I make caramel brownies every Christmas.

You start with a cake mix, then add caramel, chocolate, pecans, and butter. LOTS of butter. Mom used to make these for every family gathering.

The printed recipe itself is practically a family heirloom. Back in the 1980s, Mom clipped it from a bag of chocolate chips, taped it to an index card and mailed it to me. I’ve held onto this card for 10 moves across five states.

I’m the brownie baker now. I‘m the keeper of the recipe.

During my mother’s last Christmas, my sister-in-law called me, seeking recipes for the brownies and Mom’s other signature dishes: the no-no cake; sour cream potatoes, broccoli salad.  

Mom was too sick to cook that year. She wasn’t even well enough to come to Christmas Eve dinner. We relied on her dishes to keep her in our midst.

It’s funny how food connects us to our loved ones, those  in this life and beyond.

“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.”  – CS Lewis, A Grief Observe

When our loved ones’ days seem numbered, we start feeling the loss. Humans are unique among animals in their ability to live through death before it actually happens.

It’s called anticipatory grief. And it’s scary as hell, knowing we’re about to lose someone precious.

Like regular grief, it moves through the five stages (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance) in whatever random order suits our sensibilities.

Also, like regular grief, we do everything we can to avoid feeling it.

Me? I rocked the denial stage.

I searched long and hard for convincing evidence that my relationship with my mother would remain intact, just at a longer distance.

I immersed myself in stories of near-death survivors. Their accounts were compelling and eloquent. Survivors talked about feeling pure love. Bliss. And, best of all, reunions with loved ones.  

I also turned to the science. Research on consciousness was provocative.  Emergency room patients giving verifiable accounts of activity that took place during their biological death. Alzheimer’s patients, uncommunicative from brain damage, holding lucid conversations right before they passed. Brain and genetic cell activity in deceased animals and humans minutes, even days, after their demise.

Yet, ultimately, neither the NDE accounts or fascinating research comforted me.

Because the bottom line was, I wasn’t just grieving my mother. I was grieving the impending loss of our relationship.

No matter where my mother’s soul or consciousness ended up, our relationship would no longer exist. No more Sunday morning phone calls.  No more plane trips to celebrate her birthday.

“It didn't matter that my spirit could imagine her traveling to the other world because my heart couldn't feel her next to me." -- Karla McLaren, The Language of Emotion

The thing I didn’t understand at the time, though, was that I would forge a new relationship with her. 

That’s what the grieving process is all about, according to psychiatrist Christopher Fauré, who specializes in end-of-life care. Healing from grief means finding a way to connect with our loved ones who are no longer physically present.  He talked about this transformative process in an interview with author Stéphane Allix (The Test: Incredible Proof of the Afterlife).

When our loved ones are alive, Fauré said, we have an objective, external relationship with them. We have the luxury of their physical presence. We hug them. Hear their voice.

Once they die, grief pushes us towards creating a new relationship altogether. One that’s internal and subjective. We feel them in our hearts and memories, rather than in our arms. We hear them in our heads, not our ears.

"Death ends a life; not a relationship." – Mitch Albom, Tuesdays with Morrie

The holiday El Dia de los Muertos is a celebration of our eternal connection to our loved ones. It's a day when we consciously reconnect with our loved ones. The altars are set up to call our loved ones home with pictures, festive decorations, and foods they loved.

I was introduced to this beautiful holiday when I lived in San Antonio, a city heavily influenced by Hispanic culture. In early November, altars pop up around the city decorated with vibrant marigolds, brightly painted skulls, colorful paper cutouts,  photographs, and treats.

These altars demonstrate the celebration of life that emerges after we do the hard work of grieving.

I’m not from a culture that follows this wonderful tradition. Yet my caramel brownies are my own way of drawing my mother near when I need to.

And there are other ways I keep her close.

I hung her paintings in my house where I see them daily.

I wear her comfortable red jacket when I need a hug. That jacket got me through many contentious work meetings when my job entered rough waters.

I hear her when some of her favorite phrases slip out of my own mouth. My husband says he can even hear her Pittsburgh accent in my voice at times.

And, like many people, I talk to her. 

It is not easy, this relationship transformation. Not by a long shot. It can take months. Even years. And most of us will never completely get over the loss of the external relationship we had.

But many people will tell you, there is sweetness in loss.

If you are deep in grief right now, this all may seem impossible to comprehend. 

That's okay. Don't try.

Just keep crying and feeling and resting. That very act of mourning is the process getting you to the new relationship. 

And bit by bit,  you'll find ways to keep your loved one close.

(Photo by Jade Wulfraat on Unsplash)

Would you like to know more about eldercare or grief coaching? I offer complimentary 45-minute discovery calls to see how my eldercare or grief coaching might help.

I promise, there’s no hard sell. Even if you decide eldercare coaching isn’t for you, I’ll give you some DIY suggestions and resources that might help you.

Not up for a call yet? Email your questions to me at cindy@shadowlandscoaching.com