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Marking Anniversaries

When you undergo a significant loss, you find that anniversaries--be they actual wedding anniversaries, birthdays of a deceased family member, diagnosis dates, or the date that a loved one passed away—pack an intense wallop that can knock you off your feet (and game) in the days and weeks leading up to them.

One might presume that the first of these anniversaries would be the most devastating, but that assumption would be incorrect. The truth is, you don’t know how the day will feel until it arrives. The second, or fifth, or twelfth might hit you just as hard, or perhaps even more so, than the first.

Sorrow takes many shapes (most of them ugly) and morphs into its various forms at the most inopportune moments, creating a temperamental typhoon that’s not entirely predictable, and certainly not preventable. In fact, the more rigidly you try to control it, the more likely you are to come unhinged.

A vague sense of anxiety, an uptick in sadness, negative thought patterns, an explosive anger that resists every attempt to tame it, insomnia, or a cold, gut-churning case of fear—any of these may appear as symptoms as the dreaded date approaches.

The trick to taming the rocky rush of grief is to allow your feelings to overtake you, trusting that they will eventually pass. Acknowledge each turbulent wave of emotion, noticing and naming the rush of emotion and letting it suck you under until it spits you out on the sandy shore of reason, where you can regain your footing.

As the crescendo of grief rises, do whatever you need to do to get through it, whether that’s crying, punching something soft, or writing in a journal. Repetitive, rhythmic physical activities that don’t require much thought—walking, running, chopping anything from wood to vegetables, playing an instrument, knitting, and so on—can be calming.

As for the actual anniversary, a combination of ritual—a ceremonial act that effectively captures the essence of the loss—followed by a planned, out-of-the-daily-norm distraction can help to defuse the mournful mass of landmines that lurk within the psyche.

As the first anniversary of our baby’s birth and death approached, we decided as a family to take a personal day to mark it. We went to the cemetery, and then out to breakfast, followed by a day trip to an outlet mall and a dog track.

Our method may have been unorthodox, but the escape from the confines of our regular routine enabled us to set aside time and space to celebrate and grieve Anna’s brief life, and to engage in activities that she would have enjoyed, had she been with us.

We made a pact at the end of that day to continue the practice of skipping out of our responsibilities and focusing our attention on our missing family member as a new family tradition.

Anna’s birthday always begins with a visit to her grave, followed by the small indulgence of a restaurant breakfast. The rest of the day tends to unfold into pure escapism, like the year we visited the Green Bay Packer Hall of Fame and toured Lambeau Field on a weekday. It’s not exactly a holiday, but being together makes the day bearable.

We don’t bother trying to pretend that it’s a day like any other. This temporary release from the prison of expectation has proven to be the key to maintaining our equilibrium.

Incompatible with Life: A story of hope
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