Sunday Roasts and Ghosts: Grief is a Funny Story.
Opting out of the 'Would you like to opt out?' strategy: How to master inclusive language in your next holiday campaign
TLDNR: Scroll to the end for 5 things to remember about grief.
It’s the Easter Bank Holiday weekend, which means I’ve just spent another Easter Sunday around a table at a restaurant, eating a roast dinner with my family and our respective partners and offspring. It’s been five years since Dad passed away on the evening before Good Friday in 2019. That makes it five years since we reintroduced the tradition of all getting together over Easter to spend time with each other.
Grief is complicated. We all process it differently. For my family, a misplaced sense of humor is the safest antidote. But when it comes to actual feelings, some of us are more introspective, others would prefer a ritualistic ceremony, and the rest, well, for them, it’s just easier not to go there at all. Getting together and not making a fuss of it felt like the simplest compromise. After all, two dates mark Dad’s death; Passover, which moves every year according to the moon, and his actual death date, which falls this coming April, shortly followed by his birthday in May.
The year he died, the funeral was held the day before my birthday, to make sure overseas family could make it. That same month, I was back at work writing up promotional Father’s Day content to send out to customers, a task that almost definitely should have been given to someone else, had there been someone else to do it. The following Father’s Day, Luna, the tabby cat we’d bought weeks after his death to help my sister cope, was hit by a car. She and Mum had to go and identify him at the vet, and all the grief she’d not expressed for Dad burst out of her. If it hadn’t been so tragic, the irony would have surely had Dad sniggering from his grave. A year later, my heartbroken Grandmother, rest her soul, died on Mother’s Day. And a year after that, Grandad died a few days before Christmas. The Christmas gift that I’d shipped to Ireland was returned on Christmas Eve, neatly wrapped in its original packaging.
The thing about death is that there’s always going to be a date that feels significant to the person(s) left behind. Somewhere along the way, my family and I started to tiptoe around each other's feelings. Because no one mentioned Dad, no one burst into tears at the table. But also, because no one mentioned Dad, no one burst into infectious giggles at something they shouldn’t. I sort of missed that version of us this weekend, maybe almost as much as I miss Dad today.
Next year, I’ll acknowledge Dad in the way he’d most approve, by buying a round of cognac for the table and saying ‘do you remember when…’
And if I’m ever in the torturous position of having to put together another Father's Day campaign, I’ll be sure to remind myself:
Grief isn’t just about loss; it's also about love. And sometimes laughing in moments you shouldn’t.
Losing people, or not having them in the first place, is a universal experience. We’re not aliens.
You can address the elephant in the room without fluffing it up. A simple ‘hey, we know this holiday’s not for everyone - but we’re sending this out to show a bit of love to our community’ is fine.
Most people don’t talk about their grief because they don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. You can ask questions.
Ditching the sales pitch for a charity shout-out is always a nice touch. Referencing support resources (not to ever be combined with a sales pitch) costs you nothing.
Keep RIP’ing dad.
Written by Michelle | AntiSocial Marketer
