Zibby Mag

By Kristen Glosserman

I had to face my fear of skiing (and my grief) head-on in order to experience healing.

My children, all avid skiers, never really understood my hesitation towards it — how a winter wonderland can fill me with dread or how unpacking ski gear can reduce me to tears. Their father absolutely loves the sport. Since childhood, my husband Marc has ski-jumped at every opportunity for his boots to make contact with the powdery snow.

One winter, when I was a pre-teen, I could hardly wait to hit the slopes. My family was looking forward to a special December ski trip, but that family vacation changed all of our lives forever when my brother Michael was accidentally killed while heading down the icy slopes in Vermont.

For years afterward, I avoided anything to do with that trip. Even hearing holiday music brought back the shock and pain of our family tragedy and its aftermath. All I could do was look back and mourn the loss of my little brother.

When Marc and I got married and started planning our lives together, I began to understand his lifelong love of skiing and how important it was for him to have a family that also enjoyed his favorite pastime. He described his vision of owning a ski home and raising a family of skiers. You can imagine the anxiety that came from hearing this. I knew it would take time before I could feel strong enough to go back out on the mountain.

I was very honest with Marc about what it would take for me to look forward to another family ski trip. I asked him for ten years: a decade of solid partnership, loyalty, and understanding. I promised him that on our tenth wedding anniversary, we would plan our first ski trip together with our children. Being the wonderful partner he is, Marc gave me everything for which had I asked.

On our tenth anniversary, we took our first family ski trip. Since then, we’ve gone every year, skiing in Telluride, Aspen Snowmass, Jackson Hole, and Big Sky, Montana. I’ll confess that the early trips were incredibly difficult for me. I would spend the better part of the first day in our room taking my sweet time to unpack. I was putting off getting outside as long as I possibly could. I was avoiding having to face my worst fear.

But with each family ski trip, I’ve gotten healthier and stronger and have gained a more positive outlook. On this past year’s ski vacation, I took a simple 10-minute break to compose myself, dry my tears, buckle up my boots, and get outside. I’ve been both surprised and encouraged to see the healing I’ve experienced simply by facing my fear head-on. It’s truly been transformative.

This past year I even shared with my children how their uncle Michael had died as Marc had asked me to wait until our kids were older before telling them about the fatal skiing accident.

Before, the kids had sometimes mocked my over-protective “Mama Bear” parenting style; now, they get it. It feels like we’re all on the same page, that they’re all in it with me.

I talk about Michael whenever I have a chance. When I’m asked about my siblings, I always include him in the narrative. It’s how I keep him alive and honor his memory. I’ve taught my children to talk about the uncle they’ve never met, encouraging them to share about what they think he’d be like today and what they might have in common. I hope this helps them to see death and loss differently. I want them to understand that when unfortunate things happen, it’s healthy to find a way to move through them and learn from them.

It’s been thirty years since my brother’s death, and I’m still moving through my loss. But it’s about accepting and living with that loss, a lesson I first learned by observing how my Mom coped with Michael’s passing. She went back to school to study social work. I’ve always admired her bravery in dedicating her career to helping other children as a way to honor the child she lost.

As for me, I try to live each day positively. I draw on Michael’s memory for inspiration and motivation. I think about the life my brother doesn’t have now and how I can use that untapped life force to propel myself toward my own wishes and dreams. I wonder how different my life would be if we hadn’t lost Michael.

In the years that followed Michael’s death, I was self-absorbed, throwing myself into boys and competition, then college and a career. I spent a long time avoiding — sometimes destructively — what I didn’t want (or wasn’t ready) to deal with. It was part of my grieving process.

But I am living proof that you can move through grief in a positive way. I talk to my brother Michael all the time. I thank him for his love and his guidance. I tell him how grateful I am to live in honor of his memory. And while the sadness never goes away, the happiness does eventually return.

The hole in my heart that my brother’s passing left behind has been filled by the four souls who call me Mom. Being a mother has brought me more joy than I ever could have imagined, and I’ve discovered I have the power to create meaning with my sadness, bringing happiness to the lives I touch.

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Kristen Glosserman is an Executive and Life Coach with Coaching Certifications from the Institute of Life Coach Training, New York University, and Wharton. Glosserman has coached executives from Wall Street, Ralph Lauren, and American Express, among others. A Positive Discipline Parent Educator and proud mother of four, Glosserman brings her relatable approach to parenting into her practice. She is a partner with her husband Marc in the hospitality business Hill Country Barbecue Market. Her first book If It’s Not Right, Go Left was published on September 28, 2021. Follow her on Instagram @kristenglosserman.