Tag: grief

  • Allow the Loss to Lead the Way

    I bumped into Brian D. Smith’s Grief 2 Growth program years ago and saw his What Is a Grief Doula? What Dina Bell-Laroche Taught Me About Grieving Well today. Dina Bell-Laroche is a Certified Thanatologist, grief doula, keynote speaker, and author of Grief Unleashed.

    In 2001, her younger sister, Tracy, passed away from a rare cancer at just 29 years old. Tracy was pregnant with her first child when she was diagnosed. She lived to hold her baby, and passed thirteen months later, just after he turned one.

    Brian shared that when he asked Dina to tell him about Tracy right at the top of their conversation, she paused with gratitude and said, “That’s often something that really opens up the grief heart, is when we invite them to speak their person’s name. So often we’ll talk about our daughter that died or our parent or our sister, but we don’t actually use their name because it hurts so much. And yet when we do, it makes it real and profound, and we can be witnessed in that experience.”

    Brian responded, “I understand that in my bones. I say Shayna’s name every chance I get. Naming keeps them present.”

    Brian says Dina talked about two kinds of time: clock time we all recognize and kairos time. Dina explains, “Our bodies understand a different language than our head does. We understand chronological time, chronos time. And yet we also have kairos time. This is this liminal space that you and I dance in.

    “In kairos time, grief collapses distance. A smell, a song, a stranger who walks like your person, and suddenly you’re back in the moment they took their last breath.”

    Dina told Brian these are called STUGS, sudden temporary upsurges in grief. The term was coined by thanatologist Therese Rando, and Dina said reading it brought her enormous relief. She thought she was going crazy.

    Then she offered something beautiful: “STUGS can also stand for sudden temporary upsurges in grace“.

    I had my own STUGS as I realized just how much grief I am processing currently. Oh, some of it is the deaths of dear ones in the recent past. I name my friend (Linda Higbee), my sister (Johnnie Sue), our long-time music friend (Michael), our dear Florida friend in Canada (Eli). Some aspects of the experience are anticipatory loss, often referred to as pre-grieving. This type of grief includes people I have concern for, but is not limited only to this. It also includes the losses of our own aging. Pieces of this grief, I am quite sure, are universal, and perhaps at the moment not personal.

    At the time I sat on the porch tearfully expressing what I was feeling today to John after writing just the two opening paragraphs, I had not yet received news about the passing of a friend of Stacey’s in Tennessee that John and I have had the pleasure of getting to know, and a friend of John’s brother Greg, that they have been having a fabulous time shooting pool with on Monday nights.

    A couple of powerful truths:

    Doctors are trained to see death as the ultimate failure. Their role ends when the body stops. We’re taught to fight the one thing guaranteed to happen to every single one of us.

    Pushing grief out of view only sends it underground.

    In the Grief Journey Group we started here in Saint Joseph in 2000 we said you do not get over grief, you get through it. We had only two rules in our group: Do not judge your grief journey, and do not judge another’s. We looked a lot at the way different cultures deal with grief. And we acknowledged experiences we have that remind us people do leave their bodies but they do not leave their loved ones.

    The uncomfortable feelings are feedback that I have more energy to process than my central nervous system can handle all at once. That is why it is called a grief journey…. These feelings are a result of our love.

    In Grief 2 Growth Brian speaks of love that continues and the ways pain can become purpose. Appreciating this beautiful body of work. Thank you, Brian and Dina.

    As she says, “Let us allow the loss to lead the way.”

  • Queen of Salsa Quarter

    It was the perfect quarter for her to have found.

    “Does this make me a member of the Circle of Quarter Finders? And what say you about my found quarter?” was the text message.

    “Oh, what a find!” came the reply. “Two years ago right now we were in the deep emotional waters.”

    This found “Azúcar” quarter had been released in 2024 as part of the American Women Quarters™ Program. Their mutual friend was a feminist and advocate. She died on July 5, 2024. This found quarter was the first coin in U.S. history to feature an Afro-Latina, honoring Celia Cruz, the legendary “Queen of Salsa.”

    A few months earlier, she had married the beloved partner of her late friend…. The spiritual meaning of the Latin dance, salsa, seemed to speak significantly, sending affirmation from the other side: The salsa encompasses community, the energetic exchange between partners, and deep ancestral roots.

    Remarrying after a spouse’s death is not a betrayal, but rather a testament to a person’s capacity for love and connection. It does not erase the love held for a late partner; instead, it demonstrates a desire to continue experiencing life and companionship.

  • Princess

    Princess came as her companion while her husband was working away from home.

    And Princess was her faithful fur friend for fourteen and one half years!

    Princess started having seizures in October and was on seizure medications every eight hours. The alarm was set for 3 am and, after giving Princess the medication, she would watch TV until she fell back to sleep.

    After Princess died, her husband’s work sent her flowers with a message, “Thinking of you. Sending sunshine your way.”

