As I write, grief blankets Maui in the aftermath of the unimaginable devastation wrought by the August 8, 2023, fires in Lahaina and Upcountry Maui. I still cannot wrap my mind around the enormity of what transpired—thousands of residents have lost loved ones, homes, jobs, and pets and are facing an unknown future. Recreating lives without financial resources and social support is daunting, and reconnecting with a sense of purpose may seem unimaginable.
This I know because 11 years ago, a colorectal cancer diagnosis blindsided my 41-year-old daughter, Emalia, and turned our world upside down. The cancer—an insatiable enemy—caused her demise 17 months later, and my life changed irrevocably that February of 2014.
Grief flattened me for several months. I didn’t care if I lived or died and lacked the energy or desire to interact with others, even close friends. I was most concerned about Emalia’s son, barely three years old, but didn’t have the energy or will to take on much caregiving. Ultimately, I knew that he and my son-in-law would be cared for by other family members and our many friends and that my son and his family would also be alright if I died. I felt that my life no longer mattered: I was without purpose.
What I felt most acutely besides the pain of Emalia’s absence was guilt. I felt guilty as I lay on my bed because I felt I was wasting my time on earth, especially after having seen how Emalia fought so valiantly to live. Yet, I couldn’t care enough to mobilize. I grieved the loss of my beloved child, as well as my best friend. I acutely missed being able to touch her, hug her, give her a foot rub, brush her hair, or feel her hugs. Although she was no longer in her physical body, I felt her presence continually and talked to her often, telling her how much I missed her and wanting answers to my many questions—and could only trust that her responses were not my mind’s fabrications. Weeks and months passed, and I moved slowly through the days.
I lay on my bed and napped a lot, and memories of the most painful times of Emalia’s journey arose. Lying abed without distraction, I allowed myself to fully receive these memory moments and cried often and deeply. I realized that I had been unable to fully experience these moments in real time when Emalia was alive because I kept my attention focused on her; allowing myself to fully experience the moments then would have kept me from being fully present for her, from not breaking down as I watched my child suffer.
However, my crying jags rarely lasted even a couple of minutes, and during the weeks, their frequency dropped markedly. Finally, the slide show stopped. I could then recall those memories without feeling the energetic charge they’d carried previously. And, some of my energy began to return.
Grief transformed me: my life is now richer, and my capacity for empathy and compassion is greater. I believe the key is engaging with our grief: letting it work us, not avoiding it. Working with grief is not easy, but, ultimately, can be rich and rewarding. During my career as a clinical psychologist in northern California some years ago, I often saw this happen with my clients. Once they stopped avoiding their grief and chose rather to engage with it, sunshine would find its way in between the cracks and bring light to the dark places. As light returned, a sense of purpose a meaning would return to their lives.
In late fall of October, 2014, I was describing the Dougy Center, the gold standard of children’s grief organizations which is in Oregon, to a close friend, and he suggested that I might create such a nonprofit on Maui. His suggestion shot straight to my heart: in that instant, purpose and meaning returned to my life, and I felt fully energized once again. In 2015, I founded Nā Keiki O Emalia and served as its executive director for five years before resigning to move onto other interests that called to me. I have since written Emalia: A Mother-Daughter Journey from Here to Beyond and been studying and practicing evidential mediumship.
My path was not unusual. While some individuals find meaning in founding a nonprofit that in some way relates to the issue that caused their beloved’s death or helps people, such is not the path for everyone. Routes that serve as springboards forward into life vary from person to person. The commonality, however, appears to be engaging in an activity that helps others. And, helping others is not about scale: it can be a simple as helping a neighbor or volunteering for a local organization. Ultimately, we only grieve whom or what we care about and by attending to our grief we can reconnect with love and joy in our lives.
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