The Days That Stay: Navigating Deathiversaries and Other “Meaningful” Dates in Grief

The idea of a “deathiversary” has been anything but foreign to me throughout most of my life. My grandfather died on September 24th, 1993, and for years after (and even to this day), my mom writes “Dad” on that date on the calendar. It is like an extra little reminder of the date of his death. She does the same for my grandmother who died in 2008 (June 14th, to be exact) and again in 2011 for my dad (July 14^th). I’m uncertain if she’s done it with my brother (October 26, 2023), but I’m going to assume she has. The thing is my mom has an incredible memory, so I doubt this ritual of writing “Dad” on September 24^th has anything to do with her memory and more to do with the ritual itself.

When my dad died in 2011, every date leading up to his death that had some significance became burned in my mind. The day he first went to the hospital in 2010. The day he had his gallbladder removed because his medical team was convinced that was the problem. The day he went back to the Emergency Room. The day the doctor claimed he was suicidal. The week he spent in the inpatient psychiatric unit to ensure he was not, in fact, suicidal. The day he went to inpatient rehabilitation. The day he came home from inpatient rehabilitation. The day he went back to the Emergency Room. The day he was diagnosed with Stave IV pancreatic cancer. The day he came home from the hospital. The day he went back to the Emergency Room. The day he would return to the hospital for the final month of his life. The day he would be transferred to inpatient hospice. The last day he would eat. The last day I would see him alive. And finally, the day I saw him looking more peaceful than he had in over a year. And then of course all the days after that. Like the day of his Celebration of Life. Maybe I need to rename this blog “the days we never forget”.

The point is, the death anniversary is important. In some cultures, it’s so important that it’s marked with a special ceremony – like in Judaism, with the unveiling of the gravestone. But other days are important too. Other days are burned into our memories forever. For the first year after a loved one’s death, you may find yourself saying “this time last year”….A LOT. And this is part of the reason why year two can be harder – because two years can feel like a lifetime. For others, year three is harder. And if your loss is a child, every year will be hard.

Days like these will come and go. You may find yourself with many feelings – unaware that you’re even close to a “date”. If you are like me, you remember every day with such clarity that it does not matter if you are five months or fifteen years, you remember it all. My point is that it is okay to remember these days. It is okay to sit in those feelings. Honor those feelings. Honor your loved one. Maybe it’s reciting a poem. Maybe it’s lighting a candle. Maybe it’s drinking their favorite coffee (my dad liked his coffee black and strong; I don’t honor him this way). Maybe it’s buying a plant (guilty). Whatever it is, give yourself grace, say your loved one’s name(s), and remember the love you have for them. It is all part of the grieving process.