Anticipatory Grief, ALS, and the Laughter That Saved Us
Host Irene Weinberg welcomes author and speaker Liza Shaub for a deeply moving conversation on navigating anticipatory grief and ALS within a family unit. Liza shares her personal story of growing up with a mother diagnosed with ALS, detailing how her family used humor and connection as survival mechanisms during a fifteen-year goodbye. She explores the complex emotional dynamics of watching a parent slowly fade, the painful experience of family fracture, and her ultimate journey toward physical and emotional forgiveness with her father. Join Liza on Substack as she navigates grief and anticipatory loss, daughters reckoning with parents’ choices, family fracture under pressure, and forgiveness as a deeply bodily act.
IN THIS EPISODE, YOU’LL HEAR ABOUT THINGS LIKE:
- Navigating the quiet weight of anticipatory grief when a parent faces a terminal illness.
- Using humor, playfulness, and family games as vital survival tools during prolonged hardship.
- The physical toll of holding onto bitterness and how body awareness signals the need for emotional release.
- Rebuilding fractured family relationships through courage, presence, and intentional grace.
- Transforming deep personal loss into community support through charitable initiatives like the Iron Horse Party.
SOME QUESTIONS IRENE ASKS Liza Shaub:
- How did your mother’s initial ALS diagnosis shape your family’s daily life and communication?
- What role did laughter play in keeping your spirit resilient during fifteen years of anticipatory loss?
- How did you consciously let go of long-held resentment toward your father to allow a renewed connection?
- What did your encounters with spiritual mediums reveal about your ongoing bond with your mother?
Join Liza on Substack as she navigates grief and anticipatory loss, daughters reckoning with parents’ choices, family fracture under pressure, and forgiveness as a deeply bodily act.
📬 Subscribe here: https://substack.com/@lizashaub
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Anticipatory Grief, ALS, and the Laughter That Saved Us
Everyone, I hope this message finds each of you very well. I am speaking to you from my studio in West Orange, New Jersey. I could not be more delighted to welcome Liza Shaub, whose voice has been shaped by grief, family, forgiveness, and the stubborn ways love refuses to disappear even when life gets unbearably complicated. A mother of three and a sister to three remarkable siblings, Liza writes from the unglamorous spaces where sorrow and gratitude, confusion and clarity, anger and tenderness all overlap.
Her work is rooted in the belief that the hardest parts of life deserve language that does not hide them. She is bringing that same honesty to her upcoming memoir, a deeply personal exploration of growing up with a mother living with ALS. At the same time, her father slowly stepped away, and the long, winding road towards forgiveness followed. Before she was a writer, Liza spent a decade in fast-paced tech and sales, navigating complex systems and even more complex people.
After the birth of her third child, the story she had been carrying, the one she once searched for when her mother was dying and her family was fracturing, rose to the surface and refused to be ignored. What began as an instinct to finally name what hurt became a memoir, now making its way toward the right literary agent. Through her Substack, Liza continues to explore family, resilience, and the messy, sometimes funny, always human experience of losing someone you love. Liza’s story also holds one of the most powerful arcs a person can live. The unexpected return of her father after years of rupture.
When her mother became ill and he chose to remarry, the pain felt merciless and heartless. For years, forgiveness seemed impossible. Slowly, her body stopped wanting to carry the bitterness. Liza let him back in, and it changed everything. Her father shows up wherever she needs him, sometimes on a road bike, sometimes on a surfboard, even in Hawaii, proving that love does not have to be tidy to last. Their renewed relationship is a testament to the truth she writes about so beautifully. That healing rarely looks like resolution.
It can look like presence, humor, and the courage to begin again. As a mother of three daughters and a woman who has learned to hold chaos and grace in the same hand, Liza writes for anyone who has ever loved someone who disappointed them, sat with anger they were not sure they were allowed to feel, or discovered that forgiveness does not erase pain. It simply makes room for something new. She offers companionship in the mess, a place where love and loss can breed side by side.
I’m looking forward to talking with Liza, who’s joining us from Baltimore, Maryland, about how laughter became her survival tool while growing up with a mother living with ALS and a father who slowly stepped away. We’ll discuss anticipatory grief, Liza’s journey towards forgiveness, how we can hold chaos and grace at the same time, and what rebirth can look like for someone whose life was shaped by grief early on. As Liza shows us how love and loss can live side by side, we’ll surely leave this conversation carrying hard-earned wisdom that can steady us in a world that never stops shifting and changing.
Liza, a warm welcome to the show.
Thank you so much, Irene. I’m so happy to be here. It’s so nice to meet you.
The pleasure is mine also. Everybody, she’s very special. Listen up. Liza’s very wise and very special.
