GPS grief

The ways we love beyond life

I have mixed feelings about tracking humans with GPS apps. My hyper vigilance anxiety streak loves the false sense of control. In fact, we recently acquired a cell phone our kids take when they’ll be away from us. I added GPS tracking and I can see the exact speed their school bus is going as their blue dot gets closer to me at the end of school day. I find myself checking the app several times a day to make sure they are in fact where they should be. Why? I don’t need to know my daughter’s backpack changed locations on a school campus. I suppose seeing their blue dot calms my frayed mama nerves after I see another school shooting headline. Again — mixed feelings.

While I continue to figure out tech safety with kids who are becoming tweens too quickly, I’m mindful of another way GPS tracking intertwined with my grief journey this past year.

My brother, who passed away a little over a year ago, is still on my “Find My Phone” friends list.

It might be eerie or sad to some that every time I open this app, I see my brother’s name and the phrase, “no location found.”

I haven’t deleted him for three reasons:

1. It’s one last technological connection to him. I remember when we stopped paying his cell phone bill. Once I hit delete, I can’t get that name back.

2. It’s a testament to my grieving brain and heart that he was and is a part of this family.

3. He’s still here. His love and energy and spirit are very much alive. Death took his body but death is unable to remove his love from our lives. My brother’s love is as close as my next breath. I feel him near when the grief hits anew. He’s here when I’m on a walk in the neighborhood trying to work through a challenging situation. He’s here when my kids laugh. He’s here when life moves forward.

Photo by Tamas Tuzes-Katai on Unsplash

I’ll never forget the day we got the call from the hospital about Jeremy. I tapped on my app to see where his phone was at. I watched it move around the hospital. I watched my parents arrive and their blue dots meet up with his blue dot. My heart squeezed to imagine them together in that room.

A few days later, my mom took Jeremy’s phone with her to my brother Ryan’s home. I saw both my brother’s dots join up again. Tears flowed. I already missed the two of them together.

What about you, my dear reader?

How do you stay connected to someone you miss? Is there an item of theirs you’ve kept that’s become deeply meaningful? Did there come a time you released something because it no longer felt helpful? Comment and let us know. We’d love to bear witness to this part of your story.

I’m fascinated by the ways we keep the memory alive of the people we love. There’s no right or wrong way to grieve. May we hold each other close as their love integrates with this one beautiful life we get to keep living.

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“Rev. Jenny Smith has opened her heart and let the readers feel the many different emotions that are part of grief.  The poems are poignant and raw at times and yet this is the experience of most people when they lose someone who is dear to them.  As a psychologist and spiritual director, I believe this book will be helpful to many people who will feel that their emotions are shared and understood by someone else and therefore are not alone in their grief.”  — Rev. Dr. Denise McGuiness