大象传媒

When Amrita Chavan boarded her plane in Mumbai, India, grief was the last thing on her mind. This was a new beginning. She was 19, bound for Canada, the first of her family to go abroad to pursue higher education. The goodbye was heartbreaking, she recalls; all of her relatives came to the airport for the send-off. But at the time, it was difficult for Chavan and her family to fully grasp the sacrifice she was making. 鈥淲e had no idea what it meant to leave home,鈥� she says.

Then, inevitably, grief came knocking. Almost 12 years after Chavan鈥檚 departure, while she was sitting in her apartment in Winnipeg in early 2020, Chavan鈥檚 stomach dropped as her mom called with the news. Chavan鈥檚 grandmother, who lived in Sydney, Australia, had fallen sick, and over the course of a few weeks, had passed away. There was no way she could go to mourn in person for her grandmother, one of the most important people in her life. Flights to Australia were expensive, and she couldn鈥檛 afford to apply for the visa she would need to even get into the country. So instead, Chavan emotionally shut down. 鈥淚 felt very frozen for a very long time,鈥� she says.

Editor鈥檚 note: This story has been translated into Spanish by Kristina Fullerton Rico. You can read the story in Spanish here.
(Una nota de los redactores: Eso historia ha translado a espa帽ol por . Puede leerla en espa帽ol aqui.)

Migrant researchers and psychologists call what Chavan was experiencing transnational grief, or transnational bereavement. It refers to the unique experience of losing someone you love while in another country. Although grief is already a difficult process, immigrants who experience transnational grief often go through additional layers of guilt, denial, and suffering since they are unable to attend the typical rituals associated with loss.

I did not feel like I had permission to grieve, because I had not been there.鈥�

The inability to see their loved one in person makes it difficult to achieve closure, and the bereaved may be unable to process the loss and move forward. In recent years, this reality has become more apparent, as COVID-19 claimed millions of lives while simultaneously forcing border restrictions. The pandemic further highlighted the critical role of community support and immigration policy shifts to help those who grieve from afar.

The Toll of Long-Distance Loss

Experiencing grief from a distance has long been the reality of immigrants. Anyone who leaves their family behind also risks being apart from their loved ones during times of loss鈥攁nd often this grief comes with a whirlwind of complicated emotions. 

鈥淭here is a strong sense of guilt. There is a strong sense of regret that they weren鈥檛 able to be with their loved one as the loved one died,鈥� says , a grief researcher at the University of Alberta. She recalls a conversation she had when she interviewed an Iranian-Canadian immigrant who had lost their brother during the lockdowns in the COVID pandemic. Because they were unable to travel back home, or even see his body before it was buried, they refused to accept that their brother鈥檚 death was real.

Chavan recalls similar experiences, being separated by borders. 鈥淚 did not feel like I had permission to grieve, because I had not been there,鈥� she says.

Without this space to mourn, grief can become difficult to move past鈥攅specially for immigrants who are undocumented., a sociologist at the University of Michigan鈥檚 Center of Racial Justice, works with these communities, and continuously hears about how grief affects everyday lives. 鈥淧eople described these experiences of grief and long-distance mourning as one of the most difficult parts of being undocumented in the United States,鈥� she says.

For instance, while this phenomenon between 2017 and 2023, Fullerton Rico met a woman whom she calls Florencia (a pseudonym used to protect her privacy) who said, 鈥淲hen you experience grief [as an immigrant], your only option is to accept that you can鈥檛 do anything.鈥� Fullerton Rico also shares a conversation she had with a man she calls Felipe: 鈥淔elipe told me grief changes you deeply.鈥� The depth of that grief is exacerbated by distance when you can鈥檛 get closure from saying goodbye or attending a funeral, he told her. 鈥淚t鈥檚 a chapter with no ending, and it remains unfinished.鈥�

To make matters worse, the weight of transnational grief often remains a burden borne alone. 鈥淚t isn鈥檛 something that people usually talk about,鈥� Fullerton Rico says.