Thank you.
Let’s start from the beginning. What was it like? You grew up with a mother who’s living with ALS. How old was your mother when she got ALS? I want to ask you, while your father slowly stepped away, as one of four, where did you fall in birth order? How old were you when your mother started showing the signs of ALS? Did your birth order shape your experience in any way?
My mother’s journey with ALS is very interesting, and everybody’s individual relationship with ALS is that way. I was about to turn fifteen, and my mom was bitten by a tick at our river house, and it lived behind her ear for about two months before she pulled it off. It was microscopic and turned into the doctor. She was diagnosed with Lyme disease. A month or two goes on, my father, my godmother said, “Betsy, you’re slurring your words. This is not just Lyme disease.” Fast forward to February, so six months after she pulled the tick off, her symptoms were significantly more that they pursued an appointment with a neurologist.
Navigating a Terminal Diagnosis in Silence
In the first week of February 2004, she was given an ALS diagnosis. My dad remembers that day, of course, like it was yesterday. They sat in our family’s Suburban looking at each other, saying, “What’s ALS? Have you ever heard of this? Do we know anyone who’s had this?” My mom asked my dad to promise not to tell the kids. My mom never wanted to name it. In a way, that was a form of bravery for her. We were coming of age when the internet was popular, and I would have been so quick to throw that in the search engine and say, “What’s ALS?” I would not have found something my mom wanted me to see, and she never sat us down to tell us it was ALS.
It was all through osmosis, and Mom stopped being able to walk and then talk. Eventually, it was just something we all knew, but never from that conversation of sitting down. My dad, those first three years, gave it his all. Almost too much, where it was just burnt out, and I think no one ever knows what somebody’s reaction is going to be when ALS is the third person in a marriage. You cannot have any judgment towards somebody on what they are going to do to a family and a relationship. I was the third of four kids and already embodying a lot of the middle-child things.
I wanted to go out with my friends and pick friends over family. My sister ultimately took over the caregiving role because firstborns tend to do that. It was this juxtaposition of living in the South, pretending like Mom just had a cough and was just a little thing we’re troubleshooting, when in reality it was this incredibly life-altering terminal illness that we never, as a family, really named and called Lyme disease.
There was nothing like going to therapy in those days. Something’s coming down. Let’s help the kids cope with nothing. You lived in secrecy. When you say you lived in the South, do you refer to all towards the South?
I’m from Virginia Beach, and my mom’s from Richmond, so a lot of that came from the way she was raised. My dad is much more of a Virginia Beach surfer guy and more laid-back. My mom was much more prim and proper, and there’s nothing prim and proper about ALS. It was messy, and it was ugly. She still wanted to be that.
She did not want to lose the flavor of who she was.
Boy, did she not. She had pearl earrings on until the end, and her flats and all of that, even though she could not walk or talk. She was always dressed. That was, again, a very beautiful form of bravery for her.
We’re going to tell people as they’re tuning into this interview that you ended up going to a couple of mediums after your mother passed. Was that an identifier? Did she tell you about her pearl earrings?
Yes. Mom also used to wear hoops. I would make fun of her like, “Where are you going with those hoops, Mom?” Just big old gold circles. Those came through too in the medium. She has not lost any of her style. The style is exactly the same.
That’s the great identifier. My mother gave me her pearl necklace. I mean, like, how does a person know that?
Yes.
You were affected by anticipatory grief. You really did not know what was going on, but there was stuff going on. You had a fifteen-year goodbye with your mother. What did that look like? Anticipatory grief like that? In a sense, from the beginning, like your mother was going.
I knew it was not just Lyme disease. I’ve had friends even now tell me they remember the congregation praying for Betsy because she had Lyme disease. We really did go with that dialogue. I think it took me years to understand this anticipatory grief. It’s not the same kind that you have at a funeral where everyone’s crying or celebrating.
Recognizing the Micro-Moments of Anticipatory Loss
It’s all these tiny little micro-moments where you see your mother slip away. It’s something no one can prepare you for when you’re grieving somebody who’s still in a room. At the beginning, Mom wanted to go everywhere. She still wanted to attend her niece’s bridal showers and the debutante ball, get her nails done for church, put on lipstick, and have us attend oyster roasts with driveways that had rocks in them, and you’d wheel her in.
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You’re schlepping her everywhere.
That was her way. Her way or the highway. We were going to take her absolutely everywhere.
That was very arduous for you guys. It’s very arduous for you.
