Jul 16, 2024 | Community
Cherokee Nation Art Classes and Art Show in Tahlequah, Oklahoma
In 2022, Evermore recognized the alarming trends in childhood bereavement and had to act. After partnering with Penn State and the University of Southern California to release America’s Forgotten Orphans, the nation’s first report documenting a 20-year rise in the experience of parental death across every race and ethnicity, and every state. We found an alarming statistic: Indigenous children have experienced parental loss at a higher rate than every other racial or ethnic group — 2.2 times the national rate.
Following the release of that report, Evermore provided a microgrant serving the Cherokee Nation to provide space for coping and creation. Over six weeks, Cherokee Tribal Employment Rights Office (TERO) artist Dena Coleman, a local art teacher, led students in reading “We Are Grateful,” a picture book by Cherokee poet and author Traci Sorell. Each student received a free copy, and Coleman worked with them to react and process their emotions through art, a practice she’s developed by working in local schools.
The students then had the opportunity to display their work at the Tahlequah Art Show at Coleman’s local studio, Dena’s Art Den, and all went home with gift bags of candy, snacks, and art supplies. Local singer-songwriter Steve Fisher accompanied the festivities, and Cherokee TERO artist and author Molly Brewer selected a handful of drawings to appear on a set of Evermore notecards that are now for sale for a limited time. Brewer, an artist, writer, and motion content producer, has received commissions for portraits and murals, and her work appears in the National Cherokee History Museum.
The drawings by the Tahlequah elementary schoolers — who were excited to see their own creations featured in an art exhibition — carry the charm inherent in all children’s artwork and are full of love and respect for the natural world: Fifth-grader Greyson’s aptly named drawing “Bison” shows an impressively detailed rendering of the animal crossing a stream; Kase, a first-grader, draws flourishing crops and livestock under a sunny sky in “I Am Grateful for Food,” showing a knowledge of food systems that rivals that of many adults. One student who participated, Lydia, reflected on the experience Coleman led, saying that it made her “feel like I am a part of my community.”
May 14, 2024 | Advocacy, Community, Grief
Advancing Bereavement Leave for All Students in Higher Education
Each year, over 4 million students in higher education
are socially and academically impacted by bereavement
Losing a loved one at any juncture can alter the course of a life; navigating grief is a fraught and difficult process in the best of times. But for students in higher education—from trade schools to elite universities—it can be particularly overwhelming and cause them to abandon their studies.
According to some experts, nearly a third of college students who lose a friend or loved one while enrolled in higher education will fail to obtain their degree.
Douglas with his family.
Beyond the emotional ramifications, failing to get a degree has lifelong effects, and many grief experts argue that institutions should offer students bereavement leave and grief support. Sydney Rains and Red Douglas were two students who would have benefited from bereavement leave and grief support: Both lost their fathers when they were undergraduates, and now they are working to ensure future generations of students receive the critical support they did not.
Collaborating with Evermore and members from public and private institutions from across the country, Rains and Douglas are leading Evermore’s Higher Education Leave Policy (HELP) campaign. Their goal is to bring awareness that students, from trade schools to universities, are being severely impacted by grief and more can be done to support them.
Rains with her father.
Rains was finishing up her junior year at Gonzaga University when her father died, and she struggled to complete assignments when she returned to school. Amidst her grief, she successfully led a student-specific bereavement policy campaign at Gonzaga, and she’s now working with the Evermore HELP campaign to advise colleges interested in implementing similar plans at their own institutions.
The HELP campaign was developed after Dr. Heather Servaty-Seib, who played a critical role in establishing the Grief Absence Policy for Students (GAPS) for students at Purdue University in 2011, connected Douglas with Evermore. He’s a Ph.D. candidate at Oakland University in Rochester, Michigan, studying ways higher education administrators can provide support for bereaved students, and said he was “frequently citing Servaty-Seib’s findings… so I reached out and she quickly replied, connecting me with Evermore,” Douglas said. Evermore “embraced my work and proposed the idea of developing a nexus for higher education professionals advocating for students on this topic.”
Douglas’ dad reading the sports page, which includes Red’s statistics.
