This Is How I Spell Grief: A Guide to Healing from Loss and Finding Fulfillment

By Erik Lewin

How do you become an expert of your own grief when a loved one dies?

Erik Lewin shares how he turned the profound loss of his mother and father into life-changing growth, with intimacy, warmth and humor. He offers a no-nonsense, commonsense way to create your personal path to acceptance of your loss.

Lewin became an expert in his grief experience twice over, encouraging readers to find their own way, as no two lives or losses are the same. He eschews expert opinions and general analyses of grieving in favor of common sense, letting you know you are not alone in how you're feeling. He shares how he turned his loss into an impetus to personal change. A former criminal defense lawyer, Lewin is now a full time writer and standup comedian.

"This Is How I Spell Grief" takes a counter-intuitive approach to self-help; there are no eight simple exercises to get over it. Instead, you gradually learn to address grief on your own terms, to make true and lasting peace with your loss.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Aug 27, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098380434

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This Is How I Spell Grief

©2021, Erik Lewin

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ISBN: 978-1-09838-042-7

ISBN eBook: 978-1-09838-043-4

www.jeffreyparkpress.com

To my mother and father:

There is a timeless quality to our being together. Your voices, tastes and physical presence are not here, and yet, you are. I don’t know how. It’s a feeling, a fathomless reservoir of love and appreciation. It nourishes my life in every moment.

Contents

CHAPTER 1: Your Life Goes On

CHAPTER 2: Sudden Loss

2.1 NEED TO ADJUST

2.2 NATURE DOES NOT CONSULT

2.3 NO RESOLUTION

CHAPTER 3: Preparing for the Death of a Loved One

3.1 ANTICIPATORY GRIEF

3.2 DOCTORS AND HELPLESSNESS

3.3 REGRETS

3.4 MEMORIES

CHAPTER 4: Immediately After Loss and Thereafter

4.1 IMMEDIATELY AFTER

4.2 GRIEVE HOWEVER YOU CAN

4.3 PTSD

4.4 DEATH – WE ARE ALLOWED TO LET GO

4.5 NATURAL FLOW OF GRIEF: NO SELF-IMPOSED STANDARD

4.6 ADJUSTMENT TO CHANGE

CHAPTER 5: The World Goes On But You’re Still Grieving

5.1 PEOPLE DON’T UNDERSTAND

5.2 GRIEF MONSTER

5.3 PEOPLE PROCRASTINATE DEATH PREP

5.4 THE WORLD GOES ON WHILE YOU GRIEVE

5.5 GRIEF ATTACKS

5.6 GRIEF GROUP

5.7 SEEDS OF POSITIVE CHANGE

5.8 GRIEF PERSISTS

CHAPTER 6: Opportunity for Transformation

6.1 THE PAIN OF LOSS ITSELF

6.2 LOSS OF PROTECTOR

6.3 TRYING TO MOVE ON

6.4 REACHING OUT FOR HELP

6.5 MINDFULNESS

6.6 DISTRACTION

6.7 VULNERABILITY

6.8 TRANSFORMATION

CHAPTER 7: Coping Strategies and Words to Live By

7.1 CARE FOR THE CAREGIVER

7.2 ISOLATION

7.3 DON’T MAKE AN IDENTITY OUT OF GRIEF

7.4 GO DO SOMETHING DIFFERENT

7.5 YOU ARE NOT BROKEN

7.6 HAVE A SANCTUARY

7.7 TOMORROW CAN BE COMPLETELY DIFFERENT

7.8 NO HOMEWORK ASSIGNMENTS

7.9 BE HONEST

7.10 GO ALL THE WAY

CHAPTER 8: Friends and Family While You Grieve

8.1 PEOPLE DO COME TO YOUR AID

8.2 TROUBLE WITH RELATIVES AND THEIR GRIEF

8.3 PEOPLE MAY NOT COOPERATE

8.4 STAND ON YOUR OWN TWO FEET

8.5 REHABILITATE RELATIONSHIPS

CHAPTER 9: Emotional Loose Ends

9.1 COMPASSION

9.2 IT’S BEYOND ME

9.3 LET IT BE

9.4 LEGACY

9.5 WE ALL MISS

CHAPTER 10: Life is for Living

10.1 ONLY APPRECIATE AFTER GONE

10.2 HELPING OTHER PEOPLE WITH THEIR GRIEF

10.3 OLD FRIENDS

10.4 REMINDERS

10.5 A NEW PARADIGM

CHAPTER 1

Your Life Goes On

I was 26 when my father died in 2002. My mother died in 2013. I’m an only child. It’s been a harsh but revealing trip through some of humanity’s least discussed landscape. In all humility, my aim is to share with you, dear reader, some of my insights gleaned during this journey. It’s my hope that the process of coming to terms with the loss of my parents, David & Flora Lewin, may be of benefit to you. In the end, we are never as alone as we think; after all, this experience is common to all of humanity. But ultimately, each of us must become an expert of our own grief. That is the key.

To that end, this book is not about stages of grief—there are none. It’s an effort to touch on the many facets of grief through my own experiences. The ideas are therefore not presented in an entirely linear fashion; instead, I invite the reader to glean their own understanding, to connect in their own way, to become one’s own grief expert. The absence of any pre-conceived formula is not limiting—it’s freeing. Remember: you can reach a sense of calm amidst the chaos. We will explore this terrain of loss together, so that each of us may learn to manage this challenge for ourselves.