I dreaded these activities. I can see now that the dread was anticipatory grief. Even just walking into church was such a spectacle because we had to wheel her down the middle when everyone was singing the opening hymn. It was a sign that our family was strong and we were put together, and Mom was still dressed up. Yet everyone was just deep down suffering. Now I know why I dreaded going to church, because these normal things I would have never given a second thought to were all just reminding me of the clock ticking and what was to come.
You were probably more living in reality where your parents were. Your mother was in denial in a lot of ways. Your siblings were they, like you, or were they in denial?
It was all a combination because I think you have this dogged mother who wants everyone to go along with her dialogue. It’s honestly what probably got her fifteen years. ALS has a 3-to 5-year life expectancy. There are, of course, the outliers like Stephen Hawking and other folks who are past a decade. Her will to live and hold on to this idea that she was the captain of the family.
That brought her so much purpose that it was hard not to just do what my mom wanted done. Eventually, when I could really name the anticipatory grief, it was when I would call her voicemail just to remember what her voice sounded like. Because after three years, it took her voice entirely. It was just grunts, and she’d be grunting, and you’d be like, “Mom, what do you need? You’re fed, do you have an itch, or the earrings?”
Probably had to help her in the bathroom and everything too.
Of course. Her grunt would actually be, she could type out on her computer, thank goodness for the computer, slowly would type out with her frozen fingers, “Candlesticks misaligned.” It’s like, “Mom, out of all the things you’re worried about, the candlesticks on the pine wood, on the kitchen table? That’s what you’re concerned about?” Those things are what gave her control and purpose. I can see now, I would get so frustrated. I can see now that all I wanted to do was sit down and talk about it. All she wanted to do was pretend like she was just a mother of four children.
Another woman might have been focused more on the fact that I have to stay alive as long as I can because their childhoods are slipping away, and I’m not going to be able to participate. Your mother did not deal with that.
She stayed so strong, especially when my dad left and got remarried. It probably gave her a second fuel to say, “I’m going to be keeping these children’s mother. We’re going to do it this way.” Man, it’s probably not how I would do it, but it is so beautiful what she did.
I understand it in light of who she was. The other thing that you had going for you and your family that I so admire is that you left her for an ingredient in surviving her illness. Now you’re living with this situation. You’re going into church with all the people murmuring and talking about it, and with everything that you’re doing. You found things to laugh about. Tell us about that. Were your siblings there?
Using Laughter as Medicine in Hard Times
The four of us, and we are so close. If anything, that’s the gift my mom gave us is that I’m just so close with my siblings. We would come up with the funniest games to keep her laughing. Fifteen years of ALS, you cannot just be sad and depressed every day. There’s nothing funny about the illness, because there is no cure yet. I have not given up hope that we’ll find it in my lifetime.
I’ve heard, by the way, from different psychics, I hope you’re right, that in about ten years, there will be something they can do for it.
Hallelujah. I hope my mom’s on the dream team upstairs pushing the doctors and experts to get there because it’s truly horrific. I cannot imagine the lack of hope she felt. I grew up in this very intense household, and you had to be on your best behavior. Something about when my mom’s illness entered the chat, if you will, we let go of all that. I can remember us coming up with this made-up game called Name That Food, and we would blindfold each other, and you’d have to guess what the food was.
As soon as the dog biscuits came out, my mom would just be howling, watching us try to get, watching my cousin or my brother try to guess that it was a dog biscuit or the mayonnaise. Watching her, having that open-mouth laughter, was our only medicine. It was literally the only thing that we could get through. I would start putting on fashion shows with her clothes and wear the Lilly Pulitzer dress, but throw on the fur instead on top and walk around and ask her to rate my outfits and just anything to keep it going.
We would use her handicap ramp for skateboarding competitions. Bring over her wheelchair so she can watch us before bed and giggle about it. Looking back, I’m just so glad we chose that route rather than just sit there and let her watch Hallmark television on her horrible movies that were constantly on, and we really were able to still get her in our arena, but only through these crazy ideas to keep things light.
That’s amazing. It was just the beginning of a rebirth for you, would you say, the sense of humor? I know your whole life was shaped by grief from the start. This loss was the backdrop of your young life.
Realizing, too, there was no before to go back to. There was not going to be, “We’ll get Mom healed, and then it’ll all be better.” It was like, “This is the card you are dealt, and what are you going to do with it? Are you going to wake up every day and use it as a purpose?” There is some psychology to telling yourself you can get through this, and you know what, even better? You can smile through it. If you can smile through it, your body might actually start responding to that.
It’s funny because you made up a game where you got dressed, you made your mom laugh, and you did all these things. Because you had laughter and all, it did not become a big, overwhelming drama in your family.
