In an essay called “An Awkward Kind of Grief,” Patti Davis, the daughter of President Ronald Reagan, reflected upon the recent death of her half-brother, Michael Reagan—someone she barely knew.
The two had the same father, but a strained and distant relationship. Patti’s mother, Nancy Reagan, kept the children from her husband’s first marriage at arm’s length from the children she shared with Reagan. As adults, half-siblings Michael and Patti were further divided by their opposing political views, clashing over such matters as abortion rights, same-sex marriage, and gun issues. As Davis wrote in her essay: “The Reagan family has always lived on fractured earth, wide gullies and uncrossable rivers between us.”
The half-siblings didn’t have inside jokes, memorable holiday celebrations, or many shared experiences. Therefore, upon her half-brother’s death, Davis could not comfort herself with warm memories. Instead, she mourned the relationship she never had.
Disenfranchised Grief
“With his passing,” she wrote in her essay, published in Maria Shriver’s Sunday Paper, “the grief I feel has an uncomfortable familiarity to it, as if it’s an extension of grief I’ve lived with most of my life. A brother with whom I wasn’t able to have a relationship. A family of people who really didn’t know much about one another.”
What Davis describes is what Dr. Kenneth Doka has identified as “disenfranchised grief”—a hidden sorrow over a loss that is not socially recognized or validated because of the stigma attached to the loss or the relationship itself. Some examples include pre-existing estrangement; death by suicide, overdose, or COVID-19; or the loss of an ex-spouse.
When the relationship was distant, mourners who feel guilty or sad over not feeling “enough” may experience isolation, as others can’t understand the depth or nature of the loss. Dr. Doka notes that society’s grieving norms define what losses and relationships are legitimately grieved. When a family has dysfunctional dynamics, grief may go unnoticed and underestimated. Some mourners feel they simply have no right to mourn.
“I’m left with a grief that’s awkward, that isn’t like the grief you’re supposed to feel when a family member dies,” Davis writes. “The grief I feel is old, worn—something that has tunneled through me for most of my life. It leaves me on an empty shore with no footprints marking the presence of the brother who is gone.”
Navigating an Ambiguous Loss
That empty shore is familiar territory to psychologist Dr. Pauline Boss, who finds it often overlaps with disenfranchised grief. Boss was the first to identify “ambiguous loss,” which arises when someone is physically absent but psychologically present, or physically present but psychologically absent. Some examples include divorce, estrangement, military deployment, adoption, and chronic addiction or illness, such as Alzheimer’s disease. In these cases, the mourner not only grieves the person, but also the relationship they had hoped to have.
Those who suffer with ambiguous loss often experience depression and anxiety, as there are few mourning rituals and little social acknowledgement of their pain. These circumstances make closure elusive.
Complicating Davis’ situation is the fact that she comes from a blended family. Sixteen percent of families in America are blended, and their fractured history may weaken relationships between brothers and sisters. Some siblings may feel that they simply don’t have a place to belong.
A few years ago, Davis wrote, she tried to strengthen her sense of belonging by reconciling with Michael, but she discovered this was not easy later in life. Unfortunately, her efforts were too little, too late:
“By the time you embark on a reconciliation, your family member has their own life, often their own family, which has carved out its history, its bonds, its internal relationships, its own homeostasis… and you’re not part of it. To assume that this other family will reconfigure itself and fit you into it is magical thinking. It just doesn’t work like that. You might have friendly interactions, but you’re always going to know you don’t belong there.”
“Meaning-Making”
Despite her pain, Davis finds universal meaning in her loss. As she writes: “the small human moments—reflections on grief, the pull of memories, the weight of regrets—can be the ropes we toss out to one another.”
Research confirms Davis’s perception, indicating that recognizing the fragility of human connection and the universality of loss can foster empathy. Psychologist Dr. Robert Neimeyer has identified “meaning-making” as a crucial part of grieving, especially when the loss is complicated or ambiguous. Even in the absence of memories, mourners can find peace by reflecting on what the relationship meant and acknowledging their regret and longing.
And that’s just what Davis does in her essay. Her grief is awkward; however, healing may come from stating and recognizing her loss, hopes, and dreams, and from having others—her readers—witness her pain. Davis’s essay will resonate with many Americans, as deepening political divides have ripped some families apart.
“It’s as if we are continents drifting away from one another, separated by roiling seas…” she writes. “In writing about Michael, I am, in a way, writing about all of us—the tender parts of us, the parts that weep with what we couldn’t change, and the parts that believe, faithfully and stubbornly, that we will someday have an answer for all of it.”