When my mom died, I experienced a kind of fear that nobody could have prepared me for. It was the kind of thing that I had not yet read about in self-help books or talked about in support groups. It was the fear of forgetting. I cannot explain it. It seems silly to even think this way about someone who was such an important part of my life, but I suddenly became consumed with the thought that I was going to forget things. I knew I would never forget obvious things like her face, her birthday, or her voice, but I was afraid of forgetting little things like how her hands felt, how her laughter sounded, her favorite soda, or the little way that her slippers sounded scurrying across the wooden floor. I was so afraid that I quickly began compiling all the photos and memories I possibly could into a scrapbook that was all in one place. It is one of my proudest creations, spanning from the time right before I was born all the way to the last photos taken and then the condolences that followed. I return to that book on my hardest days, as it allows me to transport back in time and remember moments that can leave my mind when life gets busy. I journal when there are memories that pop up that were never captured in photos, and I try to write them quickly before they leave my mind. Sometimes they are not even full sentences, just random things that come across my psyche—like that time she sneezed so loud it shook the house or remembering her favorite cut of meat from that one place. Sometimes they are memories of things that are not so great, like remembering a painful argument or a quirky habit that annoyed me. Those are honest and important too. I recognize that not every grieving person has the privilege of many years of memories or of being able to fill a book with memories of the things or people they have lost. And yet, honoring whatever memories we do have is an important part of staying whole. My grief taught me the importance of practicing remembrance.
Here in the U.S., we are not the greatest at remembering. At the very least, we are very particular about the types of memories we want to hold onto, as evidenced by book bans and limits on Black history in schools. Put plainly: We don’t like to remember things that are difficult or that put us in a bad light. It’s why history books are filled with stories of American victories and exceptionalism, or of things happening to us, but less about the violence we have done to those within our own borders and overseas. I have to think that at least part of the fear of remembering is the real recognition that if we remember certain things, we make them real. And if we make them real, we give them power. And if we give them power, we have to face the ways that they have made people feel and continue to make people feel today.
The problem with this kind of amnesia is that when we do not make space for remembering, we are in the perfect position to repeat the same cycles of dysfunction and white patriarchal supremacy.
Experiences of grief and lament beg to be remembered. And they beg to be remembered honestly—not just the good, but also the bad. There are some cultures that are much better at this. When I want to remember deeply, I do not look to American society; I look to my roots.
In African Indigenous spirituality, there is a heavy emphasis placed on rituals of remembrance, and honoring the ancestors who have come before you. There is a real understanding that we cannot understand who we are without understanding the past and how we got here. Though it is Advent, some of my favorite times of the year are All Saints’ Day and Día de los Muertos because they are reminders of the biblical belief that “we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses” (Hebrews 12:1).
When we remember well and connect to those who have gone before us, we can draw strength and power from their examples. We can figure out what tools they used to support themselves, as well as learn lessons from their mistakes and shortcomings. We can also draw upon them for comfort, as we remember that they understand what it is like to be human.
As we grieve and lament this week, consider a new way to practice remembrance. Here are some ideas:
- Create a remembrance altar.
- Create a memory box, collage, or scrapbook of the person or thing you lost.
- Write a letter to those you lost or wish you could have met.
- Learn about your family history or cultural heritage.
- Honor special days, such as birthdays, death anniversaries, or lesser-known dates in history.
- Visit cemeteries and places that remind you of certain people or historical moments.
- Engage in acts of remembrance, such as doing things your loved ones enjoyed or eating their favorite foods, or participating in activities that honor certain social movements.
- Read books that honor marginalized experiences
Rev. Brooke Scott is a queer faith leader who is passionate about inclusive, justice-oriented ministry. She is also a licensed social worker (LSW) and part-time therapist. Along with mental health, she has experience in case and crisis management.
She has a Master of Social Work (MSW) from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, a Master of Divinity (M.Div) from Duke University, and a Bachelor of Social Work from Eastern University. Pastor Brooke currently lives in Philadelphia with her partner. While not in church or in therapy sessions, she is an avid reader and a big fan of music, podcasts, and musical theater.
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