Grieving through the Holidays: Painting Holy Women Icons of Grief by Angela Yarber

The holiday season is a particularly difficult time for grief. Whether it is grieving someone who died earlier in the year as you celebrate your first holiday season without them, or the lasting memories of loved ones who are no longer present at family gatherings, this time of year makes grief bubble to the surface. Since this is my first holiday season without my little brother, who died in March, I’ve planned ahead with coping strategies that I’d like to share with other feminists struggling to grieve through the holidays.

Upon the death of a loved one, most people in the West are offered commodified grief, costly funerals, and stifled feelings pre-packaged as dignified tradition. When deathcare became a commercial enterprise at the turn of the twentieth century, there was what mortician and author Caitlin Doughty calls a seismic shift in who was responsible for the dead. “Caring for the corpse went from visceral, primeval work performed by women to a ‘profession,’ an ‘art,’ and even a ‘science,’ performed by well-paid men. The corpse, with all its physical and emotional messiness, was taken from women. It was made neat and clean, and placed in its casket on a pedestal, always just out of our grasp (Caitlin Doughty, From Here to Eternity: Traveling the World to Find the Good Death, 136).”

The Holy Women Icons Project endeavors to ask, “Where are all the women?” when confronted with practical and philosophical dilemmas. When discerning how Westerners grieve, we cannot help but notice the correlation between the industrialization of deathcare and the erasure of women’s leadership roles in the grieving process. Stepping back to take a long view, one discovers myriad empowering women, goddesses, and saints associated with grief across wisdom and cultural traditions. Uncovering the histories, legends, and myths linked to these grief goddesses just may be what the West needs to heal, to feel, and to grieve again. So, allow me to introduce you to some of the intercessors who aid us in our grief around the world.

In Mexico, La Llorona—the weeping woman often associated with horror stories following the drowning of her children—has been reclaimed by some Chicana feminists to wail so that our voices may be heard. Santa Muerte, or Holy Death, is a folk goddess who heals, protects, and delivers the dead to the afterlife; according to author and mortician, Caitlin Daughty, Santa Muerte’s subversive power is associated with outlaws, the poor, and LGBTQ folks. Mictecacihuah is the Aztec Queen of the Underworld who watches over the bones of the dead and presides over funeral rites. These women remind us to feel our emotions fully as we grieve.

In Haitian traditions, Oya is the Orisha of violent storms, death, and rebirth, residing in cemeteries and aiding in all transitions, whether living or dying. Mama Brigitte is a death loa who protects gravestones marked with a cross. These women remind us that death is one of life’s many transitions.

Hailing from the United States, Saint Elizabeth Anne is the Catholic patron saint of grief. Weetamoo was a Pocasset Wampanoag Chief whose legacy is present throughout the National Day of Mourning, an annual protest organized by the Native Americans of New England. With a nod to “Funeral Rites” by Catullus, The Goddess of Grief was created, painted, and written as a response to my brother’s death in Atlanta, Georgia. Weetamoo in particular reminds us of the power of corporate grief.

Frigga, the Norse goddess who dedicated her life to protecting her son, Baldur, weeps tears that become mistletoe berries after these same berries kill her beloved child. Borghild, a Norse goddess who, in seeking to avenge her brother’s death, poisons and kills his murderer. These women remind us that the loved ones you have lost always remain with you.

Nephthys and Isis are the Egyptian goddesses of funeral rites, their wings and wails resembling a phoenix as they carry departed souls into the afterlife. These women remind us that it’s alright to weep.

The tangled Greek myth of Demeter, Persephone, and Hecate evoke grief, as Demeter is so overcome by her daughter, Persephone’s, descent into the Underworld, that she dares to rescue her, aided by Hecate. These women remind us that deep love is a vital part of grief.