I’ve come a long way in the ensuing years from the loss of my mother and father. There’s been a wealth of creative productivity and a renewed sense of purpose, as well as a wonderful marriage and new home. It’s important to be clear that in my own process, much beauty and well-being has also been borne. I say this as someone who has grown in the aftermath of suffering loss. And yet, in spite of all this progress, I still remain subject to intermittent spells of grief.

A simple investigation of one’s feelings reveal that the tides of emotion do not stop at our command. For example, years later, I am upset with myself for the following conundrum: it hurts when I remember my parents, and it hurts when I don’t. I feel guilty and conflicted because when I do remember, there comes the pain of missing them; so sometimes I run away from my mother and father’s memory like a frightened child, only to hate myself for leaving them behind.

Sometimes I feel tempted to look through mom’s clothes, to feel closer, though I don’t think I should wear them! Imagine I came out to dinner in mom’s black mink coat and jewelry? I just don’t think that’s really me! But the pull, the attraction to wearing her things is an understandable one. There’s such a strong desire to feel as close as possible. The question remains open for each of us—how to go about this—and the ways we try may change over time.

It’s still so bittersweet—to touch an article of clothing, or to see a letter with her handwriting—the intimacy of it, the transport to a place of remembrance is special but carries with it the inevitable bite of loss. I continue to work on taking sorrow out of the equation and replacing it with celebration.

I still struggle to see their photos, to remember the good times, and to know what to do with all their belongings. I don’t want to see these items, but at the same time, I don’t want to let them go. I question whether I’m grieving right—and the answer is—there’s no way to know. I still question this.

There’s still a storage facility full of their items that I couldn’t bear to throw away. I’ve been spending—no, wasting—$75 per month. There are my mom’s clothes; the hat she wore, the jacket and general visage of her—with no body to hang them on. It seems so empty and haunting to see and touch these things without her. And yet, the alternative doesn’t feel better, to rid myself of them. It’s not a good idea to hoard, and yet, to forgo mementos seems like a sin, a crime, a transgression I would someday regret. There are varying schools of thought on this.

I have recently started to acclimate to having photos of my mother in visible places around the house. This was a monumental step in my grief process. Truth be told, I don’t always like it—the sight of her captured in a moment of vibrant life can feel like a prick to the skin—but it’s an effort toward balancing these painful sensations with her remembrance. It’s a gradual inclusion that I am working on. Naturally, my grandma has a collage of photos everywhere in her home, and maybe that is heathier. I can’t say, I can only handle what feels like a workable approach for me. Grandma is also partial to discussing how mom suffered during her last moments of life. I find that dwelling on misery is not at all helpful. In fact, I have to ask grandma to not discuss mom’s pain. And yet, I’ll still entertain the notion that what strikes me as macabre, may still be of some benefit to grandma. Then again, it could be symptomatic of an irrational compulsion borne from her overwhelming grief. Who knows?

I think what we can ask of ourselves is to appreciate the life we are given, to not let it slip away. In my case, these experiences of loss also bore the fruit of creative pursuits, in writing, comedy and performance, and is a testament to the truth that we all can live on.

CHAPTER 2

Sudden Loss

2.1 NEED TO ADJUST

The nature of sudden death is a profound unearthing of reality.

My father lived fast and died young—56—it was calamitous. I was 26, baby-faced, fresh out of law school, out of the world’s womb, into the light of day, only to have it instantly smothered in darkness. Never mind that I was brand new to all the machinations of grown-up life. I had to suddenly run dad’s business; one I knew nothing about.

It was like being asked to fly a spaceship without an instruction booklet. He had a warehouse full of dry cleaning and laundry equipment that he sold, with all sorts of contracts with various stores, lenders, and vendors. The only knowledge I brought to the table was how easily underwear shrinks when kept in the dryer too long. It was an utter paradigm shift in my life, one with little time for flattening a steep learning curve.

After all, my father was a born wheeler-dealer, a self-made immigrant who started his business from scratch in the South Bronx in the 70’s. I, on the other hand, learned how to defeat Nintendo’s Mike Tyson’s Punchout in the 80’s. He had a wily and creative mind for deals, whereas I was adept at cutting class and still passing my courses.

I remember how it felt to sit in his office seat. It was my father’s command post, a large, leather chair that seemed to almost engulf me whole. My little legs dangled from it. But that was not what the world would see; I juggled several phone calls at once, leveling each visitor with legal acumen and a burgeoning business sense. There was a line of people that wanted to bully me into a promise my father made, or some other notion, but I learned to not be intimidated. It was as if I went to school to prepare for this eventuality. However, amidst all this activity, the need to mourn my father was ever present.

It was the blackest day when I got the call from my mother, that dad had died. I was working as a legal intern in a law office in the Bronx. It was the first real step I’d taken toward my future in law practice. My head was filled with case files and images of my lunchtime pastrami sandwich. The boss said I had a call. It wasn’t a client; it was my mother calling from the cruise she and my father had been on, off the coast of Florida.

Erik. . . her voice trembled. It’s your. . . father.

An abyss of silence.

I’m so. . . sorry. He’s. . . he passed away.

I picked her up in an empty airport in the dead of night, my father’s fedora held to her chest.

When he died, the adjustment to the loss burnt out the rest of my twenties. I wasn’t the same immature kid anymore, and while that may sound like a good thing, it wasn’t. I lost some of the light effervescence that only being young can give you. I had to grow up overnight. And you can’t grow back down. It was a severe departure from an otherwise organic process of my maturation, much like a seedling into a tree. There was now a sharp turn into a new dimension of growth, one that required a quantum leap into the unknown realm of adulthood. This was compounded by the fact that my father’s affairs were so wide-reaching and uniquely dealt with by him.

And at the base