One of the primary issues facing advocates and experts creating these policies is a straightforward data question. According to research conducted by various scholars over the past two decades, the prevalence of grief among higher education students is dramatically underestimated. Reports indicate that 20 to 35% of undergraduate students are within 12 months of losing a loved one; upwards of 40% are within two years of a significant loss.
Despite this reality, as of 2019 only 44 institutions of higher education in the United States had student-specific bereavement policies. Sevaty-Seib argues this is surprising when considering such policies exist at the K-12 level, and are also extended as workplace benefits to faculty, staff, and administrators at most colleges and universities.
Such policies address the risks that are specific to students in higher education, which boil down to these major factors:
Disruption of Academic Performance
The death of a loved one can significantly disrupt a college student’s academic performance. Grieving individuals may struggle to concentrate, meet deadlines, or attend classes regularly. Symptoms can manifest as lethargy, changes in appetite, insomnia, loss of interest in hobbies, and social isolation, all of which negatively impact grades and may result in dropping out. It’s essential for students to communicate with professors and academic advisors about their situation to explore possible accommodations and support systems.
Emotional Turmoil
Grief is a complex and intense emotional experience. Students mourning the loss of a loved one may feel overwhelmed by a range of emotions, including sadness, jealousy, anger, guilt, and confusion. These emotions can affect every aspect of their lives, from relationships with friends and family to their sense of self and purpose. Douglas said that felt “a strange jealousy toward my friends who still had both parents.” Seeking support from campus counseling services, support groups, or trusted individuals can provide a safe space to express and process these emotions.
Social Isolation
While research indicates social support is key, in the midst of grief, students often withdraw from social activities and isolate themselves from their peers. “When I lost my father, it was a very isolating experience,” Douglas said. “I never wanted to bring it up, so I had no idea how many other students were going through something similar.” Higher ed administrators can help grieving students by facilitating connections with their peers in similar situations.
Financial Stress
The death of a loved one can also bring financial burdens, such as funeral expenses, medical bills, or loss of financial support from parents. Students may find themselves grappling with these financial stressors on top of their grief, leading to heightened anxiety and uncertainty about their future. However, data on exactly how dire these situations become for grieving students is hard to find. Indiana University graduate and HELP contributor Malhar Pagay sought to find the number of bereaved students who dropped out due to financial stress, but discovered “the data is nearly impossible to find.” Colleges and universities are not keeping data on whether leaving is related to grief or bereavement. But if they did ask these questions, Pagay said, it would help them “make data-informed decisions about policies related to student grief and bereavement.”
Mar 18, 2024 | Community, Family, Grief
PAUSE: Producing Safe, Culturally-Specific, Expert-Informed Grief and End-of-Life Resources Across America
How three Black-led grief organizations are building resources for communities of color through education and conversations.
By Nora Biette-Timmons[
In the summer of 2020, after the police killing of George Floyd sparked nationwide protests over entrenched racism and inequality, Alica Forneret paused to make a decision. Her career was already focused in grief spaces; after her mother’s sudden death in 2016, Forneret faced further difficulty when she returned to work and received little in the way of institutional support, something she set out to change through education, conversations, and community building.
But following the massive outcry over Floyd’s unjust, public death, she pivoted her work to focus on typically underserved demographics, and founded PAUSE with the mission of creating “spaces that produce safe, culturally-specific, and expert-informed grief and end of life resources serving Communities of Color.”
Black and other historically-marginalized or excluded communities in the U.S. face additional burdens when it comes to grief and the grieving process. “For many people of color, the fear, exhaustion and constant grief that all come from regularly dealing with various forms of discrimination are compounded when additional trauma piles on,” Forneret wrote in a HuffPost article about a year after launching PAUSE.
On top of that, Black folks disproportionately face experiences that cause grief, especially at a younger age: Compared to whites, Black Americans are 20 percent more likely than whites to lose a sibling by age 10; 50 percent more likely to lose a sibling by age 60; and three times more likely to lose a child before 70.
It’s these facts, and the further difficult realities that individuals face after losing a loved one, that Forneret wanted to respond to.
