Books about Grief and Loss

“Mourning is not forgetting. It is an undoing.
Every minute tie has to be untied and something
permanent and valuable recovered and assimilated
from the knot. The end is gain, of course. Blessed
are they that mourn, for they shall be made strong…
But the process is like all other human births,
painful and long and dangerous.”
~Margery Allingham, The Tiger in the Smoke

In my own experience, grief affects the mind and body more as a severe concussion than as any other emotion, no matter how powerful. Loss and sorrow can throw all our inner compasses out of whack, disrupting our sense of where we are in the world; we may be unable for a time to eat or sleep or even speak, much less focus on anything else. In shock, we may feel a kind of stunned incomprehension about anything other than this gaping hole in our hearts.

In my own seasons of grief, I—the avid, obsessive reader—cannot read at all.

So a list of books to help one endure or make sense of senseless loss seems an anomaly, both useless and insensitive. And, in fact, it isn’t usually a good idea, no matter how well-meaning we are, to press a book upon a grieving friend as though one were offering flowers for the funeral or a casserole for the freezer.

But at some point in what Margery Allingham calls the “painful and long and dangerous” process of mourning, the wisdom of those who have traveled that dark road and found light at the end can indeed help those who mourn find a place again among the living.

There are shelves upon shelves of books on dealing with grief in most bookstores, and a lot of them are, in my opinion, decidedly unhelpful: too shallow or cheerful, perhaps, or too stern, too much like workbooks, too academic or on the other hand too idiosyncratic, too specific to the writer’s own situation.

All the books on this (short) list have been road-tested through the valley of the shadow. Some of the titles are memoirs, but again only the ones that speak beyond their own situations have been included here.

C.S. Lewis wrote A Grief Observed in the immediate aftermath of the death of Lewis’ wife Joy. It was originally published under a pseudonym to disguise the (unusual for Lewis) extremely personal voice. The book is both an anguished memoir and a kind of roadmap: jottings assembled in a raw, choppy, uneven way, free of Lewis’ usual literary flair. The diary-like entries authentically track the first stages of grief, mapping the contours of that harsh landscape and reflecting the mental and emotional fragmentation of sorrow. Eventually (slowly, and again authentically) Lewis moves from anger, pain, and confusion toward a more peaceful acceptance of his loss, finding a kind of consolation in the awareness of presence, the possibility of hope. It is the shape of the book as much as its confessional honesty that have made it a classic in this small genre.

Our Greatest Gift: A Meditation on Dying and Caring by Henri Nouwen is, as the title suggests, a meditative exploration of how to live well that we may die well: surrendered in trust to the God who made us and will hold us forever. Poignantly, Nouwen wrote this in full and faithful awareness of his own mortality, but without knowing that he himself would die within a year after the book’s publication. This psychologically grounded and spiritually wise invitation to “befriend death”—an invitation that was a great gift to me in the long year of my own mother’s slow dying—may be useful for caregivers as well as the terminally ill (not so helpful perhaps for those dealing with sudden or violent death). One of my favorite parts describes Nouwen’s friendship with the “Flying Rodleighs,” a pair of trapeze artists whose acrobatic grace in aerial “flying” and “catching” inform Nouwen’s own understanding of trust in, and abandonment to, God—illustrating our need, in life and in death, both to reach out and to let go.

One of the best things about Grieving: A Beginner’s Guide by Jerusha Hull McCormack is that it is short, and presented in short “bytes,” suitable to the abbreviated attention span of the newly bereaved. McCormack reflects honestly on her own experience following the sudden death of her husband, acknowledging that grief is complicated, unpredictable, debilitating, painful, and exhausting. It is also extremely personal: there is no one “right” way to get through it, and those who grieve should be allowed to find their own way through, without treating loss as a problem to be fixed or (worse) medicalized, without following anyone else’s “rules” or expectations. Offering practical wisdom and sturdy hope, the author also insists that, courageously faced, grieving can be one of the most liberating experiences of life.