    The Dharma of Dogs: Our Best Friends as Spiritual Teachers
    by Tami Simon

    “The pain of her death was exquisite. I cried for weeks, but felt an incredible joy and comfort that was an equal part of the grief. I was so grateful that I had spent time with her — only with her, fully present and joyful.” (p.163)

    Thích Nhất Hạnh shared in No Death, No Fear:

      The day my mother died I wrote in my journal, “A serious misfortune of my life has arrived.” I suffered for more than one year after the passing away of my mother. But one night, in the highlands of Vietnam, I was sleeping in the hut in my hermitage. I dreamed of my mother. I saw myself sitting with her, and we were having a wonderful talk. She looked young and beautiful, her hair flowing down. It was so pleasant to sit there and talk to her as if she had never died. When I woke up it was about two in the morning, and I felt very strongly that I had never lost my mother. The impression that my mother was still with me was very clear. I understood then that the idea of having lost my mother was just an idea. It was obvious in that moment that my mother is always alive in me.

      I opened the door and went outside. The entire hillside was bathed in moonlight. It was a hill covered with tea plants, and my hut was set behind the temple halfway up. Walking slowly in the moonlight through the rows of tea plants, I noticed my mother was still with me. She was the moonlight caressing me as she had done so often, very tender, very sweet… wonderful! Each time my feet touched the earth I knew my mother was there with me. I knew this body was not mine but a living continuation of my mother and my father and my grandparents and great-grandparents. Of all my ancestors. Those feet that I saw as “my” feet were actually “our” feet. Together my mother and I were leaving footprints in the damp soil.

      From that moment on, the idea that I had lost my mother no longer existed. All I had to do was look at the palm of my hand, feel the breeze on my face or the earth under my feet to remember that my mother is always with me, available at any time.

    After Princess died she would still wake up at 3 am, even without an alarm. On February 11, one week to the day of Princess’ death , when she fell back to sleep she had a vivid dream that her husband handed Princess to her and she cuddled with her in bed. Sharing with a friend about the visit Princess made to her in that dream she wrote: “Very grateful.”

  • Another Quarter!

    She had reached out to a friend inviting her for a bike ride but the friend was not available, and she was feeling a bit lonely as she headed out alone.

    Last year this time her close friend was navigating end-of-life. After her friend had passed, she had come in spirit saying she would send quarters.

    Crossing the street at the four-way stop, she saw a quarter!

    She motioned to the approaching van to stop and she reached down and picked up the quarter. Spontaneously, she motioned to the driver of the van to roll down her window.

    “Thank you for stopping for me. I had to pick up a quarter. Last year this time my good friend died. She promised me she would send me quarters from heaven,” she shared.

    “You are giving me chills,” the driver of the van responded.

    Peace is only a word until it is felt in the body…. She had heard those words at church the previous morning and another quarter allowed her to feel that peace now.
    People do leave their bodies, but they do not leave their loved ones.

  • Mr. Rogers Mug

    He could not find his coffee cup. He knew he had had it in the car when he had driven to a friend’s to bike from her home. The biking and sharing was part of his processing the grief.

    Maybe he had left his coffee cup on her porch.

    He went to the kitchen to get another cup.

    His eyes went right to the Mr. Rogers mug!

    He began to read the messages:

      “It’s a good feeling to be with you.”

      “When we can talk about our feelings, they become less overwhelming, less upsetting, and less SCARY.”

      “Often when you think you’re at the end of something you’re at the beginning of something else.”

    Everything, absolutely everything, seemed to be helping him get through this challenging time. As his biking friend told him, “We don’t get over grief, we get through it…. because our loved ones leave their bodies but they don’t leave us.”

    This is the way Mr. Rogers says it on the mug:

      “Infinity just is and that’s the way I think love is, too.”
  • Seven Little Girls Sitting in the Backseat

    Fred was navigating the grief journey after his beloved had passed very suddenly (following a time of chronic health challenges) just four weeks ago. He had spent the evening with good friends who invited one of their neighbors to join them as a fourth for pizza and cards.

    They spoke openly of Fred’s journey, and shared the food and cards, along with some heartfelt laughter when the neighbor broke into song, making light fun of the lyrics of the Mac Davis song, “It’s Hard to be Humble.”

      Oh Lord it’s hard to be humble
      When you’re perfect in every way
      I can’t wait to look in the mirror
      Cause I get better looking each day
      To know me is to love me
      I must be a hell of a man
      Oh Lord It’s hard to be humble,
      But I’m doing the best that I can

    Later that night — at home alone, processing soooooo much — those lyrics became an earworm for him. (According to Wikipedia, an earworm or brainworm, also described as sticky music or stuck song syndrome, is a catchy or memorable piece of music or saying that continuously occupies a person’s mind even after it is no longer being played or spoken about.)

    When that earworm led to a second, Seven Little Girls Sitting in the Back Seat, by Paul Evans the chorus became a mantra:

      Keep you mind on your driving
      Keep you hands on the wheel
      Keep your snoopy eyes on the road ahead
      We’re having fun sitting in the back seat kissing and a-hugging with Fred

    It was as if she was giving him guidance to navigate his grief, making sure he knows — maybe especially now — it is vitally important to be having fun….

