Conversations in Grief Blog: Letting Go & Holding Tight

Letting Go & Holding Tight

by Laura Wessels

My first grandchild was born on October 31, 2022. My dad died on January 12, 2023. My second grandchild was born on March 5, 2025. My mom died on March 7, 2025.

When others told me about a birth in their family on the heels of a death, I commented on the circle of life —the gift of loved ones arriving and leaving, maybe even passing by or greeting one another on their journeys.

But when it happened to me, twice, I did not feel joyful or experience the sense of completion like that circle of life idea. I felt sad, conflicted, and pulled in different directions that left me...overwhelmed, not knowing how to feel.

I wanted my parents to be part of holding my grandsons tight. I wanted my parents to enjoy my grandsons with me. Instead, I needed to find space to grieve my parents’ deaths while also celebrating the births of my grandsons. It was way harder than I thought it would be. Their deaths clouded the blue skies of both of my newborn grandsons.

A key word in grief work is “and.” For example, I get to be happy that my loved one is no longer suffering, while also feeling sad and lonely without my loved one at the same time. Personally, I am overjoyed with my beautiful grandsons and also sad that my parents died when they were born. The births do not cancel out the deaths. While I am joyfully holding tight to my boys, I am sadly letting go of my parents.

But sorrow sometimes gets the upper hand. I celebrate that my grandson is six months old and then remember that my mom has been gone for six months. Fredrick Backman writes in The Winners, “The end of life is as unstoppable as its beginning, we can’t stop the first and last breaths we take any more than we can stop the wind.” The journeys into life (my grandsons) and the journeys out of life (my parents) have felt unstoppable for me. Maybe that’s why I feel out of breath as I navigate the first breaths of my grandsons and the last breaths of my parents. In trying to catch my breath, I'm standing in place loving all four of them. I discover I don’t have to hold on tight and let go. There's room for all four of them in my heart, where I can celebrate, remember, and love them.

That’s my grief. I’m sad that my joy at the births was so deeply compromised by the deaths. Yet, I’m grateful that I can hold on tight to all four of them. Dr. Ken Doka, a licensed mental health counselor, author, and grief expert, says that the worst grief is your own. I'm grateful for his permission-giving.

What’s your grief? I would love to read about your unique experience of grief and hold your sorrow with you.