Coping in the face of loss: How Tribune columnist keeps moving through grief

Some of my lovely readers — especially ones I don’t see in person — have asked how I’m doing after all the upheaval and trauma, health issues and grief of the past few years.

Good news: I’m upright and as upbeat as I can be.

How do I do it, people ask?

Yes, I’ve gone through the death of husband Richard in late 2020 and of roommate-son Brian in June, plus the last few years of Brian’s cascading health problems and a few of my own, and ultimately adjusting to living on my own for the first time in my life.

No, I’m not the same me I was before all that happened.

There’s no denying all of those drastic life changes were and have been emotional and physical gut punches.

But I’m gradually getting to know and getting used to the new me, who is hanging in there and doing fairly well, all things considered.

What’s helping Tribune columnist grapple with loss, life changes?

Several things have helped drag me through the quicksand.

Maybe some of these could help you as you navigate the rollercoaster that is life today.

Sure, I still have occasional breakdowns. That’s inevitable, I’m told, although it can be awkward and embarrassing if it happens in public.

Living alone, I’ve developed some equally awkward habits, especially if they surface when I’m out and about.

With no husband or son living here anymore, I talk to myself a lot more. I can be forgiven for that: I don’t have a dog.

Or, I go into the next room and forget why I went there.

Imagine my astonishment to discover not only does it happen to almost all of us, it’s actually normal and even has a name!

“The doorway effect,” makes my brain divvy up details into different contexts. Move through a door, and my fickle mind updates its logarithm to adapt to the new room, likely disrupting my memory of what it was I was going to do.

Imagine that!

I used to feel humiliated if someone saw me using a walker. It made me feel so old.

Now, I’m proud to have it. It’s my helper friend, my in-house grocery cart for moving things and me from place to place safely. Hey, it’s a long house!

I’ve tried to keep my sense of humor well-fed. Belly laughs are rare, unfortunately, but chuckles and giggles are good, too.

I’ve also relearned how to immerse myself in those tiny moments of joy in my day.

The other morning, I laughed so hard when a big tom turkey went into full display to court or scare a large resting six-point buck, that was justifiably puzzled. Testosterone rules.

Then I marveled at the beauty that surrounds us, beauty we can enjoy every day.

Finding new coping methods amid grief

Amid all that, I’ve also had to teach myself that dwelling on what I can no longer do doesn’t help.

So, I focus instead on what I can do.

I continue cultivating new friends while actively cherishing longtime pals and family members. I reach out to them daily. Yes, daily.

Mind you, that doesn’t mean every “buddy” every day (the mind boggles!) but making sure I have a chat or visit with at least one somebody special every single day.

Doing so reminds me that, while they’re each so significant to me, I must also be someone they want to keep in their lives, or they wouldn’t put up with me.

That helps a lot.

So do their impromptu visits and regular check-ins to see if I need any help or something from the store they’re about to go to.

I’m also trying to step up my other social interactions.

For instance, I team up occasionally with other women who’ve survived the death of a spouse and/or a child.

They understand those minefields better than anybody else could, and we often commiserate about our continuing ups and downs while sharing our coping mechanisms.

And yes, increasing my contact with other people outside my usual circle often leads to adding new pals to my list of regulars.

That’s pure gold. It’s as if every day is Friendsgiving Day.

I’m also staying as active as possible under the circumstances.

I returned to PT as soon as I could after my hospital stay earlier this year for a severe bacterial infection that surfaced a few days after son Brian died in his sleep in mid-June.

For sure, movement helps.

I’m also taking my time donating and rearranging the physical reminders of my husband and son, who died within less than five years of each other.

If seeing the rest of Richard’s shirts wrenches my heart, but I’m not ready to donate the last few of them (I do wear some occasionally), then I’ll hang them up elsewhere or pack them away to deal with tomorrow, Scarlett.

Same for the last of Brian’s special clothes, goofy T-shirts and all.

Conversely, there are photos of both men scattered liberally around the house. Yes, sometimes they make my heart twinge, but seeing them can also produce smiles as they remind me of happy times we shared.

Some of their things are nonnegotiable, at least for now: Brian’s snooker cue, golf clubs and disco mushrooms, for instance, and his dad’s hummingbird feeders, dragons and cameras.

All those help remind me that, while my beloved people aren’t here physically anymore, my vivid memories of them keep them alive in my heart.

Those memories and pictures give the love I still have for them someplace to go.

The biggie in a ‘keep going, Kathe’ lifestyle: Work

I’ve continued to work, even though I’m past the customary retirement age.

Why?

Sure, the bit of extra money is helpful, especially in these unsettling times.

But my ongoing part-time occupation as a reporter has helped in other ways.

I’ve always had an actively curious mind.

If I’d walked away from my job as a reporter and columnist, what would have kept that mind from vegetating into mush?

Sure, I do crossword and jigsaw puzzles, play the occasional online game (hello, Wordle!), read a lot and dabble in new and/or old hobbies, just as my silver-haired compatriots do.

But that’s just not enough to keep me as vital as I can be while staring at yet another birthday on the calendar this week.

I’ve seen too many people who retired too soon, too completely, quite frankly.

Without their deadlines, responsibilities and need to constantly learn and do new things, many of them withered away into shadows of their former selves.

Some even died long before I would have expected.

Would it have helped them if they’d stayed on the job, at least part-time, or mentored newbies anxious to take over? Or made a volunteer job out of doing good deeds?

Who knows? But those sound logical to me.

I also really enjoy the daily interaction with my sources and wonderful coworkers.

I get a kick out of people, or at least most of them. Again, meeting new folks can be motivating and great fun, and this way, I get to control the circumstances.

I figure I might as well keep doing what I do for a living as long as I’m enjoying the job.

Many readers tell me they like or learn from what I write, and I can still do the work. (Or most of it … I’m not climbing hillsides, chasing crooks or hiking into the wilds anymore. Be real, Kathe!)

So, as long as you keep seeing my byline on The Tribune’s website or printed page, or on occasional columns like this, I’m doing pretty well.

And thank you for asking.

Your doing so helps a lot by reminding me that — while I do what I do because each of you is important to me — I matter to you, too.

That means so much, because we all need reminders that we matter.

This story was originally published November 4, 2025 at 5:00 AM.

Kathe Tanner

The Tribune

805-781-7904 (voicemails only)

Kathe Tanner has been writing about the people and places of SLO County’s North Coast since 1981, first as a columnist and then also as a reporter. Her career has included stints as a bakery owner, public relations director, radio host, trail guide and jewelry designer. She has been a resident of Cambria for more than four decades, and if it’s happening in town, Kathe knows about it.