“Hey Eric, call us when you get this…”
I awoke Sunday morning 2 weeks ago to this message from my mom.
You know it’s about to get intense fast when you receive a message like this. She never calls me by my name.
4 days prior, my Grandfather had a stroke and was in the hospital. His recovery wasn’t guaranteed, and the quality of life, if he did, was unclear.
He didn’t recover.
And there, half a world away, over the uncanny valley of FaceTime, I learned that my grandfather had passed. My Grandfather lived to be 93, outliving his friends, family, coworkers, and college mates. He passed peacefully and had a full life.
15 months before this, in September, my family experienced our first death with the passing of my maternal grandfather. 3 months after that, my paternal grandmother passed away. Fast forward to two weeks ago, and my paternal grandfather is now gone.
It’s a very strange experience to contact funeral homes and have them remember you because you met with them at this time the previous year.
I have been blessed with the gift of all of my grandparents throughout my childhood and adult years. Death, despite being the one universal commonality shared by all of humanity throughout time, remains one of our most unspoken and taboo topics. This contributes to untold amounts of needless suffering and emotional blocks.
I wanted to share today a few of the things I have done during these periods that have helped me immensely, and also enabled me to show up for my family and loved ones as an asset and an ally.
I hope these are useful to you when you need them most.
🌊 Ride the Emotional Wave. The news of someone passing feels like a gut punch. A large emotional contraction. I try as quickly as possible afterwards to find a silent, still space and give my emotions permission to come through. Sometimes that looks like sitting there in a dazed stupor for several minutes. Sometimes it’s pacing around the room, angry at the apparent injustice. More often than not, it looks like crying. Be with yourself and with your emotions, while they are fresh, alive, and energized. Catharsis is healing.
✍🏻 Write it Out. Writing is a gift, one of my most consistent and sacred practices. It’s like meditation. After the emotional wave, I’ll sit down and open a journal, and begin to write a letter to the deceased. It’s not focused on any particular topic, it’s just writing out whatever wants to come out at that time. It usually ends up being a combination of expressing gratitude, saying anything I feel is left unspoken, and giving love and thanks for their role in my life, and in the life of the world. You can find the letter I wrote for my Grandfather this time at the end of this piece. If you need help starting, the Hawaiian Ho’opono’ono mantra (Thank you, I love you, I’m sorry, Forgive me) is an excellent place to start. See if you can expand on each of those 4 as you write: thank you for… I’m sorry about….
🫂 Presence Over Everything. Though it was short-lived, I would be lying if I said that I didn’t consider staying in Argentina for this process and managing it myself. I’m good at managing my own emotions, I was confident I could handle it. But I’m glad I didn’t. It’s not a small decision, several thousand dollars and dozens of hours of travel to get back to Toronto from here. But fortunately, as I said, it was short-lived, and I got a very clear knowing that I needed to be back home with my family, in physical presence, for this experience. There are very few of these moments in life, and it was clear to me that I wasn’t going to be halfway across the planet for this. I was on the next available flight back to Toronto the next day, surprising my parents when I walked through the door a day and a half after I heard the news. This was a gift to myself, and also a gift to my family. There’s no amount of written text messages, or Zoom calls, that even come close to the value and power of being there, in the mud, pain, and tears, with those also grieving. You don’t have to say anything fancy, you don’t have to have all the answers, your presence does wonders, and speaks for itself. In a beautiful synchronicity, I arrived home just 2 hours before the final viewing of my grandfathers body, the last possible chance to see him in person, and it feels fulfilling to be rewarded like that for the decision to head back.
📿 Gifting Totems. For each of my grandparents, whether at the gravesite or at the final viewing, I leave a small totem with each of them. I have stickers of the image I created for Phoenix Culture, a Phoenix encircling a generative void. The first time I left this it was unplanned, just something I had in my wallet and felt right. Death is truly a Phoenix mythology. A change in form, a return to the great mystery, reunification with the generative void from which all things emerge and to which all things return to. I recommend this. Take anything of personal significance to you, however small, and give it as a parting gift to the deceased.