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Not with any of us. We would certainly do things that would probably never have been okay if my mom were still the head of the household. Having our friends over till 11:00 and being rowdy and playing kickball in the backyard until midnight. That never would have been allowed in my traditionally Southern home. Yet all those rules somewhat went out the window, and the disease, in a way, allowed us all just to be ourselves in front of our mother, including me.
Channeling Personal Loss Into Purposeful Action
For so long, I tried to be exactly who she wanted rather than just the middle child who wants attention. Something about the fur coats and the Name That Food got me the attention I had so longed for and craved. I like that question about the rebirth. There’s another tentpole event that occurred that really cemented my hope for the future. My siblings and a couple of other very close friends we started a nonprofit for ALS called the Iron Horse Party.
Why the Iron Horse Party?
Iron Horse was Lou Gehrig’s nickname on his baseball team. It has raised millions of dollars. It’s an annual event in New York City in May or late April. When those friends came to us and said, “We want to have this fundraiser,” I thought, “ALS might kill my mother. This fundraiser is going to outlive all of us.” Man, if it has not brought so many people hope, it’s young people having a good time. It’s a beautiful thing. They have no idea how much of an impact their donation has made on the people who have been affected by ALS.
What do you do? Do you raise money and then you work with the children, or do you work with the people who are affected? Do your tests work?
Anyone in our community who has a relationship with ALS has joined our committee, and we raise money right now for ALS United, which is a New York-based organization.
I’m saying this on purpose because there are people in our audience who may need your organization. I want to make sure we can show links and all of that for you.
It’s IronHorseParty.com. If anyone has a loved one suffering or who has already passed, we will showcase that person on our website, and we will make sure that they are a part of this great party that gives so much hope that you have a groundswell of young people, so many that have not been impacted by ALS, saying, “I’m in this fight with you. I am not going to let you suffer.” There are a thousand people who go to this party every year.
The tickets sell out like that. It’s interesting. ALS in the US alone, there are fewer than 5,000 cases diagnosed each year. At any point, you might have 25, 000 to 30,000 people in the US suffering from ALS. That’s not that many. It’s not a huge number because it’s neurodegenerative. It’s so nasty. It takes every single thing but your brain. If you have my mom’s brain, which is a math major from Duke, it’s still staying sharp as ever. Everything else around it is its limbs.
It’s torture. It’s a form of torture, not only for her, but for everyone watching and loving her and watching her go downhill.
That rebirth really just has something like that fundraiser. It gives so much purpose to something that can be so life-altering. That has been so beautiful.
It is beautiful. What do they say? It’s really you’re making some lemonade out of a big bit of lemons.
We’re making some big lemonade spritzers. Maybe make them a double while you’re at it.
You’re busy writing about grief in a way that’s very honest, like you. Grounded and unvarnished. What is that like? Do people say to you, “You’re so painfully honest instead of making a drama and a tragedy out of it,” and all of that?
Anyone who’s had anything inside of them living finally can have air living outside of me. I was very skeptical of starting to write about those years and years I had a fraught relationship with my dad because of the fact that, in my opinion, he gave up because it got too hard.
It must have felt like he abandoned you, as he had not only abandoned your mother, but he had abandoned all of you.
Unpacking Complex Family Dynamics Through Writing
That was his own form of survival now that I’ve grown, and I can see that it did not mean he did not stop loving us. The writing of itself has allowed me to distance myself from some of these really potent memories and not white-knuckle him anymore. When I write them down, they’re just stories. They do not define me. They’re just things that I’ve lived through, and I got on the other side, and being able to put them down, I can digest them in a healthy way.
I can see now that things that I went through during my coming of age, for example, between caregivers, my mom might sometimes have fallen out of her chair, and we would come home and see her on the ground. That’s not an average teenager’s upbringing. Yet that was a monthly occurrence for our family. I can see now that I was not able to write then because metaphorically I had waves crashing down on me, and I just needed to swim.
I kept telling myself, “If I can just get through this.” Each time the next wave came, I thought, “I’ll just get through it, the next one and the next one.” They really did not stop coming until Mom passed and I reconciled with my father. Writing has enabled me to see that I was doing a lot of surfing and a lot of surviving. Now, separating myself from them has really been able to be like laughter, one of the best medicines.
The other thing that occurs to me is, for sure, want to ask you who took care of you after your father left? What did that look like?
Financially still kept us, our family, afloat. He had joint custody with my mom for my youngest brother. The rest of us were over eighteen. I remember calling a friend, and my cell phone had been cut off, or going to the pharmacy, and my insurance had been cut off.
That’s more trauma that you were going through.
