Do You Need a Memory Box After Losing a Parent? Mine Has Roots (And It's OK If Your Grief Ritual Looks Different)
A few months ago, I found myself scrolling through a grief support forum.
Lit candles. Memory boxes. Photo collages. Beautiful, meaningful rituals people created to remember their loved ones. And I felt like a fraud. I don't do any of that for my dad.
I read the messages and replies from people who'd also lost a parent. Comforting each other. Sharing the lovely things, they did to keep those precious memories alive.
My heart sank as I shuffled around the house, feeling like the worst daughter.
Why We Feel Pressure To Grieve "The Right Way"
When you're grieving a parent, you're bombarded with expectations about what you "should" do:
Create a memory box
Light candles on anniversaries
Visit the grave regularly
Display photos prominently
Keep their belongings exactly as they were
These are all beautiful ways to remember someone. But they're not the only ways.
The Hidden Pressure In Grief Communities
Grief support forums and social media groups are lifelines for many people after parent loss.
But they can also create unintentional pressure:
Everyone shares their rituals
Photos of elaborate memory displays
Stories of meaningful traditions
Comparisons start creeping in
Before you know it, you're wondering: "Am I doing this wrong? Should I be doing more?"
When You Don't Connect With Traditional Grief Rituals
I stood at the kitchen window making a coffee, steam coming off the mug, and spotted the camellia planted in one of the back beds.
Dad bought a couple of plants for me 5 years ago. Right after I moved in. This one is yet to bloom, but the one in the front has pink floppy flowers every spring. He was so excited about this bigger garden after I eventually escaped my cramped flat during COVID.
"Look what we can do here with this extra space," he'd say, already planning.
I love watching those camellias grow. Seeing the blooms each season. I walked to the sitting room window and looked at the small magnolia out the front. The one we planted together, excited to see it take root. Next to the rhododendron he got me with the gorgeous red flowers that distract as you walk to the front door.
"They'll be the first thing people see."
And I've finally planted that stubborn bay tree, hauled from my parents' courtyard after years of nagging. But he never got to see that because I took too long.
Hang on. My heart eased as it clicked.
I do have a memory box.
It's just...alive.
Your Memory Box Doesn't Have to Look Like Everyone Else's
Perhaps you're reading this and thinking about your own memory box. Or lack of one. Perhaps you've scrolled those same grief forums too, looking for ideas or feeling like you're doing it all wrong. Like you needed something more official, lighting candles or creating a photo collage.
But here's what I realised whilst waiting for my mug of coffee to cool down:
Some people light candles. I water plants.
Some people arrange photos in memory boxes. I put fertilizer into the soil.
Some people gather on death anniversaries. I sit in my office, gazing at the plants he chose, growing with each season.
These other rituals aren't wrong.
They're just not mine for how I remember Dad.
Why Living Memorials Work
My dad loved gardening. We bonded over it. Working on his allotment, getting our hands dirty.
Planning and trying crops or choosing plants for the green spaces we had. I used to pick up seeds for him to try whenever I spotted them. So, it made sense this was how I remembered him. Not through a traditional memory box per se, but with a living space.
Growing. Changing with each passing year. And grief shifts like the garden through the seasons. Some days it's like the camellia blooming bright and pink on a spring morning. Some days it's like the magnolia that's lost all its leaves, waiting for warmer winds.
Just like how I remember him now.
What Your Memory "Box" Might Actually Be
You might be reading this and remembering your own memory box. Or wondering if you should have one. Maybe yours doesn't look like candles or photos either.
Or maybe it’s that, and something else.
Your living memorial might be:
A playlist you listen to on hard days
A recipe you make on anniversaries
A bench you sit on to quietly contemplate
A route you walk or cycle along
A hobby you shared together
A garden or plants you tend
A book collection you continue
A tradition you keep alive
A cause you support in their name
A creative practice they inspired
Whatever it is, it's bloody brilliant.
Why Non-Traditional Grief Rituals Matter
Traditional memory boxes work for many people. But if they don't resonate with you:
You're not doing grief wrong
You're not dishonouring their memory
You're not a bad daughter/son
You're not being disrespectful
You're honouring them in a way that feels authentic to YOUR relationship.
The Problem With "Should" in Grief
When you think you "should":
Have a memory box
Visit the grave more often
Display more photos
Keep their room untouched
Not get rid of their clothes
Light candles on anniversaries
You're measuring your grief against someone else's.
But grief is as unique as the relationship you had. What works for someone who lost a parent they spoke to daily might not work for someone whose relationship was complicated.
And if you’re in anticipatory loss with a loved one with declining health, there’s another layer of complexity to grief you might be confused about. Some people find comfort in stillness whereas others process through movement.
Your way of remembering doesn't need to look like anyone else's. It just needs to feel right for you.
Finding Your Own Way
Understanding that traditional memory boxes don't work for everyone is one thing. So give yourself permission to create YOUR memorial, whatever that looks like.
If you're ready to stop feeling guilty about grieving differently and start honouring or remembering your parent in ways that feel authentic, work with me here.
Sabrina Ahmed
Burnout & Resilience Coach
Learn more at my About page.
