Norma "Rosie" Wigutoff, MSW (she/her)
Seattle-based author & editor
Don't run from grief, o' soul
Look for the remedy inside the pain,
Because the rose came from the thorn
And the ruby came from a stone.
— Attributed to Rumi
13th-century Sufi poet and scholar
About the Book
Left Out! A Memoir and Other Stories
of Disenfranchised Grief
What It Is and Why It Matters
Norma "Rosie" Wigutoff, MSW
Welcome
In this tender chronicle, Left Out! A Memoir and Other Stories of Disenfranchised Grief, we find Rosie plunged without warning into terrible grief — and shame over that grief — at the death of her new tenant and friend. “Just a friend?” Society says such sorrow doesn't count. Rosie’s journey to accept and embrace this discounted grief offers us a gentle road map for healing and joy.
The Book Summary
It's the fall of 2020, in the midst of the Covid pandemic. Rosie, a still sprightly, 70-something divorced, feminist Jewish woman, is living her best life in Seattle with her cat Sadie, although that life is a tad lonely. Then arrive the latest renters for her condo's spare bedroom — a kind, funny, mid-40s man named Kevin and his charming tuxedo cat Jasmine. This dynamic duo is a perfect fit, and Rosie's loneliness fades. Life is good. That spring, Kevin spikes a fever. A week later, he is dead.
Rosie is overcome by terrible grief that feels undeserved, along with deep, overwhelming shame. Kevin was her renter, a friend — that was all. So why this devastation? In the grief literature, Rosie stumbles across the term disenfranchised grief — grief that society tells us isn't valid. These two words help her begin to release the shame and reclaim her right to grieve Kevin's death.
Writing poignantly and compassionately, with wisdom and whimsy, Rosie reminds us that all grief is valid, whether it's over people, pets, places, or things, as well as intangible losses like our beliefs, values, dreams, and even our sense of self and our place in the world. Yes, all grief matters, even when society says it doesn't. Inside this gentle road map for healing, Rosie also shares other stories and tools that help us acknowledge, accept, embrace, and heal our grief — big, small, and in between.
Keep tissues — or a spare sleeve — handy. You might weep, or laugh, or both, and find yourself thinking, "Ah, that's me, too!"
Meet Rosie
Photo by Leia Maminta Smith
Why I Wrote This Book
Hello, dear reader. I have always had a passion for writing, for reading good stories, and for helping people bring their own stories and passions to life. Over the years, as a therapist with curious, searching, and creative people, each carrying their sacred wounds, "I sat sidecar” with them as they discovered or rediscovered their true nature and true passions.
As a therapeutic eldercare companion, I hung out with my beloved “little ol’ ladies,” listening, exploring, and laughing together, encouraging them to find meaning and joy in their life stories, and perhaps some peace in the ending of their days.
Now, as an editor, I sit with my writing clients to help put their stories — true stories, fiction, fantasy, and whatever other story passions they hold — onto the page — just for their own eyes, for the eyes of their friends and family, or even for the world. It’s all important.
But I never had a story I felt moved to tell on the page until after Kevin died. Then suddenly, I did.
As I've shared in the book summary, when Kevin died, I was plunged into a grayscale world of unrelenting and debilitating grief and shame. I had no answers, not even a guidepost. And, then, my inner critic, with her familiar screechy fingernails-on-chalkboard voice — who you'll meet early in the book — insinuated herself right into the game. "Good grief, Rosie. What is wrong with you? You barely knew this person." Ouch.
When my search for an answer to my pain — some reasonable explanation — accidentally revealed the term "disenfranchised grief," I knew I had found that answer. I had felt my grief wasn't "big enough," that it "didn't count." It wasn't "real grief with a capital G." I had been left out of society's comforting grief rituals and traditions. And now, accidentally, I had found community and solace. My grief was okay too. As my favorite Buddhist Zen master, Thich Nhat Hanh taught, I could embrace my grief and pain and hold it tenderly, as if it were a little child, and I could help heal it. That realization freed me from the worst of the shame, and I wanted to shout that news from the rooftops. And so, I did. I wrote this book.
Discover Left Out!
This heart-breaking, heart-opening, yet hopeful memoir contains story chapters — Kevin’s story, Rosie's and her family's stories, pet stories, roommate stories, and more (all the juicy, endearing, everyday, sad, and often funny parts). These chapters are interspersed with self-help chapters where you will find wisdom from the grief experts, including excerpts from their articles, books, and online material, Rosie's conversations with them, and her reflections on all of it.
In Chapter 18 Inside the Road Map — Things to do Along the Way, you will find your “glove compartment insert," a treasure trove of action steps and writing exercises, more bits of wisdom, anecdotes, and gentle reminders for how to be present in a self-compassionate way with your grief.
And, in the back of the book are easy-to-follow sections of notes and resources if you want to explore further.
This book is for you if...
...If you tend toward self-reflection, introspection, or spiritual inclination, or are a person who has been or is now being touched — or stunned — by grief, your own or someone else's, sorrow that “doesn’t seem to count” in society’s eyes, this memoir and the other stories in this book will most likely resonate with you.
...If you are a therapist, a death doula, a grief support group leader, or a grief literacy organization, an emergency veterinarian, an animal shelter volunteer, or a zookeeper, this book might well offer you support and confirmation.
...If you are a hospice doctor or nurse or aide — or any doctor, nurse, aide, or EMT, or any other medical professional or person, or a fire or police person, a helper at a food bank that has no food, or other overwhelmed public servant, you will find community here.
...If you are a bereft pet parent, or a foster parent for human kids or furry ones, if you are a grieving birth parent who has surrendered your own flesh and blood, or are a person who has suffered miscarriage or stillbirth, or some related, but so often overlooked trauma, you will find acceptance here.
...If you are grieving the loss of a dear friend who has moved away, or your child who has gone off to college...if you are living with the anticipatory grief-of-a-thousand-daily cuts for a loved one with dementia or other terminal illness...or for your own lost or never-achieved hopes and dreams...or for the sorrows of our world, I hope that you will find connection and comfort in this book.
...And — or — if you love real-life, multi-tissue-box true-love-and-loss-and-love-again stories, you can skip all the citations, snippets, and words from the experts, and go straight for the stories.
Rosie Wigutoff hails from Ketchikan, Alaska and grew up in Annandale, Virginia, just outside of Washington, DC. Since 1976, she has been a hospital social worker, a child protective services caseworker, a matchmaker at Big Brothers Big Sisters of Boston, and a therapist in private practice in Boston and Seattle. From 2000 through 2023, she was a private therapeutic eldercare companion.
Rosie has raised three cat children from various stages of kittenhood and cat adolescence through all their nine lives and has seen them off as they crossed the Rainbow Bridge. She has also dabbled in photography, played drums in a band, and goofed around at home on the electric bass guitar.
Rosie is now an editor and a writing accountability coach. She continues to learn about grief, loss, and love every day. This is her first book.
Author Brand Design by Jessica Vultaggio