space, we’ll connect with others who are experiencing grief. Whether your loss is recent or many years in the past, you are welcome here.
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Thank you for being a part of this community.
Warmly,
Chanel
Shared Grief Journal is a place to heal and connect authentically through the act of writing and reading.
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