Sadness is there — whether we acknowledge it or not.

A few years ago my uncle died unexpectedly in a car accident. One moment he was driving to visit his dad (my Grandpa Marv) at a nursing home, the next everything changed when someone missed a stop sign.

Fast forward 12 or so months later to the annual family reunion which my siblings and I happened to be in charge of that year — my dad comes from a Brady Bunch family with 13 siblings. In addition to my uncle’s recent death this family was not a stranger to loss. One of each of the original sets of parents had died of cancer. My dad’s mom, Betsy, was 43. His step-mom’s husband, Ron, was also young — hence the Brady Bunch. My dad’s step-mom, Rosie, had died of cancer just a couple years before my uncle, and back in 1997 my cousin died in a house fire. She was my age and I happened to be in the hospital for attempting suicide when the house fire happened. This was a family who knew loss.

So doing what I do, and being trained in grief, I thought it might be nice (okay, not nice … powerful?) to have a table at the reunion with some candles and notes to leave for those who weren’t with us. Guess what though? Every single person I mentioned my plan to said, “Don’t you dare! This is supposed to be fun!” Or, “What!? Nooooo! That’s so depressing!” Even a firm, “Seriously Nicole? Do NOT.”

So I didn’t.

And then I watched as my uncle’s widow and kids wandered around and tried to pretend nothing was different. No one even said my uncle’s name. It’s Paul by the way. And he was a really lovely man. And my cousin’s was Carrie, and she could play The Entertainer on the piano perfectly and swim like a fish.

Sigh.

We’re not good at grief.

I know this is a heavy story, but I’m telling it so I can point out just how terrible we are as a culture at making space for sadness and grief. Instead we try to cheer people up or avoid bringing up grief. Like, maybe bringing it up would remind the person of something they’d forgotten about!?! We talk about things like “moving on,” “getting over,” and “doing better.” Heck, even the official “stages of grief” don’t mention sadness. There’s denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. But not sadness! It’s a shame because sadness is there, whether we are acknowledging it or not.

And I don’t have to tell you this. If society is this terrible at supporting grief over someone who we've actually met — like my uncle — we’re waaaay worse at honoring the loss of tiny people who we haven’t met. Those embryos that don’t stick around. The miscarried babies. The “chemical” pregnancies. The babies born still or too soon to survive.

Of course, there’s even less obvious things we grieve too. The grief of never seeing a second-line on a pregnancy test. The grief of relationship strains. The loss of faith in your body. Sudden and sweeping COVID changes. Job loss. It’s a real detriment that we don’t have a space to honor these things.

One of my goals in what I do is about changing hurtful cultural norms. It’s time to push back on the belief we have to “get over it.” We need to start being okay with grief — it’s a universal experience for pete’s sake! Let's redefine “doing better” as collectively honoring our humanity. Let’s make “doing better” creating space to be real. I still kick myself for not lighting those candles. Even if the rest of the family thought it was weird. I know I let Paul’s wife and kids down and I could have made a dark part of their lives a little less lonely and overwhelming.

I want you to feel less lonely and overwhelmed too. I want you to know there absolutely is space for grief and sadness any day of the year. Here are some ways to make room to be sad and grieve with ritual whether in private, publicly, on a special day, or every day of the year.

Light that candle.

It’s a simple yet powerful symbol of both sadness and hope.

Make a playlist.

Then slow-down and listen. We often keep going and don’t give our feelings an opportunity to surface. Music can allow the space for things to come up and out.

Write a letter.

Say how you feel. It doesn’t change the outside world, but it does something inside our bodies and hearts.

Create a symbolic space.

In Japanese culture, Jizo statues are placed in gardens and homes to provide places for people place letters, flowers, photos and other special items to honor pregnancy and child loss. I make Jizos to give to my patients. You can create your own version or make your own alter inside your home or garden with a Jizo or any other symbolic items that speaks to you.

Make ripples of kindness.

I stumbled upon something called the Kindness Project many years ago. I love the idea of doing anonymous acts of kindness in honor of your baby, your fertility struggle, your sadness.

Get customized.

If you have a green thumb plant things! If you have a strong cultural identity seek out rituals from your culture! If you love to write, write! If you love art, create something! You might like the organization called Art of Infertility.

I'm sending you much love,

Nicole

MORE SUPPORT AND EXPLORATION

This incredible TedTalk by Sophie Savage — How Grief Can Help Us Win.

Nicole Lange

LICENSED ACUPUNCTURIST
HOLISTIC FERTILITY EDUCATOR