Bridging the Distance

Social rituals, in any culture, are an important part of the grieving process. Wakes and other celebrations of life can help people actively engage with memories of an individual, says, a neuroscientist who studies grief at the University of Colorado Boulder. 鈥淭hinking of these memories allows your brain to sort of remodel and think about how these memories now fit into your life,鈥� she says. But for those who don鈥檛 witness deaths or funerals in person, this process may be disrupted or made more difficult.

They had to sneak away to the bathroom, or hide in a walk-in refrigerator to get glimpses of one of the most significant rituals in somebody鈥檚 life.鈥�

, a psychologist who works with expats, helps clients construct their own rituals so that they can celebrate their relationship with their loved one. She walks them through the process of grieving from afar, through actions like letter-writing, eating a loved one鈥檚 favorite meal, or participating in a favorite shared activity. The process takes time. Several sessions of goodbyes and rituals are often necessary for someone to make peace with a sudden death, says Encina.

Similarly, during the pandemic, Chavan found her own turning point for bereavement in creative nonfiction. She had lost her job at the time and decided to attend a writing class, taking on a project that allowed her to dive into her experiences with transnational grief. , Chavan slowly broke the ice that had encased her for eight months. She sobbed as she remembered all the details about her grandmother: the spirited debates they would get into, how she commanded a room despite her small size, how she brought the family together with her love. 

鈥淚t was awful. It was devastating. It felt like losing her all over again,鈥� Chavan says. 

But it was this act of writing and remembrance that allowed her to reconnect to her memories鈥攁nd start to heal.

Systemic Solutions

Ultimately, making space for transnational grief requires the restructuring of how we think about immigration and loss. Currently, it takes years for an undocumented immigrant to become a legal, permanent resident in the U.S., and the few who are able to adjust their immigration status typically receive work authorization before the ability to travel back home, Fullerton Rico says. And so the opportunity of visiting loved ones becomes a waiting game, even as family members age or pass away. 

鈥淚f we pass laws that prioritize a fast path to citizenship, we could avoid having people go through these experiences,鈥� Fullerton Rico says.

Many undocumented immigrants also have inflexible, low-wage jobs, which pressures them to make painful decisions, like watching their loved ones鈥� funeral on a smartphone in between helping customers or preparing meals at a restaurant. 鈥淚nstead of being there in person, they had to sneak away to the bathroom, or hide in a walk-in refrigerator to get glimpses of one of the most significant rituals in somebody鈥檚 life,鈥� Fullerton Rico says. 

Giving time and space for a person to grieve in the form of paid bereavement leave can help. This allows grievers to take time off work without facing the potential consequences of losing a paycheck or their job. Chavan recalls the pressure to continue to work in the midst of her grief because she didn鈥檛 have the financial flexibility to lose out on paid hourly work, which gradually degraded her mental health. Currently, only five states in the U.S. mandate employers to give bereavement leave, Fullerton Rico says, only two of which require the leave to be paid.

Most importantly, it鈥檚 crucial to 鈥渓et people know that they鈥檙e not alone in this pain,鈥� Fullerton Rico says. She urges more immigrant-serving organizations to recognize this reality and help immigrants get access to counseling, other mental health resources, or religious rituals so they鈥檙e less at risk of conditions like clinical depression. She shares the example of a Catholic priest she interviewed in New York City, who has helped perform memorial Masses for transnational mourners since the 1990s. Today, these funeral ceremonies are held and streamed through Facebook Live, YouTube, or Zoom, helping families feel some sense of togetherness.

Experts agree that forming this social support is a key factor in the grieving process. 鈥淕rief is something of a social experience,鈥� Bayatrizi says. 鈥淚t鈥檚 an emotional experience that鈥檚 shaped through our social interactions.鈥�

Chavan says that the only reason she finally felt ready to face the emotions was because her partner and her in-laws were supportive, giving her a small but strong community in an isolating time. After writing about the experience, she also started having more conversations with family and friends who had read the article, about the struggle of grieving from afar and how they coped. 

鈥淚t meant that I had this community, this global community that I could reach out to essentially,鈥� she says. 鈥淟earning that you are not alone in something that you have gone through can be very powerful.鈥�

You can read this story in Spanish here.

CORRECTION: This article was updated at 1:55 p.m. PT on May 1, 2024, to clarify Fullerton Rico鈥檚 recommendations for better supporting immigrants. Read our corrections policy here.