13. On Grief
Resources for the sad. But this is happy, I swear!
I did not realize until yesterday that everything I recommended besides the “grief gifts” in this post, an entry that was slowly webbing in my drafts folder for weeks, was based in Philly. Typical! Of! Me!
I was sad Monday. I’m not sad anymore. I am standing with my hands in the air, both shrugging to the universe in a contented acceptance and gay schadenfreude because Pat Robertson died.
No disrespect to the Keebler Company, because I will devour a pack of Famous Amos like Keri Russell approaching her role in Cocaine Bear (everyone see Cocaine Bear, a movie that I watched in a theater getting EMO like Hawthorne Heights emo, not Jade Tree emo every time I saw Rosette the dog1 because she reminded me of my small daughter Simone and tapping my friend every time I saw Rosette the dog to say “she reminds me of Simone”) but yeah, Pat Robertson looks like their little mascot and probably, similarly, tucks his tie into his pants. Or tucked, because he fucking died. Lmao.
Anyway, here are some resources that normalize, empathize, humorize, and real eyes-realize-real lies grief:
Grief Beach:
My wonderful friend Arielle writes the Joan Didion of Tinyletters (also available on Substack) called Grief Beach. These are short entries that I only let myself read in moments where I can be present. Arielle’s entries show up unexpectedly, unforeseen greetings from a friend to remind you that sadness, whether you like it or not, is part of life. This recent entry about the anger we are entitled to in the face of threatening, malignant men surges through my mind and veins still.
Arielle is a sumptuous and efficient writer, and so generous with her interiority. She is also generous with her work in supporting abortion access and the Girl Scouts, and with her home - I have stayed at her place a few times when visiting Philly, and it is nothing short of sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows to wake up to her sixteen-year-old chicken Jovie and her grumpy little face resting next to me2.
My Favorite Breakup:
Julie and know each other as long-haul sufferers of the nastiest strain3 of the oft-lethal Delcovirus. (She’ll get this. You don’t have to. It’s our business.) She has worked with Technical.ly for many years, highlighting the newest apps and voices and inclusivity initiatives in tech for Philly and beyond, and I find her to be a very special person.
Her newsletter
delivers an anonymously donated 100-word-or-fewer breakup story to your inbox at 8am every Sunday morning, which I remembered because it is the first email I look for every Sunday. Some are funny, some are bitter, some are weepy, and all are lovely for what they do to remind us of what we remember fondly, with ache, or pride that we’ve moved past. I’ve sent two or three of my own breakups in - if you send me your guess, I will tell you if it’s one of mine.Philly Death Doula Collective
My friend Elle (Lori) Zaspel is a death doula and you’re thinking: 1. the FUCK is a death doula and 2. of course Tara just has one of these on speed dial. A death doula, according to the Philly Death Doula Collective:
“Death doulas, also called end-of-life doulas, death companions, or death midwives, are non-medical support people for a dying individual and their caregivers (be they loved ones, family, chosen family, or others). Doulas provide a wide array of support based on their own expertise and the needs of those they serve. Additionally, death doulas serve individuals throughout the lifespan wherever death-related concerns are present.”
Lori and death workers are dedicated to creating death positivity, which can range from re-contextualizing death with “celebrations of life” to ensuring better preparedness for the anxious with wills and DNR’s. The PDCC TikTok is also a trove of videos that combat stigma around death systematically (advocating for rights of the dying, challenging cruel bereavement policies in the corporate and academic world), ensuring your grief is validated interpersonally (decrying the platitudes oft given to grievers, and instructing on setting boundaries as a griever), and supporting you in honoring your grief internally, with “Grief Rest Areas”:
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I famously don’t use TikTok, but I have seen many of these PDCC reels shared to Instagram and have bookmarked and used the Grief Rest Areas. What a brilliant idea - a tastefully styled liminal space to in the middle of our doomscrolling that you can rewatch to your broken heart’s content, think of a loved one who has passed, think about a severed friendship or an estranged parent, soothe your soul after a shaky week.
The doulas also have a reading list and reading challenge:
Elle, a fierce and fiercely soft person, is a most treasured friend and I would highly recommend her for both your grief or death planning needs and as a therapist. She was even featured on Samantha Bee, which makes us twins4!
Mara June (@motherwortandrose):
I found Mara June through Elle and their simple benedictions knocked me on my ass. This one calls to me over and over again:
This one attacks me over and over again:
I have post alerts for the @motherwortandrose Instagram account so I am never late to the “hurting my own feelings on purpose” function. If you like Phoebe Bridgers, palo santo, and the criminally antiquated concept of recovering from anemia/sciatica/Mal from Gay Ultimatum not answering your DM by whisking yourself and your family off to the salt baths, you must pull a Brandy5.
You can visit Mara June’s website here, and their newsletter here.