A friend of mine whose son died unexpectedly told me that Seven Choices: Finding Daylight after Loss Shatters Your World by Elizabeth Harper Neeld was the only book that helped guide her through that world-shattering loss. Using her own experience of grief after the sudden death of her young husband, Neeld charts seven stages (from initial disorientation and anger, through irrationality and depression, to the beginnings of an ability to focus on the future instead of the past, and the integration of loss into one’s deepest self) and shows how each stage offers a choice (essentially to move beyond that stage or remain “stuck” in unresolved grief). Focusing on courage and hope, and full of practical advice and the experience of others as well as the author’s own, this book would be useful not only for those grieving the death of a loved one, but anyone navigating divorce or other kinds of debilitating loss.

Beloved on the Earth: 150 Poems of Grief and Gratitude, edited by Jim Perlman, Deborah Cooper, Mara Hart, and Pamela Mittlefehldt, is both an excellent anthology of poetry by any standard, and a book that the bereaved can dip in and out of (suited to that aforementioned abbreviated attention span) to find consolation. It would also be a good resource for families or clergy planning memorial services: a useful addition to church libraries.

All in the End Is Harvest: An Anthology for Those Who Grieve was edited by Agnes Whitaker, who was both a journalist and much engaged with the work of Cruse, a British charity which has offered care and counseling for the bereaved for fifty years. A thoughtful and wide-ranging collection of poems, prose and prayers, these selections are also organized to reflect the arc of the journey of loss, from the initial storms of acutely painful sorrow to the quieter waters that may be found with time. There is a separate chapter (that would be useful for pastors and counselors as well as parents) on the death of infants, children and young people. A good book to keep on a bedside table.

Praying Our Goodbyes: A Spiritual Companion Through Life’s Losses and Sorrows, by Joyce Rupp (a Catholic sister well-known for her conferences and retreats as well as her books) focuses on understanding and developing a spirituality of change: not just how to navigate the pain of bereavement following the death of a loved one, but the end of a marriage or friendship, the loss of a job, a move—having to let go of good health or cherished illusions. Life is full of endings, and we need to learn to say (and pray) goodbye. This gentle, wise and practical guide can help.

Ambiguous Loss: Learning to Live with Unresolved Grief was written by Pauline Boss, who has drawn on her own experience as a researcher and family therapist to address the particularly poignant pain of “ambiguous” losses: a son or husband missing in action half a world away, a kidnapped child, a parent enduring the long goodbye of dementia. Whether the one we love and have ambiguously lost is physically present but psychologically absent (as with Alzheimer’s) or physically absent but psychologically present (as with a soldier missing in war), the insights and strategies explored here offer wisdom and compassion.

A Three Dog Life by Abigail Thomas is one of the best memoirs I have ever read, and an excellent exploration of the landscape of “ambiguous loss.” Keenly-observed, honest about the searing pain of her circumstances but never sentimental or self-pitying, written with a taut economy and beauty that a poet could envy, this book recounts the ways Thomas built a life for herself after her husband Rich was hit by a car, a tragedy that shattered his skull and severely damaged his brain, causing rages and hallucinations, destroying his ability to remember either his own past life or the last hour. He was sent to a nursing facility specializing in treating traumatic brain injury, and Abigail began a life on her own (with those three dogs), moving to a small country town, knitting and making new friends and continuing to love the man she married.

Here If You Need Me: A True Story by Kate Braestrup is similarly a powerful memoir by a woman who forged a new life out of the ruins of an old one: her husband, a state patrol officer, was killed in a car wreck, leaving her with four children under ten. To honor her husband and assuage her grief, she pursued his dream of attending seminary, which led to her finding her own vocation as a chaplain to search-and-rescue workers in the wilds of Maine. A moving and inspiring, honest and rueful account of courage and compassion under fire.

Literary Recommendations for All Sorts of Times and States of Mind