❌ Establish Boundaries. The death process is a kairos moment, an experience removed from chronological time. It is sacred space, and a sacred time. As best you can, establish boundaries. Boundaries from external forces, like work commitments, but also internal boundaries, like the ceaseless voice of “you should be working, this is taking too long, what about all those messages you have.” This is difficult for me, but I recognize the importance and power of doing this. Establish boundaries so that you can rest, fully and completely, in the sacred space of kairos that death brings about.
💭 Direct Contact. This is the most woo suggestion I have, but worth a shot if you think it would be helpful. It is possible, if you cultivate a profound stillness inside of you, to make direct contact with the deceased. For me, it takes the form of a personal tea ceremony a day or two after their passing. In tea ceremony, particularly in individual ceremonies, sometimes individuals will pour two cups: one for themselves, and one for Buddha. I tend to remix this, and pour one for me and one for the deceased. Taking a few minutes to ground down, turn inwards, and rest in a space of still silence, you can begin, either audibly or simply internally, to reach out and speak to the deceased. What may surprise you is that you’ll begin to receive replies. They will answer. Now, make of this what you will, I’m making no metaphysical claims here. All I’m saying is that if a final conversation or two would be helpful, you can dialogue with them again.
👨👩👧👦 Collective Pain. Death is a collective process. Felt by the human body, the family body, and the individual body. If you can, and if those around you are willing. Making some space for collective pain helps a lot. Share stories of the deceased, ask others to share their experience, how they are doing, what they are feeling. Death is not a burden that must be borne by yourself, in isolation. The process becomes much easier when shared with others, when you are in it together, united as one.
🙏🏻 Selfless Service. I save this final step for last because you should only do it if you truly have the capacity. But if you do, you can try to be of service to others. Small gestures like taking care of pets, cooking meals, cleaning the house go a long way in times like this. But this runs the risk of being a coping mechanism: burying yourself in busy work to deny or repress your own feelings and emotional process. Discernment is necessary here. For me, it’s been a gift to be able to help my family, and deeply meaningful to me, whether helping with chores, leading meditations, or simply being available for conversation about whatever it is they wish to speak about.
Death is never easy.
It reminds you of how deeply you can love, of the finitude of your own existence, and of the reality of pain.
This piece isn’t meant to be an 8-step process that you move through like a checklist, but hopefully, an ally if you ever have your own confrontation with death moving forward.
I am back in Argentina now. Rooting down and getting ready to get back into the mix. I’ll see you again later this week as we pick things back up.
With love, EB. 💛
Dear Grandpa…
Thank you. I love you. I’m sorry. Forgive me.
Thank you for your presence, for all of your gifts, and for your contributions to the world. You taught me how to be proud, how to be social, compassionate, and true to yourself. You showed me how to do things for yourself – and to take pride in family, country, work, and food.
I love your attention. Your passion for work and knowledge. For your friends and for your family. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you in person. I’m sorry I didn’t ask you more about yourself. I’m sorry for the times a ‘goodbye’ wasn’t followed with an ‘I love you’. Forgive me.
I work hard each da to honour the gifts you’ve given me and afforded for my life. Each breath, thought, and deed is a prayer for you now. I know you are with me still, in blood and bone and breath. Thank you for going peacefully, on your own terms and with your own dignity. Even in death you protect us from pain.
You were an honest, composed, proud, and dignified man, with a rich history and an even richer life. I am proud to be your grandson and to carry on your lineage. May you be happy. May you be healthy. May you be free from harm. May you be at peace. Forevermore.
I am so fortunate to have you in my life, to walk in your footsteps, and to strive to honour your memory. It brings me solemn peace to know you will be with grandma now, in poetic beauty a year later and in the same manner of passing as your own father. Fate has a beautiful way of shining through in moments like this, giving me assurance the pattern of life in unfolding as it needs to.
I kiss you now, bow at your feet, smile upon you, and release you back to the great mystery. I will see you in the wind, the sunrises, and the beating of my heart.
I love you, in all ways, always. Thank you.
Eric Brown.