How do you do grief?
I’ve always been a do-it-yourself gal. Growing up around woodworking, I love the smell of freshly cut wood and potent lacquer stains.
With an internal constitution of frugality (paired with over a decade of watching television shows like McGyver and This Old House), I am a hopeless fan of easy home-fixes, creative repairs, and mindful repurposing. It’s uncertain how much of that crafty-creative energy is fueled by the essence of life and imagination, or how much comes from a lack mentality fueled by primal or learned fear of being without.
There are times, however, when DIY just isn’t the right fit for the job.
For example–once, in an effort to save some money, a friend and I were removing severely overgrown bushes from my front yard. One hefty swing of the pick-axe punctured the main water line and we were forced to call a plumber. In a situation like that, it was a good choice.
After losing a child is not the best time to employ DIY tactics. That is a poor choice; trust me.
Participating for the first time in the 24th annual “Life in Death” (or Dia de Los Muertos festival) this past weekend was humbling; eye-opening.
My two-fold purpose for attending the event was to share my heartfelt memorial at this tongue-in-cheek celebration of poking fun at death–we are all going to die, so we might as well celebrate life while we’re alive–and to spread the word LOSSENT.
My DIY skills came in handy as I drafted, crafted, and actualized a 3-tier traditional ofrenda in Amy’s honor. I decided to set it up beforehand in my garage, choosing and changing out which tables, colors, covers, and items to display. The process and end result was very telling for multiple reasons:
- to see how many of Amy’s possessions I have stored in granddad’s black steamer trunk or which have a visible space somewhere around my house,
- to hear other people’s thoughts, feelings, and preferences about my choices of what to display,
- to realize the ‘blind spots’ in our perception that grief creates for each one of us as we continue living after loss.
After seeing thousands of visitors at the festival, it hit me how every one of us grieves in our own way.
Every passer-by or conversation showed me another grief-induced blind spot.
What do we do with our grief? We:
- move it around, or push it down;
- store it deep in our heart, or in our head, or on our sleeve,
- we invite it to take up space in our bodies and in our houses.
And if we don’t learn a healthy way to do something with it (process, integrate, release, forgive, surrender, whatever is needed,) then we end up DIY-ing it again and again.
Last night I had a strong dream-image and experience of shrugging myself out of a dark, heavy, bearskin coat that was one size too small. I wrestled one arm free but my other shoulder was still very tight and it felt like something inside the lining of the jacket was stuck to a button on my shirt (near my heart) preventing it from falling away.
My morning meditation replaced that harsh, heavy image with something lighter, easy, and natural. If you can imagine, sense, or hear emotions dressed as children: Sadness, Pain, and What-if running through the playground holding the hands of their best friends, Joy, Faith, and Creativity.
Their daily mission is to smile and have fun. As I become aware of and allow those inner emotions to play together in my mind, to share stories or impressions, and to explore different perspectives of life like kids having fun on a playground, I find that I stay amused and in awe of every day that I’m alive!
What I’m learning about death & grief (for most humans) is that we simply cannot fathom the essence of all that we are, alive or dead. Whatever it is that keeps our fingernails growing–I like to call it GUSS (God-Universe-Spirit-Source)–that energy that keeps us living remains with us when we die from this Earth. Take my word on this; I can assure you.
We must find a way to merge our humanness with our spiritualness to comfortably manage our grief.
Without formal guidance, strong cultural practices, or formal resources, one might rely on DIY to navigate the stormy waters of grief.
The message of comfort I continue to receive is that we can choose to feel relief daily. Smile. Stay amused. But it takes some learning…
And patience.
And crying.
And community.
And it definitely takes consistency.
I see now how there may be a better way than DIY to sail on the ocean of loss.
Is it time to call a plumber?
Find a trusted captain with a proper boat?
Or join a group?
Please join me to gather on 12/12/25 @ 6 pm PT in my Zoom room for merriment and memories.