Yes. I realize now that a lot of teenagers, I did not have health insurance for my second year of college. Thank goodness for student health at the University of Virginia, which would take care of me if I were sick. I can see now that was probably his own bitterness towards the card he was dealt. He also never stopped wanting to have a relationship. I was just holding on to so much anger that I wasn’t ready. There was a big chasm between us.
What about your sisters today or your brothers?
We’ve all had our own journey with him. We’ve all gone through the forgiveness gamut because, at the end of the day, we have one parent on this earth. We got one upstairs, and we got one here. Especially being a mother myself, it’s so important to set the example that forgiveness and wholeness in a relationship are possible. He was dealt a card I cannot imagine. Twenty years of marriage and ALS enters the picture, and he said it so many times, and he’s very right. If she had died in those first three years, he would have been a hero. Because he had given it his all, he left the courthouse at 3:00 in the afternoon to come check in on my mom and take her to our lacrosse games. He was burnt out.
Was he a lawyer? What does he do?
Yes, lawyer. It’s very intense. Litigates every day in front of a judge and still does.
To have that at home going on and still having to be present for his clients and take care of his family was a lot.
Reclaiming Your Health by Releasing Bitterness
To not tell people she had ALS and Betsy has Lyme disease. It was too much for a man like him, and I’m so much like him. When I finally came to terms with the fact that holding on to bitterness about what we went through was actually only hurting me. It was killing me inside, and I was going to lose years and years off my life if I kept this inside of me.
The other thing that occurs to me as you’re talking is that you’re very deep and you’re very introspective and you’re very aware, which I can identify because I had a tough childhood growing up also. That contributes, and we have choices. We can either linger in the pain, and that’s our story, or we start. It expands our awareness, and we understand things in a deeper way. I can feel that happened to you. It also happened to me because I had no picnic, and there were things that I presented to people, choices and all. I can still remember before I understood. In a way, I still understood more than most people because of what I had lived through. I want to take this to get into your memoir because I am sure that it’s going to help a lot of people. What’s the title?
I call it Liza. I’m sure the publisher might have a better idea than Liza. Liza feels right because it’s who I am, it’s who this book is, it’s so much of my life’s purpose. I’m sure we’ll have a nice little tagline, a memoir of resilience and becoming. Right now it’s Liza. What I love the most about it is that it has a happy ending, and books do not have to have a happy ending. This one does. It ends with how my father is such a temple in my life. I cannot imagine not being where I am with him now.
As you said, there were so many choices along the way. There were little glimmers of hope that even when we had a fraught relationship, my first child that I had in Seattle, he was right there in the waiting room waiting to hold her, had flown from Virginia, and was changing his court dates to make sure he was there. My best friend was sitting next to him, and I so badly wanted to hand the baby to my best friend first. Thank the Lord, it was my dad.
We needed that moment so badly for him to be the first person to hold my child. During that time, if you had told me that that was going to happen, I would have said, “We’d need a miracle.” That’s what we got. It was so beautiful. I’m so glad that there were lots of little moments like that I could take my pride and my ego away and say, “This is how I want the history of books to be written. I do not want it fraught with bitterness and my white-knuckling that it has to be my way because he needs to serve more justice. Who am I to punish him any more than what he’s already been through?”
He’s already been through so much. Spiritually, they say that we bring certain situations into our lives when we arrange them. Whatever the deal was, he had to learn certain things, and you did. The other thing is now that you have forgiven him and that you’ve opened up to this relationship. I have a similar story, Liza. I was disowned by my whole family for 23 years, and I have reconnected with one of my brothers who really had nothing to do with me, and it’s such a beautiful thing. The other part about it is that when you cross over, you get a life redo, and you really want to know whether your whole life was spent being miserable, or if yours will be such a hopeful thing with all the lessons you learned and your father, too. It’s a beautiful thing.
I know. He knows that too. He’s well aware that he’ll have to look at the same God I will or whoever will.
You feel the feelings. You feel how other people feel. It’s such a healing, beautiful thing that you’ve done for your life and for your dad and all. It’s just wonderful. Are you looking for a publisher?
I am right now, as we speak.
Certainly, we hope by the end of 2026.
I’ll have the announcement coming out hopefully this year. I will be certain to give you all the links.
We’ll put that out there for everybody who is now saying, “I would like to listen to suggest it to my friend, or whatever is going on.” Now we get to what I love to talk about. Tell me about your experiences with those two different mediums. I know your first encounter was two months after your mother died, and you were still very skeptical.
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I’m so skeptical.
You had a second encounter. Tell us about that.
I hope to have a 3rd, 4th, 5th, and 6th. It was so impactful.
There are so many mediums I’ve interviewed. I can also recommend a few.
My brother’s been able to meet with one.
That’s wonderful.