She told Evermore that her organization is exploring the tough questions: “Why [are] end-of-life-related outcomes and experiences different for people of color — and more importantly, how do we enhance that experience by centering identity?”
When drilling down into specifics, she said that PAUSE is seeking answers to queries like, “Why isn’t hospice as utilized by certain communities? Why do terms like palliative care not resonate with, alienate, or turn off certain communities? Why aren’t folks in healthcare settings currently making more culturally-specific referrals? Why are certain professions nervous about referring to doulas, healers, or creatives in the deathcare space?”
“These aren’t new questions, issues, or challenges,” she noted, but said that PAUSE is “hoping to achieve [new] ways of tackling them with different voices and perspectives at the forefront.” The end result, the changes, “come after asking those questions—it’s our hope to create new types of containers to not only have the discussions, but to also create sustained collaborative projects to address the answers.”
So far, PAUSE has developed an incubator of sorts for grief workers to pool their brain trusts and expand their reach. The Starlight Business Development Residency centers “people who are already doing the work in the community. We don’t want to recreate the wheel or take up space where others are already making impact,” Forneret told Evermore. The residency seeks to meet the needs of people of color who work in the deathcare field, who reported that most of the trainings and resources they had access to “were majority white-centered or highlighting western practices that didn’t fit with that didn’t fit with their way of thinking about the ways they wanted to run their business or serve their clients.”
PAUSE’s initial Starlight Residency welcomed 12 end-of-life entrepreneurs for six months; its second iteration, which launched in February, is getting even deeper: For 12 months, the residency will bring together six Los Angeles-based deathcare workers—from a variety of backgrounds, including the arts, coaching, and healing work—to connect, strengthen their skills, and expand the ever-growing community of BIPOC-focused grief facilitators and counselors.
That, she said, is her ultimate goal in her work. “My favorite person to talk to at a conference or a workshop is the person who says, ‘I had no idea I could find a Black, queer, LA-based death doula to refer my client to—can you make an introduction?’” Recognizing the intersectionality of the bereavement process is crucial, she said. “The most incredible impact we can make will come from being open to expanding our networks and acknowledging who can serve our clients best even if it’s not us.”
Dr. Julie Shaw, the founder of Hello I’m Grieving, participated in the inaugural Starlight Residency, and cites Forneret’s work as a guiding light and an inspiration: It “played a pivotal role in both my personal and professional growth,” she told Evermore. Each partner in PAUSE’s work “brings unique expertise to the table, making them invaluable resources within” the death and grief community.
“A crucial form of support” for this type of work “lies in fostering partnerships,” she said, highlighting the importance of PAUSE bringing people together. “This involves not only collaborating with fellow leaders in the grief space but also engaging with professionals from diverse industries who can contribute to the elevation and transformation of death and grief conversations.”
Shaw’s own journey in this space began when her sister died of Lupus in February 2020 but, she told Evermore, “It was only after months of introspection that I finally acknowledged my own grieving process. Taking a moment to ‘say hello’ to my grief, I wanted to extend that acknowledgment to others who may be experiencing similar pain.” To do so, she made T-shirts with the simple statement, which “became conversation starters wherever I went,” Shaw said, “prompting individuals to share their own stories of loss.”
These connections prompted her to train as a grief counselor, and now she works with companies to “help cultivate empathetic leadership, provide resources for supporting grieving employees returning to work, and offer guidance for grievers navigating their professional and personal lives after loss.”
In her practice, Shaw rejects “the idea that discussions of grief must always be somber,” and “draws from my background in athletics to offer motivation and coaching for individuals to navigate their grief journey while striving for personal growth.” As a gay Black and Filipino woman, Shaw told Evermore that she recognizes “the significance of…the intersectionality of grief with our identities” and how these inform “the way we experience and express grief, as well as how it’s perceived by others.”
The perception—or lack thereof—of grief is a subject that’s close to the heart of Nefertiti Moor, the founder of Dearly Bereaved. “Within the Black community…our grief is often swept under the rug and meant to be forgotten,” she told Evermore. “Most jobs don’t give bereavement leave, so a lot of us are ‘sucking it up’ and proceeding with life as if we are okay and we usually are not.”