In Turkey, Rumi’s daughter-in-law, Fatima, becomes the first woman to lead the Mevlevi Order of Whirling Dervishes; donning her death shroud as a whirling cloak and placing a hat symbolic of a tombstone on her head, she whirls, each turn evoking bodily surrender to the Beloved. Fatima reminds us that death is always with us.

In Japan, the Buddhist Goddess of Compassion, Kannon, has webbed fingers so that no sentient being can slip through the cracks in her hands as she places each departed soul—and perhaps those grieving their deaths—into the center of the lotus flower. In Japanese mythology, Izanami-no-Mikoto is a goddess of creation and death, her name literally translating as “she who invites” life and death. These women remind us that we are held in our grief.

The Hindu goddess Kali is known as a destroyer, dancing atop her consort, Shiva, the creator and destroyer of life. With severed heads forming a ghastly garland around her neck, she does not kill for violence, but to destroy the ego. Kali reminds us that destruction is an imperative part of life.

The Igbo goddess Ala rules the underworld as goddess of morality, fertility, and creativity, holding deceased ancestors in her womb; her name translates literally as “ground” because she has powers over the earth—above and below—and is the ground itself. Ala reminds us that our ancestors are a part of who we are.

Hine-nui-te-pō is the Maori goddess of the night and death, and ruler of the underworld; her love and passion create the red colors in each sunset. Hine-nui-te-pō reminds us that passion can create beauty amidst grief.

Finally, Our Lady of Sorrows is Jesus’ mother in the Roman Catholic tradition. With seven swords piercing her heart, representing the seven sorrows associated with her child’s death, she weeps in processional each year during Holy Week. Also in Italy, Lady Jacopa dei Settesoli was a lay women whom Francis of Assisi requested to be at his deathbed. These women remind us that we do not grieve alone.

These are merely glimpses into the rich lives, legends, and legacies of these grief goddesses who offer us strategies for coping with grief throughout the holiday season and always. Wherever you are in your grief this season, know that you are not alone in your grief, but there are a great cloud of witnesses who grieve alongside you.


Rev. Dr. Angela Yarber is the Founder and Creative Director of the Holy Women Icons Project. She holds a Ph.D. in Art and Religion. A professor of Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies, she is the author of seven books. As an author and professional artist, she is creating a retreat center with her wife and child on Hawai’i Island as a part of the Holy Women Icons Project non-profit. 

7 thoughts on “Grieving through the Holidays: Painting Holy Women Icons of Grief by Angela Yarber”

  1. Thank you for this post.I have two death anniversaries in the month of december.Experiencing grief while most in the west are celebrating can be hard.I donot like the way death has been commercialized.I was pleased to learn of these Goddesses.


  2. Brava. A very good and complete summary. I recommend Jessica Mitford’s book, The American Way of Death, which is a critique of the funeral industry and was majorly scandalous when it was published in 1963.


  3. Thanks Angela, as you suggest, the holidays can increase our loneliness of loss — here is a great poem about winter confinement, composed by the Buddhist nun, Otagaki Rengetsu (b.1791) — notice how delighted Rengetsu is — (I also linked my name here to Rengetsu’s webpage at Wikipedia).

    Last night’s storm was fierce
    As I can see from this morning’s
    Thick blanket of snow:
    Rising to kindle woodchips,
    In lonely Shigaraki Village.


  4. My mother and I attended the funeral of a beloved church member today, so this post was very timely. I interviewed two women who worked at a mortuary in California when I was a reporter. I thought the job would be depressing but they said they liked it and they especially liked learning how people of other cultures grieved and that their approach was much healthier than our typical compartmentalized approach.


  5. A book group I’m with was discussing death yesterday (writing this on the 10th) and how Technology seems to be promising unending “life” through genetic research. I find this post much more comforting, and more human. Perhaps the goddesses will keep us from becoming robots. I found it comforting to be surrounded by these women, and I hope those of us who grieve our way through this holiday season will find strength and comfort in the company of people who care and cry with us.


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