Grief does not unfold the same way for everyone, and neither does research. In this post, I explore how choosing the right theoretical framework became a deeply personal part of my dissertation journey.
As a researcher familiar with grief theory, I thought I knew the frameworks. But when my own losses refused to fit inside them, I realized I needed a new lens—one that could hold both the science and the soul of grief.
What's the difference between grief and mourning? Grief is your response to loss; mourning is a choice. You're not obligated to mourn every public death.
Wednesday, October 1st, would have been my mom's 85th birthday. It's also, in one of those beautiful coincidences that feel like more than a coincidence, the 6th birthday of my cats Tina and Joe—but that's a whole other story for another time.
Social media platforms have created what I call "algorithmic mourning"—where technology, not the grieving person, decides when it's time to remember.
To everyone missing someone with four paws (or two wings, or however many legs)—you're not alone in this. As my vet told me on the day I said goodbye to Samson, "they were lucky to be loved by you," and you were blessed to love them.
Disenfranchised grief occurs when empathy fails—when family, friends, and the larger community fail to recognize and support a grieving person. But what I found in my research was even more striking: the fear of empathic failure, where people grieve in silence simply anticipating rejection.
I've just wrapped up an unexpected summer tour of my dissertation research. As I reflect on this whirlwind of posters, presentations, and first-time academic conference navigation, I keep getting asked the same question: "Why this research?"
A few days ago, someone reached out to tell me my dissertation gave them 'permission to simply grieve and be.' They were wrestling with feeling grief for their dog 'because...I'm Black.' Their message reminded me why we need to expand how we understand grief across cultures and communities.
When Malcolm Jamal Warner died, I didn't just lose an actor I occasionally saw on TV. I lost a piece of my childhood, a representation of Black boyhood that was intelligent and loved, and a reminder of possibilities that seemed within reach.
A space for stories, research, and reflection at the intersection of grief, culture, and the human-animal bond. This is where I’m starting—with honesty, imperfection, and community.
Not sure what this blog is about? That’s fair. Here’s a look at the core themes—grief, grace, growth, and sometimes cats.