Her work focuses primarily on “alternative deathcare” for the Black community, which she describes as “a more natural and aligned approach to what our ancestors did for our loved ones” that is rooted in “connection, love, and comfortability for the dying.” A large portion of this requires bridging the gap between many “alternative” practices that are often “whitewashed”; Moor makes sure she is in “more deathcare spaces” to offer outreach to grieving people who may not “feel very comfortable connecting with someone who doesn’t look like them or cannot connect culturally.”
Beyond her services like living funeral planning and grief meditation, Moor also offers guidance about navigating home funerals and green burials. These tools not only allow loved ones to grieve in spaces that are comfortable and familiar, they can cut down on the often-shocking expense of dying in America.
Like many burdens in America, the impact of grieving disproportionately affects communities of color—and, as Forneret expressed in her writing, these traumas are compounded by other, existing, ongoing injustices. That’s what makes work like her’s, Shaw’s, and Moor’s so important: It speaks to the specific needs of these communities, which are often pain points, but as Shaw told Evermore, can be infused “with empathy and even moments of fun” as the bereaved remember their late loved ones.
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Feb 23, 2024 | Community, Family, Grief
Bo-Hawg & Evermore, A Love Story:
A Deep-Fried Meaning Found in Grief
How Bo-Hawg owner Greenberry Taylor injected Evermore into Pig Fish’s DNA
Grease popping, no breeze, standing in direct sunlight, lifting coolers with 50 pounds of grouper, hands coated in cornmeal and batter, and a heat index of 107. Ah, those were the days.
That’s what it was like cooking seafood with my pops. My man LOVED this. A big reason is because he did this with his dad growing up. Later in life they began volunteering their services (and fish) as a way to help raise money for youth sports in our hometown. They would fry grouper, boil peanuts, boil shrimp — you name it, they did it.
So, it was only natural that my siblings and I grew up sharing this tradition with him. My brother and I even fried the fish, boiled the shrimp, and made the west indies salad for my wedding rehearsal dinner. Swear to god we were both back there frying fish as guests were walking up.
Anytime someone was strategizing how to raise money for their non-profit or event, pops was first to volunteer. “I’d like to donate the seafood and my services,” he’d say. People knew his reputation for frying up some of the best damn fish you’ve ever had in your life, so they were as happy to accept.
When he volunteered though, it meant we (his kids and whoever else he could wrangle) were also volunteering. My brother tells great stories of times my dad would casually say, “We’re cooking for so-and-so this weekend. It’s about 200 people.” Usually, he told my brother mid-week. Classic. He cooked for local churches, sports events, and individuals, but I will always remember cooking for Children of the World.
Children of the World, a non-profit that is an intercountry adoption service that places children in adoptive homes in Alabama. From my memory, I always remember this being in July. And to quote my man Stevie Wonder, it was hotter than July outside. Standing next to two, 30-gallon fryers with the butane fueled flames roaring so loud it sounded like a heavy breeze running through a tunnel just turned the temp dial up higher.
But my dad loved it. He loved the people that ran it. He loved what they did for kids and families. He always looked forward to this event, even though it was a lot of work.
What he did not like was the recognition. Pops never volunteered for the shine. Never to hear the words, “We’d like to thank G.B. Taylor for cooking.” In fact, I remember one time when they surprised him with an award in front of a ton of people. While he appreciated it, being recognized made him cringe. I’m pretty sure when they handed him the mic he said, “I don’t want this.”
I say all of this to let you know that giving back was something my dad was passionate about. I knew when I launched The Bo-Hawg that parts of him needed to be embedded in the fabric of who we are.
That is how I found Evermore.
I created a spreadsheet of nonprofits that focused on grief and/or bereavement. All-in-all I probably looked at 50. Next to each were their 2-3 sentence elevator pitch/mission followed by a transparency score or status (e.g., silver, gold, platinum, etc.). Looking at those scores and status awards, it was bananas how many shitty organizations there are “dedicated to grieving.”
