A Note on Grief

A quick interlude before we start 2025 for real.

Jan 27, 2025

Hi, friends.

This newsletter will be a bit of a departure from our usual fare, but we’ll get back to business in the next one. As you know, my beloved city of Los Angeles has suffered greatly in the past few weeks. I’m safe, my house is safe, but so many are not, including many of my friends.

It has been heartbreaking, to say the least—not to mention extremely scary and traumatizing. We had to evacuate once and, up until the rain, all of our bags were packed and ready in case we needed to leave again.

the irony of our “go bags” sitting beneath a photograph of a favorite Temescal Canyon trail, now burned

But, I wanted to share something of note that I experienced soon after all of those homes burned down. Four different friends, in different ways, asked me how to grieve. I don’t consider myself an expert in this department whatsoever, but I have experienced unimaginable loss (which, if you’re new here ((hi and welcome!)), you can read about here), so I’ve become the de facto grief friend, a title that I wear proudly and happily. If I can help someone through their grief, like so many helped me through mine, that’s something I will gladly take on.

It also made me realize that most people (humans as a whole, to be honest) are not hardwired to metabolize grief in any logical way. The feeling is so complex, so overwhelming and all-consuming, that for most, it simply does not make sense. The how and the why play on loop in your brain until you’re numb. Sometimes the grief crests over you in a giant wave, pulling you under. Other times, it’s a lapping, calmer seashore—always there, biding its time before the current picks up again.

But, the truth is, everyone will experience loss—and the accompanying waves of grief—in their lifetime. And while there is no straightforward answer on how to handle it, I have discovered a few tools on navigating (not recovering from, mind you) its complexities.

And again, I don’t claim to know anything about grief, nor am I a counselor or therapist, but this is what I did and still do to manage my own—and this is what I told my friends:

For one, you need to allow yourself to grieve. In this particular case, where people lost everything, it’s important to know that they weren’t just houses. They were memories, dreams, futures. Community, parks, schools. A grandmother’s wedding ring. Stacks of your child’s art. Collected Christmas ornaments. They were homes and lives. And it’s okay—and in fact, very important—to grieve that loss.

Second, grief is too heavy a burden to carry alone. Let your loved ones shoulder it beside you. Lean on your friends and family, those who are offering help and guidance—let them absorb some of the weight. Accept help. Ask for it, too.

Third, seek out comfort. In this fragile state, it’s so important to nurture and cradle yourself with the things that bring you the most comfort. Is that rewatching your favorite TV series or movie? Rereading a favorite book? Watercoloring? Baking? Whatever it is, do it. You already know mine was/is reading romance novels. You need a safety net—some place to go mentally when the grief is too much.

Last, speak with a grief-specific counselor. They often have the tools to help make your loss more digestible. And, if anything, just talking about it with someone else lessens that burden on your heart.

And when my friends asked if the grief goes away, I truthfully said no. But the degree in which you feel that grief will lessen and soften with time. Give yourself grace. There’s also something really fortifying to grief. Your body experiences a metamorphic, soul-altering change—one in which allows you to see the world through a different, more empathetic lens. In time, you will know how to help others carry their own grief.

I want to mention another thing that all of my friends said, which was something along the lines of “I know it doesn’t compare to your loss, but….” I stopped them right there. Loss is loss is loss. Heartbreak is heartbreak is heartbreak. Do not diminish your own feelings, your own grief, in comparison to others. This feels like a really important point. Your loss, no matter what it is, is profound enough to exist on its own.

In the same respect, if it’s your friend or family member or someone you know who experienced a loss, try not to compare it to a similar event. And yes, I do this, we all do this—but we need to let them move through grief without diminishing their feelings with unnecessary comparisons. Everyone experiences loss—literally everyone—so much so that it’s completely moot to bring it up when someone is in the thick of it. (There are, of course, exceptions here. If two people who both lost their homes commiserate together, for example—that makes sense and can even help, knowing that someone else is experiencing the same feelings as you. Or, in my case, connecting with parents who have also lost a child.)

This brings me to the next note I want to touch on, which is how to handle someone else’s grief. I’ve learned that most people don’t know how to respond to loss, especially when it’s not your own. Again, I’m no expert, but I have been on the receiving end of others’ sympathies (or lack thereof), so I know what I personally appreciated. Overall, I think it’s mostly summed up in this post by Cleo Wade:

To me, any sort of acknowledgment of the loss, something as simple as “I’m thinking of you and I love you,” is a comfort. Letting someone know that you’re here for them will only alleviate the heaviness. Saying nothing at all, whether you don’t know what to say or you’re scared to say the wrong thing or you’re worried you might drudge up bad feelings if you mention it, is actually not helpful. I repeat: do not do this! I can’t tell you how often this happened after Rowe, so if I have one piece of advice, it’s reach out to your people, even if it’s “I don’t know what to say, but I’m sorry and I’m here for you.”

If you’re looking to go beyond that, I think simple, but specific actionable gestures go a really long way. In the case of these fires, where your friends might be starting from scratch, offer to drop off a meal on a certain day or buy their groceries for the week. Send them a gift card to re-buy their favorite pair of jeans. Take their kids to the movies. Whatever it is, let it be something they don’t have to think about. Oftentimes, when someone experiences a loss, the feelings of grief are so overwhelming that they don’t know how to respond to empty gestures, like “If you need anything, let me know.” They likely don’t know what they need, but even offering that is better than saying nothing at all.

every morning, I make tea or coffee here, admiring the flourishing olive tree just outside the window, planted there by my friends after Rowe’s passing

However you decide to handle someone else’s grief, let’s strive to ease their burden. Help them carry it. Be a soft place for them to land. And, most importantly, don’t forget to keep showing up, even long after the loss occurs. So many of my loved ones still send a sweet note on Rowe’s birthday—acknowledgment means so much to a griever. This post by Lindsey Carter really stood out to me:

Let me know (in the comments!) if there are any tools you’ve found helpful while navigating your own grief (or a loved one’s). Let’s all talk about these complex emotions more freely.

Thanks for reading.

Now, I have two favors to ask. It’s my birthday this week (and one year anniversary of Romance Adjacent!), so I feel like I have the right to request whatever I want! One, I’d really love for you to send a text (or a card) to one of your people going through something tough right now. Check in on them. Tell them you love them.

Two, donate to your favorite cause (whether it’s fire related or something else), even if it’s $5. If you do decide to support LA, I’d suggest contributing to a verified GoFundMe, knowing that your money will go directly to a family who lost everything. There are also so many great funds collecting for the community, too, like Baby2Baby.

And to answer your question: YES, I’m reading Onyx Storm right now. If you’d like to discuss, shoot me a message.

In the next newsletter, we’ll be diving into one of my favorite topics: comfy pants. See you then!

ICYMI: