v.18 Parting Gifts: What I’ve Learned From Losing the Ones I Love
Welcome to Life, Created—a new [old school] blog for modern times. This twice-a-week(ish) dispatch is a space for us to dig deeper, recognize microjoys and build community beyond the mindless scroll.
Loss is a peculiar teacher. At 47, I’ve experienced grief in layers that many people have yet to encounter. It’s a reality that shapes my perspective, a prism through which the world appears simultaneously fragile and profound. Losing both of my parents, one of my siblings, a nephew, and all my grandparents—three of those losses in just the last few years—has cultivated a sense of depth that feels decades beyond my years. This accumulation of loss has profoundly altered the way I see the world and how I live within it.
Grief, though heavy, is also connective. There’s an unspoken language to it, a shared understanding between those who know how loss reshapes you. There’s also a strange kind of gratitude—a recognition that life’s impermanence makes its moments, however mundane, worth experiencing. It’s an emotional bridge and a barrier all at once. Losing my father when I was 28, when most of my friends couldn’t yet imagine life without their grandparents (no less their actual parents), was my first stark encounter with that divide. Over time, as the losses multiplied, a subtle disconnection grew. Many of my peers still have both parents alive, and while their lives remain untethered by loss—my perspective has been shaped by its weight.
It’s like walking through the same world but focusing on completely different scenery, a quiet but profound distance that influences how I prioritize and relate.
This disconnect feels especially stark in how we value and navigate life. For me, the small stuff rarely registers. It’s not that I don’t worry about things or get petty from time to time, but when you’ve lived through the silence that follows death, life’s minor irritations pale in comparison. (Most things that we get so caught up in really don’t matter.) I find myself drawn to authenticity and depth, seeking relationships that feel real and conversations that are meaningful. It’s not about judgment or dismissing others’ experiences—it’s simply a shift in focus, a narrowing of attention to what truly matters when you’ve been reminded again and again how impermanent life really is.
Navigating the world with this awareness has made me more intentional and alert to everything around me. I don’t have the privilege or comfort of being unaware of impermanence. It’s not a stretch to say that grief has become my compass, directing me toward deeper connections and greater purpose. People that I encounter will often tell me that I have “such wisdom” or that my energy feels “so vibrant”. With no vanity intended, I absolutely know what they mean by this—and I think it’s simply an inner-knowing and clarity that loss has gifted me. (Not a gift I wanted but that’s not the point, is it?) Wisdom is not innate—it’s often forged in the fires of experience. And the vibrancy people sense in me is the result of choosing to live fully, even alongside the shadow of grief. I think this is true of many people who’ve made a similar choice in the face of so much loss.
And listen, at times, this perspective can feel isolating. While others find joy in triviality or fleeting connections, I tend to be drawn to deeper currents— now more than ever. Loss has taught me to let go of the the petty arguments, the need to be right, the endless to-do lists—and instead embrace the beauty found in life’s impermanence. Though this sometimes creates distance from those who prioritize differently, it also anchors me firmly in what matters most.
In the end, I’ve learned that grief is not simply something we endure—it’s something that transforms us. It strips away the bullshit, the unnecessary and illuminates what is most essential. Losing so many loved ones has taught me that nothing lasts forever (nor should it), but that’s exactly what makes the moments we do have so meaningful. I carry this lesson every day, and as cliché as this may sound—it reminds me to lean into the present, because it’s all we ever really have.
Every essay features a section called “One Fine Microjoy” – an experience, place, or thing that brings me joy, grace, and hope amidst life’s ups and downs. I hope it invites you to recognize and appreciate the delights that ground, inspire, and enrich our journey.
Forgive my immediate change in tone for this week’s microjoy but it is …chef’s kiss…ridiculous.
My husband (hi Ira) makes me random stickers on his phone using pictures he’s taken. And this is a recent one of our cat Shaker with a crown and ball of yarn. I mean, come on—it’s too good not to share with you. How fucking cute is Shaker?! 😂
That’s all for today. Thanks for reading Life, Created.
With love, wisdom [and small mercies] from Montclair. xx
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