GRIEVING! Literally one of the most jarring life experiences a human can face, and people are taking advantage? Truly disheartening.
My obsession with transparency stems from my time as a journalist. I never approached a story thinking I would be lied to; however, I always was conscious of the potential and therefore would do deep dives. Sometimes my notes really did look like that Charlie Day meme where there is red string spiderwebbed across a board and psychotic grin to match.
I also had just finished watching Telemarketers, a documentary that examines those bogus call centers that push charities. It is truly wild, and I recommend it if you are into those true crime type docs.
Apologies for the detour, back to finding Evermore.
I knew I wanted to team up with an organization that was “in the shit.” By that I mean people working, grinding, and making every effort to provide resources to those dealing with what I was (and still am) going through. Some non-profits are hands off, which is not a bad thing. But my experience is standing next to fryers in July, so I wanted someone in that same headspace.
And honestly, Evermore was not who I was expecting we’d link up with. They are big picture thinkers who are grinding to make nationwide change on a policy level for bereaved people. They have been featured in The New York Times, The Atlantic, on Good Morning America, and more!
“Surely these people will not have time for a small-time company like us,” I thought. “They’re just plug-and-play (meaning hands-off) at this point, and our small potatoes won’t mean anything.”
But the language on their site sounded so authentic, so personal. I could feel how they were talking about grief and loss and the indescribable f**king fallout that comes after losing someone. They even have this line on their mission page that says, “We need more than thoughts and prayers.” That’s exactly how I feel!
And to top it all off, they use data and science to help them push change. That is LITERALLY what I did for nearly 10 years of my life as a research scientist focused on patient-provider communication, mental health and emerging adults, and similar projects.
So, just like Travis Kelce…I shot my shot and sent an email to one of those generic addresses listed on a website. Two days later, I received a response from one of their team members, Jena, asking if we could set up a time to talk.
At this very moment, I am moved to tears thinking about that first call with Jena. I was totally expecting her to be all business with questions about what I could contribute financially, how things would work legally. I imagined it was going to be real sterile. Instead, she started the conversation out by saying this:
I read the story about the Pig Fish and your dad. It’s so wonderful that you created this for him. Can you tell me about him?
Seriously, I am sobbing reliving that moment. I couldn’t believe a few things, the first being that she read my website, the second that she wanted to hear about my pops. Man, I was taken back. I am pretty sure I got choked up because until then, sharing my pops with the world was just me writing and posting on social media. I was never really asked about him by a stranger.
The conversation we had was so beautiful. I talked about my pops and what I was going through in the wake of his death. She shared her own story of loss, which I will refrain from telling since it is not mine to share. And then, we talked about music and storytelling.
Jena explained that they imagined using the donations from The Bo-Hawg to put toward storytelling. She told me about Evermore’s belief in sharing others stories and the power that it holds. Given that my dad was a storyteller, and I am a storyteller, it could not have seemed more perfect.
“We don’t have a lot of sales right now, and I am really not sure when or if it will take off,” I admitted to Jena. “We aren’t worried about the money,” she said, “we just appreciate you thinking of us.”
Boom! Another moment I couldn’t believe was happening. She really didn’t care that we were small potatoes. It didn’t matter that our contributions might be small or large. What was important was that we shared the same values about helping those with grief.
The last 15 minutes we talked about the Grateful Dead and how Jena met her husband, how she got to see Billy Strings (a Pig Fish favorite) before he blasted into stardom, although she admitted he has always been a prodigy. I learned more about Joyal, Evermore’s founder. She is a badass, be sure to check her out!
The conversation wrapped with me communicating that The Bo-Hawg was not interested in promoting our relationship with Evermore on a large stage. That means no advertisements saying, “Part of all proceeds go to Evermore…” More and more on social media you see brands that advertise their contribution to a cause to move weight.
“Buy a shirt, plant three trees.” Or, “Save the turtles, buy a bracelet.” I am not knocking brands that do this. Heck, I imagine a lot of good does come from them! But my DNA for giving is the same as my dad’s. We are not doing it for the shine or to push our product. We are doing it because we care and want to help out an organization whose mission we believe in.