It came through that my mom has fully forgiven my father. Even said to him, “The fact that he did leave is probably better because I do not think he could have handled it.” What a rebirth for my mom. That came through to my brother. It was two months after she had passed, and my husband had treated me to a massage at a fancy place in Seattle. I had a regular gal I went to at the time, and she was called in sick that day, and I had no idea. They said, “You’re going to be with Regina today.” I thought, “Okay.”
No accidents.
I was like, “Aunt Thea, bad day to be sick, but okay.” I get on Regina’s table, and she says to me, within a couple of minutes, “Did something just happen? Did you just lose somebody? I have somebody here in this room that’s coming through.” I start to think, “What is she saying?” First of all, the first thought in my head is like, “Is this legal? How is she moonlighting as a spiritual healer?” She wasn’t really telling me that she was a medium. She was like, “Can I just tell you what I’m seeing and what I’m hearing?” When we grew up, Mom sat at the same table every day.
It was a rectangular pinewood table, very specific. She was like, “She’s at this long table. It has pine on it. She has these hoops on, and she’s in a top with frills on the top and blue and green checkered corduroy pants.” This is an outfit my mom would have worn to the T. She did not say it was from TJ Maxx. That was a detail I know she should have included. She goes, “She just ate lasagna for dinner.” Mom was a horrible chef, but she knew how to throw the lasagna in the microwave for eighteen minutes. That was her specialty. She said, “She just had this.”
She goes, “Whoa, there’s a scent coming through. Is it Clinique, is it Estée Lauder?” Irene, I kid you not, my mom’s high school bulletin had just come out that week and had celebrated mom’s life and had talked about some specific details like mom’s love for Estée Lauder perfume. I thought, “Did this girl go to Mom’s high school in Richmond? Did she read my mom’s obituary and just describe the outfit she was wearing?” It dawned on me that mom was coming through her so strongly, and she said, “What I also am hearing is how proud she is of you. She’s never going to leave you. She’s just, she’s a moment away.”
It took me forever to really digest that. Fast forward, once I started writing, I thought, “I need to do that experience again.” I had my sister-in-law find somebody in California for me. Boy, if that pinewood table did not come through the moment we chatted. I chatted with her name’s Dina. Dina said, “She’s at this table,” and described her outfit again. The scent came through. She was doing her life review. She was with her friends. She was very busy. That was Mom. She was very busy. She responded to my nickname. I grew up, and my nickname was Lili Monster.
She said, “There’s a nickname coming through. What would your mom have called you? She had lost her father early. My grandfather came through.” I thought to myself, growing up in the Episcopalian church, no one really talked about stuff like this. How is this coming through so potently? I just thought, “The veil is so thin. This is the hope I needed. That this death is not forever, this is just the beginning, and I will have this forever relationship with my mom if I can just feel it and sense it. I’ve heard she’ll be my guide, that she’ll be the one to come take me. I will say, ‘I cannot wait to go home to my mama.’”
There you go. I’ve been told the same thing by my husband, that he is going to take me to the other side. I tell you, I know that I’m only losing my bodysuit after I cross over. “Saul, take me away.”
I’ve said she probably has Saul doing some weed whacking up there. I know she likes to decorate the pearly gates with her peonies and whatnot. She’s probably on mulch duty.
I’m sure he’s making her laugh. I have no doubt about it, and it is helping us. They’re both very much present in our lives. That’s beautiful. Let’s talk a little bit about your dad. I can already feel and hear that there was another side story to you being hurt, and you felt abandoned by him. There was a side story of what happened to him, and he paid his dues until he couldn’t pay them anymore. He did the best that he could do. How did you consciously let go of the bitterness and let him back in? Did you call him up one day and say, “Surprise?”
It was such a journey. As with most things, Mom had passed away a few months ago, and nothing was getting better. I thought, “Okay,” and I knew my mom would have wanted me to forgive him. She had already done that, maybe even on Earth. I’ll never know.
By the way, that’s probably part of the lessons that she came to teach.
She taught it all right. Even on her last day that she died, my dad did come and say bye to her. From what the caregivers have told me, he told my mom that he would take care of us and he’d make her so proud. If forgiveness hadn’t already happened, it happened then. It had been months since she passed, yet I hadn’t even saved his phone number in my phone book again. It showed up as just a random number, like spam. My daughter would be like, “Who’s calling?” Just do not answer. He probably called every day, and I’d answer every five phone call and just awkwardly talk, because I did not want to ask him about how his wife was doing and things that had come our way.
You were conflicted.
We were spending our winter break in Hawaii because I was in Seattle. He said, “Can I come for the new year? May I come visit you?” I thought, “That’s going to be a big trip from Virginia, just to come visit me in Hawaii.”
