On Grief, Four Scarecrows, and Letting Go

Grief is so weird. Of that I am sure. The trick seems to be figuring out what to hold on to and what to let go. And, for me, learning how to honor a person’s place in your life — as challenging as that place was — and giving yourself permission to move on.

I put out “the scarecrows” on our porch this weekend. They’ve been part of our fall celebrations as long as my kids have been alive, sitting right there by the window with their same disproportionate smiles. And this year, there are only four. 

This year is the first year I haven’t included the tall boy scarecrow representing Mike in our family menagerie. It’s a silly thing, I know. It’s been eight years, after all. But a signpost nonetheless.

After Mike died, at first there was no question that “daddy” would still be included in our scarecrows. He’s part of our family, and it seemed normal in a sea of newness and uncertainty while my children still had such strong memories of him. It was one no-brainer in this overwhelming gulf of “what in the world do I need to do next, how am I going to do this, and what do we all need?”

And then, a few years ago, I asked them. “Should we put ‘daddy’ out this year?” I could feel the tentativeness in my own voice, even as I asked the question. I wasn’t sure myself, and in giving that decision such weight, the weirdness of talking about a weathered scarecrow in such serious terms certainly wasn’t lost on me. One of a thousand daily decisions about how and whether to include someone who’s now gone from us, leaving such a gaping hole in our expectations. Do I mention him? Should I talk about what I remember? How do you give a place to an absence? All wrapped up in a discussion of scarecrows and “Should we put ‘daddy’ out this year?”

The boys kind of shrugged, but Maggie was almost indignant. Of course we should. He’s part of our family, isn’t he? The long, deep inhale in my heart said, “You’re right. He is.”

He is a part of our family’s story. His death. His memory. His suicide. His absence has a presence. A complicated place to contend with.

I can only attribute it to divine revelation, but in those first, overwhelming days after Mike died — days of grief and confusion and wrestling and sorrow — I had one salient thought. This will be a part of our family’s story. Always. And, as intimidating as the thought was at the time, I can see how it’s governed and guided so much of how we’ve grieved and processed the unknowable.

He’s part of our family, isn’t he?

So, that year, our scarecrow family was five again — as it always had been. It was peace in that moment for me to hear in Maggie’s voice, her heart speak to what she needed, to how she saw her own process. And, I rested in the understanding that yes, we are still honoring him. It’s ok and proper to do that. We’re giving his absence the place we need it to have.

In the few years since, I didn’t ask again. “Should we put ‘daddy’ out this year?” Though I’m not one to shy away from subjects, I guess it became my own personal wrestling. I felt like I’d heard from them, but Mike’s place in the scarecrow family began to feel un-genuine. Like lingering. He’s not here. Yes, he was here and his life has a place alongside his absence, but we — I — am stronger now. I’m different. As the conscious daily impact of Mike’s death waned, those old traditional places sort of felt wrong. But, I wasn’t sure. The path to healing is nothing if not tentative.

I made a promise to myself when Mike died. That my grief would be mine. That I would allow my children’s grief to be theirs. That we would follow it wherever our hearts needed it to go. On whatever timetable our hearts needed. With no obligation to others. No adherence to precedent. No pressure to conform. No rushing. No squelching. No guilt. No ought tos. No should haves. Not even governed by respect for Mike. It would be ours. Each of ours. And we would face every twist and turn together with honesty and mercy.

Have we always done it? Lived out that promise? Nope. But, I’ve seen enough fruit on our journey to know God’s grace governs it.

This year, I saved the scarecrows for last. We put all the pumpkins and ghosts and wreaths and jack-o-lanterns in all their familiar places inside. And I saved the scarecrows for last. I asked myself again. “Should we put ‘daddy’ out?” Ugh. For me, it kind of felt like a huge drowning tug from the past. He’s not here! That’s not who we are anymore. I don’t want to put him out. I’ve never been so clear about it in my own heart. He will always be a part of our family’s story. I know that. But, stories have chapters, and my heart is finally — finally — ready for a fresh page. Ready to just release that struggle. That disappointment. That wrestling with finding the right place for honor and grief. Ready to let go and make room for new things.

So, I decided to ask Maggie. And, in all the wisdom and grace and confidence she’s grown, she answered me with a chuckle. “It’s been a long time, Mommy. I think it’s ok without him.”