Grief Gifts:
I believe in grief gifts and immediately send one out when the pet of a close friend or relative passes because pets, smaller and sweeter and racking up a less offensive carbon footprint than any human, are given a fraction of our already meager societally-allotted mourning. Consider showing up for someone you care about by making a donation in their loved one’s name, not nudging them into an “acceptable” and neat (suppressed) grieving period, or buying a thoughtful gift like these:
Margaret Cross creates arresting reliquaries, lockets and rings that house a loved one’s ashes, as well as hairwork as pictured above. I am not Ted Cruz and therefore someone who does not collect (and eat) the delicious hair of the dead, but I get it: these pieces are lovingly braided and preserve an ancestral way of mourning. (As I always say, bring on the year of veils. Reject modernity, embrace keeping your dead husband’s heart6 and other such tradition.)
Diana Hartman creates laboriously and lovingly detailed pet portraits - while these are marketed towards living pets (and I do have ones of my chickens), I have commissioned Diana a number of times to create memorial gifts for my friends. I send Diana photos of the pet I’d like to honor, she asks a few questions, and within a few weeks my friend has a poignantly accurate reminder of their baby. I can not recommend her enough: I have never been disappointed, by her talent or empathy.
I have mentioned CaitlynMinimalist before, and have gifted one of her pet signet rings to a friend and received an incredible response. These rings are inexpensive (less than 30 dollars!) and are sharply detailed, rendered from a photo scan of the pet in question. I bought a pair for myself - one of Lugosi and one of Simone - because I think about the children 763 times while I’m at work or in Philly, and looking at their little faces on my hands calms me down.
Intrusive Thoughts with Tara:
In proof that no one has ever had an original thought, this tweet has cemented that I will never write anything novel or that hasn’t been said in seven other languages and possibly funnier before:
People of taste will know that this is a reference to The Triplets of Belleville (2003), an Oscar-nominated animated French film with almost no dialogue but the catchiest (like the bubonic plague) song of the century.
I felt the supreme terror of being known when I saw this tweet, because this shit gets stuck in my head all the cocksucking, motherfucking time. The movie’s daring and visually rich, and the song may psychically break you, “way of the future” style.
This week, in bitches be recommendin’:
Menendez and Menudo: Boys Betrayed (streaming on Peacock): I’m going to spoil this for you because there is a major trigger warning for CSA that I must include, and it is the central premise of the documentary anyway: Lyle and Erik Menendez’s father molested at least one member of Menudo. And now the allegations of abuse against the creator of Menudo and also Jose Menendez may be able to get the Menendez brothers a retrial. I can not express how worth watching this is: I was nearly throwing things at the television, and I scared Simone by yelling at least once. I believe it is vital to honor all victims of CSA, but for young boys, there is factually added stigma that keeps them in a cycle of shame, mental illness, and cyclical abuse towards others. Supporting these victims and listening to their stories is an act of feminism, decency, and one towards abolishing rape culture. Here is the most recent movement I can find in regards to support from fellow “Menudos",” here is an interview with an executive producer of the docuseries, and TMZ obtained court documents submitted by Mark Geragos which means this case may dominate the summer news cycle. Mark Geragos, much like Wu-Tang Clan, ain’t nothing to fuck with.
This duet between Freddie THEE Mercury and Montserrat Caballé, who I only learned of recently through a Paris Review piece by Andrew Martin on Nixon in China, an opera I had also never heard of and now have to watch immediately. I am obsessed with her name (which is her surname! I want to start going by GIANCASPRO real, real bad now, perhaps with an exclamation point?) and the incredibly Vaseline-on-the-lens soft camp of this video.
Of course, of course, I already have the caftan in my closet.
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Advocating for your feelings and worth. Lala Kent’s commentary on people “moving like a snake” has thunderstruck me since she first started talking about the Scandoval. If you see something (someone’s choices activating your past hurt, and past patterns of hurt you’ve been subject to), say something (“I deserve better than this.” “I am rooting for you to be better than this, but will be rooting for you from afar.” “Bye, ashy.” I’m proud of you for sticking up for yourself. I’m proud of me, too.
Love you bitches,
TG
Look at this thing:
And then look at the world’s smallest woman, Simone:
You see it. Also, it is so funny and so stupid to me that I was Googling pictures of Rosette and found a website that had run a Myers-Brigg poll about her. Simone is incontrovertibly a J, though Matt would disagree with the T since every time I ask what the children are thinking he says “not a goddamn thing.”
The Geaux-Bird strain is the one that doesn’t always show up on the swab tests. Mask up, keep on Purelling, and we’ll all be back to normal soon!
Fun fact: the Artie Lange looking dude and the redhead Michaela Watkins looking lady in the seafoam outfit you see before me were paid actors, and then they decided to go with me instead! I wanted to be an actress when I was a kid, and I’m so glad I get to say I’ve spoken a line on a television show.
Thanks to friend and reader Hattie, I read about Percy Blythe Shelley this week and let me tell you: the commitment to remaining a dumb bitch and repeating the same damn mistakes…it’s giving me.
Simone is such a delicious kitty!!!! Beauty!!!!!