GRIEVER’S DOSSIER is a Q+A series that invites grieving humans to share their experiences with death, loss, life, legacy, mourning, memorials, and more. Rough estimate here, but I’d say ten out of ten grieving people do not have ample opportunities to talk about or otherwise express their thoughts, feelings, and memories. Americans are particularly horrible at creating or allowing space for difficult topics—much less death and grief—but these interviews are small tears in that restrictive fabric. My hope is that they let some light in, on both sides.
I met Christine Whitney a few chapters ago, back when we were both on-staff fashion editors trading in topics like “What ____ Carries in her Fashion Week Bucket Bag” and “Seven Things ____ Loved from the _____ Runway.” I interviewed her one frigid NYFW morning inside the Bowery Hotel; she was then the Senior Fashion News Editor at Harper’s Bazaar and immediately stood out to me as one of the really actually very cool and very nice ones. After leaving that post, Christine was the Editorial Director at Violet Grey; she’s currently a consultant, writer, and editor who has been a frequent contributor to The Cut, WSJ, and more on topics of fashion, beauty, and mental health. She lives between LA and NY with her husband, two kiddos, and cat.
WHO ARE YOU GRIEVING?
My younger brother, Scott Jonathan Whitney, aka Scotty. 1986-2022. He died this past February after a long struggle with addiction and other mental health issues.
WHAT’S ONE OF YOUR FAVORITE MEMORIES OF SCOTTY?
We went to the same college and overlapped in our studies for a year. I was studying Spanish literature; he was in business school. Our social orbits were very different but we would often cross paths at the university library—we would high-five or hug and he would say, “Qué onda weón?” which is a grammatically incorrect take on some Chilean slang I had taught him. It’s sort of a crude way of saying “What’s up dude?”
I think Scotty was at his happiest at college—he did well in school and had a tight group of friends that felt like family. It was also before his issues with substance abuse started. I think of him at that time and think of all the promise and possibility in his life.
WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE THING ABOUT SCOTTY’S LIFE?
He marched to the beat of his own drum. I recently found an essay I’d written about him when he was still in college, talking about how he was consistent and unwavering in his interests and relationships. By contrast I was all over the place when I was younger but Scotty was always loyal and lowkey and very kind. Our mom once said he didn’t have a mean bone in his body and that was true for most of his life.
WHAT IS YOUR CURRENT STATE OF MIND IN TERMS OF YOUR GRIEF?
I feel like I am just starting to emerge from a low point in my grieving, where it felt unbearably painful and like it had triggered a depression I might never crawl out of. Today I feel at peace with the idea that Scotty had his path and I have my path and that I don’t get to know why our stories played out so differently. I still miss him very much.
DOES DEATH HAVE A GIFT? DOES GRIEF? WHEN THINKING ABOUT SCOTTY’S DEATH AND THE EXPERIENCE OF YOUR GRIEF, WHAT DO YOU KNOW, SEE, FEEL, OR EXPERIENCE NOW THAT YOU DIDN’T OR COULDN’T BEFORE?
The cliché answer for the death component of this question is that it often marks an end to suffering. Scotty suffered greatly for a long time and there is comfort in the idea that he is no longer in that hell. That said I wish there could have been a different solution.
Grief has forced me to connect with spirituality—the unseeable and the unknowable—in a much deeper way. I think it’s also exponentially increased my capacity for empathy, and in a way, my resiliency. I hate the saying what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger but there’s a reason it gets trotted out all the time.
WHAT DO YOU THINK SCOTTY WOULD HAVE SAID ABOUT THEIR LEGACY? WHAT WOULD THEY HAVE SAID ABOUT LEGACY + ACHIEVEMENTS IN GENERAL, AND THE NOTION OF MEASURING ONE’S LIFE THAT WAY?
I don’t think he would have liked to take stock of his life in that way. I know he was proud of his achievements around college—I found the admissions essay I helped him with saved on his old laptop; in photos a few years back I saw that he had his diploma displayed in his apartment with pride of place amidst his Versace accessory collection. I think if anything he would say he hoped that his suffering could eventually save someone else from the same type of pain; that he hoped he had died so someone else didn’t have to.
WHAT IS OR WAS BEAUTIFUL OR RESONATE ABOUT SCOTTY’S FUNERAL OR MEMORIAL?
