Since my daughter Jess died, I have been finding ways to keep her present. I tell stories. I make little #JessInspired games. I invite friends into playful or tender moments that carry her name. For me, these things feel restorative and even fun. They bring a spark of joy into a space that is often heavy.
But there is also a worry I cannot shake. Sometimes when I walk into a room, I notice the sad looks. I feel the unspoken label: “that mom with the dead kid.” I know I am a reminder of loss. And I do not want to make people sad, even though I will always want Jess included in my life.
This tension has left me with questions I cannot answer on my own.
What happens if I continue to bring Jess into conversations year after year? What if I create a yearly #JessInspired game or tradition? Will people feel joy in being invited to remember, or will they quietly shrink away because they do not want to be reminded of death again and again?
I once heard someone say about another grieving parent, “She still posts about her son all the time. He died years ago. It seems a bit much.” Those words stuck with me. They were not talking about me, but I know they could be. And the truth is, that “too much” is exactly what I fear.
At the same time, I also know that grief does not end after the first year. It does not stop after five years or ten. For those of us living with loss, our people remain woven into our lives. We carry them forward because love never expires.
So I am left with this question for myself and for all of us who grieve:
How does it feel when someone keeps bringing up people who have passed, not just in the early months but as the years go on? Does it feel meaningful and connective, or does it sometimes feel like too much?
The irony is that if you are reading this, you have already chosen to stay. I hope it also means you can help me imagine how it feels for the people who do not stay, the ones who find the reminders uncomfortable but never say it out loud.
There isn’t one right answer. Maybe it depends on the listener. It may depend on the timing. It may depend on whether you knew the person being remembered.
My way forward is to keep experimenting, keep asking, and keep trusting that Jess deserves to be remembered out loud. Silence may make others comfortable, but it does not keep her close.
I would love to hear from you.
How does it feel to you when someone continues to share stories of their person as the years go on? Do you find it meaningful, overwhelming, or something in between? Your perspective matters, and sharing it here might help me and others who wrestle with the same questions.
Grief Heart Project 