In his book, "The Other Side of Sadness: What the New Science of Bereavement Tells Us About Life After Loss," George Bonanno not only refutes much of the traditional thinking about grief as work, but also shares his own experience with grief.

In that book, Bonanno is frank about his relationship with his father and about the curious habit he took up after his father passed:

I have, in fact, periodically engaged in something of a continued relationship with my deceased father...I didn't grieve a lot at the time, and if anything, I felt relieved: His suffering had ended and my l could take a fresh course. But I never stopped thinking about my father. As I grew older, I found myself having conversations with him-much to my amazement.

 

The first time this happened was a good seven or eight years after his death. I was in graduate school at the time, earning my PhD from Yale. This choice had meant a major change in course for me, and I wished in some way my father could see that. He died believing that I was a failure, that I was not going to make anything of myself, and also that he had failed me.

 

If he had handled my rebelliousness differently, perhaps tried another approach, I might not have strayed so far. I longed to reassure him that everything had turned out OK. I wanted him to know that nothing was his fault, that I knew he had done the best he could. I wanted so much to speak with him, to tell him these things. Then, one day, while walking down a quiet street at dusk, I did.

 

At first, I felt a bit odd speaking out loud. I looked around to double-check: Nobody was there; nobody was watching me. I spoke at a normal conversational level. "Hello Dad," I began, and then I paused. I didn't hear anything, but I felt my father's presence. It was warm and comforting.

It might be tempting to label this clinical psychologist a bit of a loon. But his talking to his father is no different than scattering ashes into an ocean, visiting a grave site, building a roadside memorial or participating in a candlelight vigil: all are rituals that help us grieve. They help us feel close to the loved ones we've lost.

The difference between Bonanno's conversations and, say, sprinkling ashes is that the former is an effort to maintain a bond with a lost loved one and the latter a breaking of the bond with the goal of providing closure. 

Rituals that maintain our connection to our lost loved ones are less common in North America than they are in the East — in China and India. We fret about participating in these rituals - we double check no one is around before starting a conversation with our deceased family members.

Bonanno believes part of the reason we in the West believe such rituals are silly is because of our belief in science; we know it cannot be true, so we don't do it. That's not to say people in China take them seriously either. But they perform them anyway because these rituals are ingrained in their culture and there is something comforting about the historical roots of these practices. In particular, they provide comfort by providing insight into what happens after we die. In China, for example, people burn joss paper items, like houses, in temples believing they are sending the items to their relatives in the afterlife. 

While such practices are not historically part of our culture, in the last few years North Americans have started to engage in public grief rituals online. Facebook pages have become shrines to not only deceased celebrities, but lesser-known souls as well. When word got out that fashion designer Alexander McQueen took his own life (at age 40), tens of thousands of people became fans of him on Facebook and every second a new message of grief appeared. And after Toronto teenager Stefanie Rengel was killed on New Year's Day in 2008, a handful of memorial Facebook groups popped up -- one boasting over 7,000 members and messages as recent as last month. 

People are writing to their friends and family members who have passed away keeping that bond alive -- having a virtual conversation in a public online space. And no one is calling anyone a loon. 

Do you talk to the loved ones you've lost? What are your experiences with grief?