This post will be the only place on the site where I acknowledge our relationship, or whatever you want to call it. Its existence will only be known to those who purchase a product, talk about it organically, read this post, or if Evermore decides to share.
I am not an idiot. I know that at some point I might talk about our partnership if asked. Or we could collaborate on a design where all proceeds go to Evermore. If that does happen, please refer to this post. To quote Sean Carter, who will sometimes use verses from Christopher Wallace’s songs, “I say a B.I.G. verse, I’m only biggin’ up my brother.”
In other words, if The Bo-Hawg is talking about Evermore, we are doing so to raise visibility for them and their cause. Yes, a natural bi-product will be that our brand awareness might jump, but that’s just how it is. It’s not our goal or motive.
The Pig Fish is a cool design. I love it. It reminds me of my pops every time I see it. I love that people are wearing it. But I want it to have a deeper meaning, something that pops would stop and say, “That’s really cool. I’m glad it’s helping.”
I will close by saying that my mission will always be for the Pig Fish to evolve. Injecting Evermore into its DNA is just one way I believe that can happen. It also is awesome that this part of the evolution has pops in it.
Feb 12, 2024 | Community, Grief
Beyond Beats
Hip-Hop’s Journey Through 50 Years of Grief
By Nora Biette-Timmons
Last year, American culture celebrated 50 years of hip-hop. At the 2023 Grammys, some of the genre’s most legendary performers—Missy Elliot, Busta Rhymes, Ice T, Method Man—performed snippets of their groundbreaking songs in an exhilarating, 13-minute mash-up performance. The facade of the main building of the Brooklyn Public Library was lit up with Jay-Z lyrics. CBS hosted an hour-and-a-half long celebration featuring the genre’s biggest names. It was a joyful time.
But as journalist Danyel Smith wrote in the New York Times Magazine, 50 years of hip-hop also carries the baggage of half a century of Black death, especially that of Black men. “So much of Black journalism is obituary,” she reflects. “Early deaths — literal, artistic, carceral — are commonplace. And Black men in hip-hop exist in an endless loop of roller-coaster success, hazy self-worth, bullets, fame and its cousin, paranoia.”
Smith has covered hip-hop and the music industry for decades, and put together an accounting of “people in hip-hop who died before their time,” she says at the start of her article. “Almost all of them are Black men. With hesitation, I stopped at 63.” She weaves their stories through the following column as if she’s crafting a mosaic of untimely deaths, including each individual’s biggest accomplishment or contribution to the genre within sections based on their causes of death—bullets, intentional or otherwise; the results of self-medication with various substances; the tragic results of long-term health issues; and plain old accidents.
She does not attempt to create some grand narrative or explanation—she merely astutely notes: “All of this could be considered the fallout of a genre born under extreme duress. It was the Bronx in the 1970s: Fire stations were closing, and landlords were paying arsonists to burn buildings to the ground.”
Though the Bronx—and hip-hop—have been changed (and exerted change) dramatically since 1973, the pain, trauma, and grief that hip-hop fans and creators alike experience has not. And because the genre has only continued to explode in popularity, many mental health practitioners have brought it into their therapeutic toolboxes.
Dr. Edgar Tyson first coined the term “hip-hop therapy” in the 1990s, according to the website for his organization, Hip Hop Therapy. In a 2002 academic paper describing his pioneering research, Tyson wrote that “treatment innovations that are culturally sensitive and demonstrate promise through empirical research are of significant importance to practitioners working with at-risk and delinquent youth,” but noted that rap and hip-hop music was not one of those “culturally sensitive” tools that had been thoroughly explored yet. His initial study, which measured mental health notions like self-conception and peer relations, was conducted with youth living in a shelter in Miami who had already experienced traumatic situations despite their young age (the average ages were 15 and 16 years old): Some had been exposed to abuse and/or parents with substance addiction, or had addiction issues themselves.
Those in the HHT (or hip-hop therapy) group listened to songs, and then discussed the lyrics, with a moderator guiding them to pay “particular attention to relevant themes in the music,” Tyson writes. “All songs discussed had themes relevant to improved self identity, peace, unity, cooperation, and individual and (ethnic) group progress.”
