What They’ve Left Behind
On grief and the way memories transcend generations
Written on August 2, 2025
Before we dive into this too far I want to let you know that there will be some heavy subjects talked about in this newsletter like abuse, death, suicide and grief. If you are not in the right headspace to read about these subjects, please do not force yourself to. It’s perfectly okay to not read this post.
Years ago I’d thought that I would die before many in my family. Counting the number of sunsets, never taking them for granted and watching the way that the sky would be painted. Taking note about how the chill would settle into my bones a few of those below zero mornings when I’d be waiting for the school bus at either parents house.
Wandering through life, those pre-teen and teenage years lost. Totally unsure of where I stood with my parents. Feeling like a pawn in a long and never ending game of chess was exhausting. The only calm came from my maternal grandpa who unfortunately took his own life the morning that my first college spring break ended. The only tattoo etched into my skin, so far, in his memory. The laughs we shared. The way that he would find photos that I took on his laptop and print them out on photo paper and put them up on his fridge for me to discover the next week I would be by them after school, before my mom picked me up after she was done with work… the way he just let me be but always worried about me (rightfully so).
It’s why I get angry now when I deal with all the boat related issues I’ve been having the last few years. The anger slowly boils up about how much my Dad cared about that damn boat and the appearance of it instead of giving me $5 for an away game during hockey or softball season so I could buy myself dinner. It’s why I have issues buying my own kids their school supplies, remembering how it usually fell on my Mom or my grandparents to take me back to school supply shopping. How my Dad couldn’t even do that, or pay half the expenses, for said supplies. It’s why I shake my head when one of my daughters has yet another growth spurt which means new clothes and new shoes; I had to wait for the holidays to be given clothes that were likely the wrong size despite writing down the correct size for my Dad. In all the little ways that it makes me realize even more now how fucked up my life was. In all the tiny ways it makes me realize that my relationship with money was fucked from a young age so falling into the inheritance that I did would only further the grief that I felt when my Dad died. That, ultimately, I am a life unworthy.
I am a life worth living though. Through small ways and little stories I’ve realized that I am a person of all the people I’ve loved throughout life. And today that made me tear up a bit realizing my kids grabbed the candy my maternal Grandpa loved without realizing it. After the final rip of the ungodly reinforced piñata at a friends kids birthday party, the kids went running and the only candy my kids cared about was in small yellow boxes; dots. I’m constantly reminded in small ways about the way that love transcends generations despite never knowing them. Those who have gone before us continue on through the stories that we tell and share.
If I wouldn’t have fought through the depths of my personal hell there would be no way that these stories would continue on, or that I would be able to share these little gems in life that happen and have the chance, once again, to bring up my maternal Grandpa to kids that have never seen him beyond the photos that my Mom has at her house from my high school graduation. It always chokes me up having to explain the amount of death that has happened before they came into the world. But it always makes me smile about the little things that they pick up on.
I really am thankful, quite often, about fighting through the depths of the depression I’ve lived through and the passive suicidal thoughts that creep up on me and latch on. Thank god for the IUD ending the awful PMDD fueled passive suicidal thoughts I began having before my period. It was truly exhausting and wearing me down. There have been so many days and moments the last five years where I turn and look at my husband with tears and just say “I can’t believe I wanted to die”.
Life really is full of little surprises. Little things that are said back to you that can make your heart ache and yearn at the same time. Remembering how things felt in a specific moment but being able to share those with people who matter, who will listen, and who will take them to heart as well. Those full circle moments are what life is all about. To bring us back to what matters. To remember that despite everything going on in the world that we can truly be okay. The joy is always realizing who was listening and what to. Sometimes it’s a sucker punch of sadness and sometimes it makes you tear up laughing. At the end of the day that’s what matters.
What I listened to while writing this:
“No Silent Monks” by Richy Mitch & The Coal Miners
“Colorado’s On Fire Again” by Richy Mitch & The Coal Miners
Sending you so much love, Kel :-) I too had a father who refused to pay child support or pay for clothes, supplies, etc ... it's such an unfair way to grow up. Love the photos!