Alchemizing Grief Into Joy Through Creativity
Art Turns Chaos Into Culture
The poster above is for a show I am producing this Thursday, August 20, 2026. I decided to do it as a way to process the death of my youngest brother, Marcus, in December. I needed to do something with all of the grief. For several years, I have been doing my best to understand grief’s role in shaping our world. Or maybe I should say the avoidance of it. Because, I have come to believe that much of what holds us back from creating a world that works for more people is our refusal to grieve in a healthy way.
As a minister, I had been teaching for a while that to be fully in our human experience it requires developing the capacity to hold grief in one hand and joy in the other. And as far I was concerned, I was doing the work that I was encouraging other people to do. But, when Marcus died, I knew that I was not prepared for the wave that came crashing down on me.
Even though I had been doing grief work for years, there were some experiences that I had not integrated. And when Marcus died, all of that came flooding in. So much so that I started feeling like I couldn’t function. I couldn’t think. And for weeks, I kept asking myself, “Who is next And is it me?” And honestly, a few times, I wished it was rather than someone else. I didn’t think I could take another one. Just before Marcus, I had lost a man who had been like a father to me, Chico. It turned out that the next person was my favorite aunt. Damn.
After her funeral, I decided to take the advice that I would give someone else who was dealing with as much grief as I was—find a way to do something creative with the chaotic energy. The above event is it.
For months now, every time I feel myself trying to go down, I will remind myself that through creativity, we can transform tragedy. That’s what comedy is, tragedy + time. Planning this event has been the repository for the grief I’ve been living with. Working on this helped me be intentional with the time piece and hopefully on Thursday, the comedy, which is part of my contribution, will show up. But, if it doesn’t I will give myself grace.
As the day approaches, I find myself wondering who I will be on the other side of this event. I guess there’s no way of knowing. But, one thing I do hope will come out of it is a desire for greater communal grieving among the participants. This started with my grief. But, it isn’t just about me. It is about what I have in common with every other human on this planet. As long as we live and breathe, we will grieve. And the degree to which we open ourselves to love and joy and all the beauty life has to offer, is the degree to which we will have to be open to grief. That’s just the deal here.
In the section below, I will share a little about the genesis of my grief journey. Because ultimately Marcus’s death forced me to confront this. I hope that in sharing, readers might reconnect with the beginnings of their own grief journeys so that they can release it and make room for greater joy.
Death is Just the Beginning
One of the most impactful moments in my life was learning that my grandfather had died suddenly. I had just seen him a few hours before. In fact, I had begged to stay with him instead of going to the Williamsburg Pottery with my mom and grandmother. They said no. Then when we got back from the pottery, I begged to stay with him. Again my mom said no. She even said no to me asking if I could just go in the house to say hi to him. But since we were all supposed to have dinner that night, my mom told me I was being ridiculous and needed to go home and clean up. By the time we got home 15 minutes later, my uncle was on the phone learning that my grandfather had died. I was just 3 going on 4. It was August 18, 1979.
I lost my mind when I heard he was dead. I screamed. I cried. I pulled down the dish rack and broke some glasses my mother brought back to us from Florida. And then I took some deep breaths and got still on the inside and as still as possible on the outside. I stayed virtually silent until the funeral. I watched. I listened. I paid attention. I took it all in. And then I made a decision. “I WILL NEVER LET MYSELF FEEL PAIN LIKE THIS AGAIN.”
I wasn’t even 4. But, somehow I received the message that no one was interested in my grief. They weren’t interested in my thoughts. And they weren’t interested in wondering why I so desperately wanted to be with my grandfather that day. You see, I had a sense that I was never going to see him again after that morning. I didn’t know why I felt that way. But, it just felt like how the story was supposed to go. And I didn’t like it. And what I really didn’t like was that my mom and grandmother wouldn’t let me stay with him. So many years ago and I can still see his face. I can still remember.
At the funeral, his best friend and my uncle by marriage, Joe, put his arms around me. No one else in the family seemed to be checking in on me. When the 21 gun salute was getting started, Uncle Joe said, “This is going to be loud.” and covered my ears. I can still feel his hands. I was startled by the first shot. But, I commanded myself not to move for the rest of them. My eyes were stinging. I was trying not to cry. But, when the bugle sounded, a tear escaped. It burned down my face. The finality of it angered me. So I made an addendum to my decision to never let myself feel pain like that again. “I WILL NEVER CRY AT ANOTHER PERSON’S FUNERAL.”
My grandfather’s death caused something in me to be born—it was the witness. For over two decades no matter what the pain, I would jump into witness mode whenever I felt that the pain I was dealing with was approaching the level of losing my grandad. I would basically look at painful events as if they were happening to someone else. It was probably similar to disassociation except that I would drop back in after the experience was over. And I had no denial about what happened. Basically, I figured that since my body was going to die just like my grandad’s and so was everyone else’s, it made no sense to me to overly invest in bodily sufferings and endings. Besides, according to my mother and grandmother, I was the “man of the house” now. That meant being strong for everyone else. And how could a three year old man be strong for others if I was letting my own feelings get in the way?
Jesus Wept
One of the strangest passages in the Bible is when Jesus cried over the death of his friend even though he apparently planned on resurrecting the guy anyway. I know if I could bring people back to life, I wouldn’t bother crying when they died. But for some reason the people who put that story together thought it was important to include. In fact, they also mentioned that when the people saw Jesus cry they said, “See how much he loved him.” And I think that is the point.
As I said above, we grieve to the depth of our love. When I remembered that, I let myself be undone by my grief around Marcus. And not just Marcus. But, I revisited the death of my grandad who shared a death date with Marcus’s birth date, August 18. I grieved the child that I never knew due to an abortion I didn’t want. I grieved my divorces. Yes, two. I grieved leaving my career. I grieved what is happening to our country and the world. I grieved and I grieved and I grieved. And I am still grieving. Because I know for certain and choose to remember that love would bring me back. Because that’s what love does.
So, if you are local to the Boulder/Denver metro area of Colorado, please join us at the Boulder Main Library Canyon Theater (1000 Canyon Blvd, Boulder, CO 80302) at 6:30PM on August 20th. It is a free event. No registration is necessary. But, if you would like to register, you can do so here.
Finally, if you would like to learn more about the inspiration of the other artists, Selasee Atiase, and Ramon Gabrieloff-Parish, listen to our interview on local station KGNU below.
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