We scattered Scotty’s ashes at the beach outside Los Angeles, near some caves where we used to play as kids. He always wanted to live in California but circumstances conspired—the ash ceremony felt like a kind of homecoming.
WHAT IS SOMETHING YOU WISH SOMEONE WOULD HAVE SAID OR DONE OR SEEN OR RECOGNIZED ABOUT YOUR GRIEF?
I wish there was more support in the workplace around the fact that grief is not linear and knows no timetable. In my ideal world sabbaticals or extended leaves for family members dealing with a tragedy would be standard policy.
I also wish friends and colleagues would be more considerate in not asking a grieving person for personal favors for at least one month after their loss. There, I said it. This is something that happened a lot to me and I had to take space from those relationships.
WHAT IS SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL THAT SOMEONE SAID OR DID OR SAW OR RECOGNIZED ABOUT YOUR GRIEF?
My friend Marthe told me the only way through it is one day at a time and I hung onto that. Another friend, Katrina, told me about a metaphor someone had shared with her about grief: At first it feels like a sharp shard of glass in your heart. It never goes away, but over time its edges get polished and smoothed, like sea glass. The glass is still there but it doesn’t stab so acutely.
Another friend, the artist Jennie Jieun Lee, did a collaboration with L.A.'s Farrington Mortuary and made a stunning collection of ceramic urns. I inquired about them after Scotty died and she made and gifted me a custom urn which is now part of a little shrine I made in Scotty's memory.
WHAT DO YOU NOW SAY OR NOT SAY OR DO OR NOT DO WHEN YOU KNOW THAT SOMEONE IS EXPERIENCING GRIEF AND DEATH?
I do not say it happened for a reason.
I do not say, you should focus on the happy times.
I do not say it was god’s plan.
I do not ask if they were “close” with the deceased.
I do not say “at least ______.”
WERE THERE ANY BOOKS, MOVIES, MUSIC, OR ART THAT HELPED YOU DURING YOUR MOST ACUTE TIMES OF GRIEF?
I thought a lot about the poem “What the Living Do,” by Marie Howe, which was written after the death of her brother. It’s a poem I’ve always loved but that I now relate to, for better or worse, in a very obvious way.
IS THERE A LYRIC OR A MOTTO OR A QUOTE THAT’S BEEN WITH YOU DURING YOUR GRIEF?
The only way out is through and feel it to heal it are two annoying maxims that I think about a lot. They’re trite but they’re so damn accurate.
HAVE YOU DEVELOPED ANY RITUALS OR TRADITIONS AROUND YOUR GRIEF OR AROUND SCOTTY’S DEATH?
My four-year-old daughter’s preschool celebrates Día de los Muertos every year, and invites students to bring a photo of a departed ancestor, friend, or pet. This year I sent her to school with a copy of Scotty’s college ID, which was in his wallet when he died. He must have carried it with him since 2009 when he graduated. The kids made an ofrenda with marigold petals and sacred objects and placed the photos of their human and animal ancestors in the petals. It’s a beautiful ritual I am grateful my kids get to participate in.
My friend Molly Guy shared with me that after her father died, she wrote him a letter every day for a year. This was the only action that made sense to me in the weeks following Scotty’s death and I wrote to him daily for six months. Some of the letters are absolute shit and some I find very beautiful. They still feel like a special way of connecting with him.
EDITOR’S NOTE: Christine shared (and I hope will continue to share) some of her “Letters to Scotty” on Instagram. They are arresting and raw and powerful and poetic, tying vintage photos and everyday moments—like the cat waking up at 1am or the Mondayest of Mondays—to the always present ache, and, perhaps, to the unshakeable and uncanny feeling that your person is out there somewhere on the other side, listening.
WHAT’S YOUR MOST PRESENT NEED, DESIRE, OR HOPE RIGHT NOW, WITH RESPECT TO YOUR GRIEF?
I hope that instead of being pulled down into depression I’m able to channel it into creative energy. I’d like to understand more about my brother and share a complete account of the complex person he was. I hope that doing this will help me understand myself better too, and in a way to forgive myself for getting to do the things he never got to do.
WHAT’S SOMETHING YOU MOST WISH YOU COULD DO WITH SCOTTY, OR THAT YOU WISH YOU COULD SAY TO HIM? IF YOU COULD SPEND ONE MORE DAY WITH SCOTTY. WHAT WOULD YOU DO?
I wish I could tell him that I understand.
I also wish we could take my kids to the beach and then eat fried seafood.