Grief Anniversaries

Honoring my Mom's third death anniversary and the first anniversary of this Substack

Today marks the third anniversary of my mom’s passing, as well as the first anniversary of this Substack. On the second anniversary of her death, I launched this space with a simple act: I wrote. Writing became my lifeline in the wake of my parents’ deaths – a way to process grief while navigating the uncharted waters of both my parents’ affairs.

I wrote this one year ago:

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A couple of months ago, I blew my hair dry. Looking in the bathroom mirror, tears rolled down my cheeks. My face has aged so much in the last two years. I now have a little saggy piece of skin dangling under my chin. I call it a waddle (from the Ally McBeal days). I inherited my mom's waddle.

My waddle is one of my favorite parts of myself. The lines on my face are beautiful.

On Mom's second deathversary, I feel such deep appreciation for her. In my mind's eye and in my dreams, she often appears about my age – the same age she is in this photo. So often, I wish I could talk with her, call her up, and ask for advice.

So I started writing. And writing. And writing. I've spent much of the last two years writing.

Today, I officially launched a new space for my writing on Substack. This is where I will share some of my journey over the last two years, as well as practical wisdom for both living with grief and settling your person's affairs.

Mom was full of practical wisdom and loved to share her smile and her kind greeting with everyone she met. I hope to do the same.

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One year later, I honor how I channeled my mother’s practical wisdom into writing – as I am currently preparing to publish my first book, A New Path: A Practical Workbook and Planner for Navigating the First Year of Loss and Settling Your Person’s Affairs. This book is the resource I wish I’d had in 2022. It’s woven from countless pieces of writing inspired by my own experiences and those of my dear friends who navigated similar challenges a year after me.

Much like my mother’s quilts of diverse and vibrant colors, my book unites the fabric of emotional and practical guidance.

Loss and grief often rip apart the quilt that is your life. It disorganizes your sense of identity – a truth I’ve felt keenly since my parents’ deaths. Grief isn’t just emotional; it’s logistical. It’s paperwork. It’s systems. It’s the many roles that you never anticipated playing.

In family therapy, we discuss dual roles and the tension that playing multiple roles with the same person can create in a relationship. These dual roles are more common in step- and blended families, at different developmental stages in families, and within family businesses. I know the tension that adult children feel when losing a parent to dementia and Alzheimer’s disease, for example – the ache of needing to care for the person who once cared for you physically or the reality of taking the car keys from the person who taught you to drive.

Yet, I never considered how that dual role would extend to practical roles. These practical roles assume that you can function “neutrally” or “logically,” often ignoring the inherent contractions, tensions, and conflicts that arise. Each of these roles carries its own weight and responsibilities, and they don’t always align with our emotional needs or those of our family.

Here are just a few of the roles that you might find yourself playing, as well as a short summary of what that role does:

Power of Attorney: You manage legal and financial affairs on behalf of a living person based on the parameters of a legal document.

Health Proxy: You make medical decisions for someone who can no longer make them for themselves, guided by their living will or advance directive.

Executor: You manage the distribution of a deceased person’s assets, following the instructions in their will.

Beneficiary: You’re designated to receive assets or benefits from the estate.

Sibling: You’re navigating shared grief and expectations with others who have lost the same person.

The intersection of these roles often leads to confusion, conflicts of interest, and immense stress. For example, a Power of Attorney must act in the best interest of the person they represent, which may conflict with their personal beliefs or the wishes of their other family members. Executors often find themselves balancing impartiality while also managing their own grief.

Secondary losses—like the loss of professional identity, sense of normalcy, finances, or family dynamics—compound the burden. These tributaries flow into the ocean of grief, creating layers of complexity.

When I started this journey, I feared the linear aspect of paperwork. My process-oriented, associative brain simply doesn’t follow a straight line. But I’ve learned to bring what’s missing into the process: attention to the how. How we navigate these tasks matters as much as the tasks themselves.

As I look forward to the next phase of my journey, I’ll be sharing more about the intersections of grief, legacy, and practical wisdom – the lessons that my mom embodied so well. She taught me to value both the sacred and the mundane. Her smile and her waddle live on in me. Her practical wisdom finds new life in my book and in this community that we've built together.

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If this resonates with you, I invite you to continue the conversation by sharing your thoughts in a survey or responding. Let’s explore how we can navigate grief, roles, and legacy together with intention and care. Thank you for being here and for journeying with me.

With you on the journey,

Megan, AKA The Accidental Matriarch

Founder of A New Path

Here I am with my lines and my waddle—savoring one of the things Mom and I loved: a cup of coffee.