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My first husband, Steve, died unexpectedly in September of 2016. His untimely passing remains the most devastating ordeal I've endured to date. I’m still healing from the aftermath more than eight years later. Though the pain is much less now, it still lives inside me and makes its way to the surface at unexpected times. As tragic as that experience was, I found comfort in coming together with people who had been in similar situations and made it through. I never expected to find validation, solace, and connection in a film. Yet somehow, I did. 

My grief was still pretty fresh in 2018 when Ari Aster’s Hereditary bowed in theaters. Because of that, I related to the film in a way that I wouldn't otherwise have. Possessing a profound point of reference for what tragic loss feels like made the picture hit that much harder.

It wasn’t the film itself that brought me comfort so much as one particular character. Toni Collette’s Annie is a beautifully rendered, incredibly well-written lead. She’s a working mother of two who had a complicated relationship with her own recently deceased mother. In spite of that, she makes a concerted effort to be present for her two children.

We see Annie processing very different types of loss throughout the course of the film. She manages to take her mother’s death in stride. Annie understands that death is a natural part of life. However, she has a decidedly different reaction when she unexpectedly loses her 13-year-old daughter, Charlie (Milly Shapiro).

Annie’s grief in Hereditary paralleled my own 

Following Charlie’s untimely passing, Annie bares her soul to the audience. We watch as her devastation consumes her from the inside out. I can relate all too well to what that looks and feels like. To see her raw emotion so realistically depicted onscreen was strangely comforting. Her devastation shook me to my core. Yet, at the same time, it made me feel less alone. Her portrayal is so real, so immersive, and so raw that I felt like I had a compatriot with a shared experience. A trauma bond.  

I can even relate to Annie when she’s obviously out of line. Although she is wrong to resent her son, Peter, for Charlie’s death, I can identify with her state of mind. Finger-pointing is a predictable knee-jerk response to tragedy. When Steve died, I wanted to collect my pound of flesh. I blamed his primary care physician. I blamed the staff at the hospital where he passed. I wanted to hang the responsibility on someone. I needed a scapegoat because the pain was too much to carry on my shoulders.

A24's Hereditary nails the onscreen depiction of tragedy and the corresponding aftermath

After Steve’s death, I found myself dumbstruck and completely unable to function. The sequence where Annie sits on the floor and sobs, screaming gutturally, encompasses precisely how I felt. I was blown away by how realistically Collette embodies the emotional fallout that follows a profound loss. I felt similarly caught off guard. I was angry, devastated, confused, and isolated. It felt so unfair, like the universe cheated me and, more importantly, cheated Steve out of a normal life expectancy.  

Although some might see it as unorthodox to feel such camaraderie with a fictional character, it makes perfect sense to me when I stop to think about it. When I was at my very lowest, I gravitated toward people I knew (even casually) who had lost a loved one long before their time. I needed reassurance that I would heal someday and I craved that type of support from people who had been in a similar situation and made it through the worst of the emotional devastation. 

A bond built on mutual devastation in Hereditary

Though I have a sizable circle of incredible friends, I often felt alienated following Steve’s death. I became disconnected from a lot of my favorite people because they didn’t have a point of reference for what I was enduring on a daily basis. Untimely loss is an experience to which many (fortunately) cannot relate. So, to find someone who has felt the emptiness such a tragedy instills (even a fictional character) brought a meaningful sense of connection.

The connection I felt with Annie was comforting. Yet, it was also a double-edged sword. Existing with her through her tragedy made my own grief feel fresh again. I sobbed through much of the film. It was both cathartic and validating. That really speaks to the efficacy of Collette's onscreen showing and her mastery of her craft. That I could forget (even briefly) that she was an actor playing a part and connect with her like a friend speaks volumes.

I have been lucky to find love again in the time since Steve’s passing. I’ve remarried and grown tremendously as a person over the last eight-and-a-half years. However, the grief I felt still lives inside me. Accordingly, Hereditary remains a source of comfort and stands as a film that made me feel less alone when my entire world fell apart.

In the immortal words of Danny Elfman, "Life's no fun without a good scare." We couldn't agree more, which is why we've cobbled together a couple pieces to send a chill up your spine. Join Popverse as we explore:

• The best horror movies of all time, according to horror aficionado Greg Silber
• The most underrated horror movies from the past couple years
• All the new and upcoming horror movies for 2025 and beyond

And much gore. Er, more. Much more.