In terms of getting the teenage participants to open up and address their own struggles, the results were conclusive: “All group members stated that they enjoyed the HHT group sessions more than any previous group session that they had been involved in at the shelter. Secondly, all youth in the HHT group expressed excitement and enthusiasm for the group sessions and all youth pleaded with the author to continue using this group method after the study ended.”
They made clear that the specific intervention Tyson introduced appealed to them: The majority said in qualitative interviews that “they appreciated the ‘respect’ for ‘their’ music” in the HHT group. “The most significant result of the study” was that “four of the youth expressed a desire to create their own rap songs and then share and discuss these songs.”
In an obituary on Fordham University’s website, where Tyson taught and researched until 2018 when he died suddenly of a heart attack at age 54, a colleague noted that Tyson’s work focused not on the negative aspects of hip-hop—which often face aggressive scrutiny in the media (scrutiny that is often based in racist frameworks and full of unfair stereotypes)—but rather on hip-hop’s “ability to contribute to healing and wellness.”
Tyson’s initial work has been built on by multiple other practitioners, including J.C. Hall, who now runs a hip-hop therapy studio at Mott Haven Community High School in the Bronx—returning to hip-hop’s original home turf. Hall happened to encounter HHT at Fordham, and worked under Tyson’s tutelage. Hall had his own severe mental health issues as a teen, and writing music helped him get through it; he melded that experience with HHT’s existing research and developed a program that focuses on creating hip-hop songs as an expressive arts therapy tool.
Hall told ABC News that the impact of his work is clear on a daily basis: “I have seen [the students] work through the losses of multiple people in their lives. … I have seen it bring clients back from the brink of serious self-harm and suicide.”
https:///vimeo.com/278667750
Hip-hop is useful as a tool for handling grief and trauma—and not just as a clinical therapeutic tool.
Many of the industry’s most famous artists have sung honestly about the pain they’ve had in their lives. From Megan Thee Stallion’s “Anxiety” (in which she talks about her own mental health struggles) to Kendrick Lamar’s “Mr. Morale & the Big Steppers,” which NPR’s Rodney Carmichael described as “an album “fueled by grief” that tells “stories of, like, generational trauma and sexual abuse and its impact not only on the Black family but really using his own family to kind of, like, reveal the root of his insecurities.”
On r/hiphopheads 10 years ago, a reddit thread for hip-hop fans, one user posted that a family member had taken his life, and the commenter was now seeking songs to help handle the situation. The post received over 100 comments of support, with dozens of recommendations, from “Thugs Heaven” by Nas, to “In Due Time” by OutKast (featuring CeeLo Green) to Chance The Rapper’s “Everybody’s Something.”
In each reply sharing songs that fit the poster’s request, the commenters also all express sorrow for the loss, and one even saying, “I’m glad you feel safe expressing your loss on HHH [hip-hop heads].” The support reveals another element of hip-hop’s therapeutic magic: It creates community where it might not otherwise exist.
Dec 9, 2023 | Advocacy, Community, Data Collection, Federal Government
We Have Achieved So Much Because Of You
Ten years ago, no one talked about bereavement‘s impact on us or the trajectory of our lives.
Today, bereavement is highlighted in major media outlets, in the halls of Congress, and in our communities. Thousands of people believe in our vision, which has been humbling and inspiring.
It is all possible because of you.
In January 2020, before COVID-19 came to the United States, we took your stories and quality data to Congress with a message that bereavement was an urgent concern for millions in America. Congress needed to act now.
Together, we made calls, talked to legislators, and secured the nation’s first bereavement provision in the U.S. budget process — and our work had only just begun.
Over the last three years, together, we have continued to make tremendous strides in helping all bereaved people achieve a healthy, prosperous, and equitable future.
Here are just a few highlights:
And, we have so much up our sleeves for 2024!
The Evermore Board of Directors
Jacqueline Corbin-Armstrong
Evermore, Chair
Norman Greene
Princess Hyatt
Donna Mazyck
Joyal Mulheron
Mark Standard