Now, what were you doing in Hawaii?
It was COVID, so it was the end of 2020, and we were there for the Christmas holiday break. He said, “I’d like to come and spend the new year with you.”
He was really trying hard.
He was trying so hard. I picked him up from the airport, and he told me he was getting a divorce. I do not know if I would have fully gotten to the level of forgiveness if that hadn’t entered the picture. Irene, then, for the next few days, we went on walks. I went on a hike. I do not think we ever talked about our relationship. I swear, something about that island, there was not going to be room for this bitterness, that there only was going to be room for moving forward. It was my mom who had sent him.
You don't have to choose between joy and sorrow. They run along the exact same river of life. Share on X
He ended up leaving the day I found out I’m pregnant with my second child, and we had been trying for the whole year for that baby. I had no fertility issues. This one took a hot second to make. That child’s name is Palmer because I honestly felt like both of us were Palmers getting through this desert. I stared up at those palm trees, and I said, “Man, we have gotten to the other side.” That daughter definitely loves my father a lot. I swear, maybe my mom sent that baby. That baby was with my mom before she came down.
I have no doubt about it because I’ve gotten messages from Saul that he knew each of my grandsons before they came to my son and daughter-in-law.
The greatest gift that they’ve already connected. Once I could start seeing all of those tiny little moments add up. I thought, “I do not need fireworks to go off for us to have a place of reconciliation. I’m in it. All these little moments are leading me to this. It’s just my duty to see them.” Of course, being in one of the most beautiful places in the world helps.
Something about an island allows all that to strip away. It was absolutely beautiful. To this day, he shows up wherever and whenever I need him, whether it’s at the playground or at the kids’ school. He’ll put the older one in surf lessons in two weeks. He’s constantly asking when I can get the kids a playground and a playset and off of the television.
What a blessing.
It really is. It was up to both of us not to give up. It was worth not giving up. I do feel lucky that there was not anything egregious enough that required me to push him to the side that I could overcome it.
It sounds a little like my story with my mom because when we were talking before, my mother was very much a part of it before she was a battered woman. She knew there was a lot of abuse going on. When she finally called me, and she admitted that my growing up was very grim and all, right away I said to her, “You’ve closed every door you could to me. I have a sliver of a window open for you. We have to grow a whole new relationship.” This sent your relationship with your dad feels very similar to that. I want to tell you also what a role model you are for your children because you are teaching them that things can change and that there is forgiveness, and you do not have to carry bitterness. What a gift.
All you need is that seed. As you said, the window only needs to be cracked. You just need a little bit of light, and then you can go towards it, and it’ll brighten up even more. It’s got to take that step of bravery. The world has your back.
When you lose your dad, or when my mother crossed over, I had no idea what it could have been, what it should have been. None. I was at peace. Where are so many people? What are their regrets? They have tons of regrets. I should have forgiven them. I have done this differently.
There are so many. My dad’s on his third wife, and I couldn’t be happier for him. Maybe he’s got a fourth left in him. We’re not even sure. This one is amazing.
I think that you like her.
She’s fabulous. God had such a plan for him, for me, or for me being able to get to that so that I could love somebody like that. It has been so beautiful and rewarding that I could get out of my own way.
That’s marvelous. Now, does he see you with your siblings also? Do you all get together?
Yes. It’s chaotic. There are so many great-grandparents out there, but there are some who do not love hanging out with their grandkids. He will have all three of mine overnight if I need to go out of town. He’s the first person to say, “I’m putting my name in the hat to spend the night with all three and change dirty diapers.” He is not scared. He likes chaos. It reminds him he’s still very much needed despite our fraud.
It’s a blessing. He’s alive, and you’ve given him a gift with your children and all. Speaking of gifts, do you have a special promo for our audience?
I have my Substack that I would love people to subscribe to. When ready, I’ll send you a pre-order link for the book. My Substack is full of lots of these little stories that I would love audiences to follow along. I hope to connect with them there on Substack.
That’s great. Be sure to leave us the link. You’re tuning in now. What are all these stories you’re talking about? Are there stories in your book, in your memoir?
All of the above. The one that’ll come out next week, I talk about how I had to get an implant in my tooth because I was a tooth grinder, and I was grinding so badly that one of them needed to come out. I had literally cracked it at the root. Turns out that teeth grinding is a form of stress and suppressing grief. My dentist says, “Teeth should only be touching if you’re eating.” I realized the years of grinding through mouth guards and clenching my jaw were only me not facing what was inside of me.
You sacrificed a tooth.
I was probably the youngest one by five decades in that waiting room. It taught me a valuable lesson. I’ve got one mouth, got one set of teeth, and boy, do I have to take care of it. The best way forward for me is to talk to my grief like it’s a child, with compassion, with love, with listening ears, and not ignoring it. If I ignore it, it will just come right back up and show me who’s boss.
That’s true. Our bodies, we think we have control.
They’re keeping score. To me, we all have control. We do have a choice. How do we handle these things?
Tell me, what is your message about the importance of healing that you’d like to share? Why should people go out of their way to go through all that pain and all that stuff that they’ve been through, like you did with your dad, to get to the other side of things, the way you and I have both gotten to the other side of things? Why should they go through all that?
There’s beauty on the other side. You never have to do it alone. We are so much more alike than we are different. Sharing your story is healing. Saying it out loud, connecting with the Irenes and the Lizas, finding somebody else who recognizes it, because the stories together can become so powerful that there’s no choice but to heal. Giving the stories air and breath and finding the right hands that deserve to hear them is the best medicine because people are dying for these stories, and they’re dying to hear about your experiences and your soul and your mom and your abusive father.
It’s because they relate to it. That’s one of the reasons this show is doing so well, because through this story, everyone can learn something from the different stories that I’m presenting to everyone, and they’ve all been through terrible stuff and come through it.
The healing. We do not want to be people who are having a terrible time dying because we have all these regrets. I have heard from death doulas and other people who help at the end that the worst death to witness is somebody who has untouched business. I do not want to be one of them. I do not want you or anyone else I love to be one of them. I want you to say, “I have left it all on the field.” By doing that, we’re giving ourselves so much more life by doing it now. We also become more hardened as we get older. If you have a chance to heal as soon as possible, then you’re giving yourself so much more life at the end.
For whatever time you have. Now light up those years instead of bitterness.
The crack is where the light comes in. That’s what makes you you, and that’s what makes me me. That’s what’s going to help us help other people. Not our good days. No one wants to hear about those. No one wants to hear about Mahjong at the food court. People want to hear about Saul and my mom coming through because that shows that we’re alive and we’re in it.
We’re in it, and we have a depth of understanding because of the things that have happened to us, even though they’re very sad. We did not grow up in a tree, perfect bell jars, and it gives us a depth of understanding. With that depth of understanding, when people have all this grief and all this stuff that they’ve gone through. A lot of people feel they can never have joy again. What’s the Liza tip for finding joy?
Allowing Joy and Sorrow to Coexist
Learning to laugh, not taking yourself seriously. God created humor, just like God created sex. It’s meant to be enjoyed. It’s meant to be shared. Humor is a way of saying, “I’m not avoiding the hard stuff. I’m just proof that I’m feeling it.” Joy and sorrow are two rivers that run together, and in that joy can come so many giggles. Even if you’re in the funeral home, there are things to laugh about.
You talk to one of those people and learn what they do for a living, and you cannot help but laugh because it’s so raw. Many people have been sucker-punched in this life. It’s the ones that are able to get up and not take themselves too seriously and know that this life is not just happening to you. Possibly it is even happening for you. Knowing that there’s always something to giggle about and there’s always something to do to make somebody else’s day. I think humor is still the best medicine.
You’re absolutely right. Do not lose your sense of humor, even though life is, I like what you’re saying, sucker punching you. You can get to the other side of that and keep on laughing in some way.
We’re going to meet in person and have a good laugh together.
Probably over a big bottle of wine. Liza, I have to say, in closing, you’re a delight. I want to give you my heartfelt thanks for sharing your story with such honesty, courage, and heart. Your journey reminds us that grief is not a single moment, but a landscape. When we learn to walk with tenderness, curiosity, and sometimes even laughter. Your willingness to speak the truth of your experience gives others permission to speak theirs. Your healing invites all of us to believe that we too can forgive and heal. Thank you for your presence, your wisdom, and the light you continue to bring to the world. From my heart, I wish you and yours abundant blessings always.
Irene, thank you.
My pleasure. To be continued.
Guest’s Links:
- Connect with Liza Shaub’s Website
- Connect with Liza Shaub on Instagram
- Connect with Liza Shaub on Substack
- Iron Horse Party
About Liza Shaub
Liza Shaub writes about family, grief, and forgiveness because the tough parts of life deserve language that doesn’t hide them. She’s a mother of three, a sister of three unforgettable siblings, and a firm believer that love doesn’t have to be tidy to last. Her writing comes from the unglamorous spaces where grief, gratitude, confusion, and joy overlap in the messy miracle we all live in. She is previously published in Business Insider and the Novus Literary Arts Journal. She graduated from the University of Virginia with a Bachelor of Arts in History.