  • I Love Her Still

    Anālayo, a Buddhist monk, writes, “As long as the constant change inherent in life is not recognized, death is easily perceived as an abrupt end of all that has thus far been experienced as stable and lasting… it is not possible to live properly and fully unless the inevitability of death is accepted as an integral part of life.”

    My previous post was on June 26. The days between then and now have been filled with my being present to what ended up being my friend’s death. Present with her. Present with those who love her and cared for her, including myself. She died Friday morning, just 24 hours after telling the doctor she wanted no more medical treatment but was choosing instead to be made comfortable and allowed to die in peace. We were preparing for her to come home with hospice care.

    When people ask how I am, I say I am very sad, and I am glad she is no longer suffering, but mostly I am in awe. She is the first person I have touched after death. We were not yet at the hospital when we got the call she had died. I had spoken with that same nurse a little over an hour earlier. When I got to the hospital and entered the room with the purple door card I could not not touch her. Some will understand….

    A dear friend who is no stranger to loss shared this from To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings by John O’Donohue:

      May you know that absence is alive with hidden presence,
      that nothing is ever lost or forgotten.
      May the absences in your life grow full of eternal echo.
      May you sense around you the secret Elsewhere,
      where the presences that have left you dwell.
      May you be generous in your embrace of loss.
      May the sore well of grief turn into a seamless flow of presence.
      May your compassion reach out to the ones we never hear from.
      May you have the courage to speak for the excluded ones.
      May you become the gracious and passionate subject of your own life.
      May you not disrespect your mystery through brittle words or false belonging.
      May you be embraced by God in whom dawn and twilight are one.
      May your longing inhabit it’s dreams within the Great Belonging.

    It is mysterious why her death has affected me differently than any other. Yes, ours was a relationship which spanned over 27 years. I was present for her joys and sorrows over almost three decades. And, yes, we were both winter (Florida) and summer (Michigan) friends. Perhaps it is because I was so present with her that her absence is so alive with hidden presence.

    I saw this on Facebook a couple of days before she died, and shared it with our Grief Journey Group.

      I can’t say I loved you. I just can’t

      Because it makes it sound as if my love is past tense. Gone, finished, ended.

      And that is so far from the truth.

      My love is not in the past. It will never be gone.

      I love you now. Still.

      You didn’t take all this love away with you. It stays. It lingers.

      Some days it jumps up and hits me in the face just to remind me that it is still here. Still persevering.

      Some days it nudges me. Challenges me to keep going. Daring me to find the strength to get through the day.

      But mostly, it just resonates inside of me with everything I do. With every step forward and every glance back. Every close of my eyes. Every breath.

      My love is not dependent on you being here.

      There is nowhere far enough,
      and nothing permanent enough
      to stop me from loving you.

      So I will not say I loved you.

      Because I love you.

      Still.

      ~ Becky Hemsley Poetry

    I will not say I loved her. I love her still.

  • Your Memory is Ecstasy

    The winter season for this snowbird has included swimming in the river of emotions. We spent tender time with friends and neighbors who have lost their homes, had their homes severely damaged, are still working to repair or adjust six months after Hurricane Ian hit. And beyond all of that, losses of many friends and family members.

    We are not alone in loss. Daily deliveries of loss remind us of the truth of impermanence.

    When my sister and brother-in-law performed the final act of love and had their beloved cat euthanized, EVERYONE at the office, including the veterinarian, cried. Here is Janis and a sleeping Twizzle.

    Twizzle was not an ordinary cat. The way he observed, learned, and participated in his surroundings demonstrated clearly he was more human than cat. Larry said he knows Twizzle could have helped him with projects if he had had opposable thumbs!

    Life does not leave us bereft after loss, however, and vivid evidences of the continuity of love continue. Barbara Brodsky asked me when I was grieving the loss of an aged tree on our lot, “Does the tree still live in your heart?”

    Oh, yes…. it lives on.

    Our beloved Pine Island community lives on in our hearts.

    My dharma brother, Allen, lives on in my heart.

    Our cousin, Cheryl Basham, lives on in our hearts.

    I miss Miss Molly, my doggy friend I made in Port Charlotte riding my bicycle.

    My sister, Janis, heard this song on The Voice. She said it speaks truth of her beloved Twizzle. It probably speaks truth of all loss and love.

      Ghost

      Youngblood thinks there’s always tomorrow
      I miss your touch on nights when I’m hollow
      I know you crossed a bridge that I can’t follow
      Since the love that you left is all that I get
      I want you to know
      That if I can’t be close to you
      I’ll settle for the ghost of you
      I miss you more than life (more than life)
      And if you can’t be next to me
      Your memory is ecstasy
      I miss you more than life
      I miss you more than life
      Youngblood thinks there’s always tomorrow
      I need more time but time can’t be borrowed
      I’d leave it all behind if I could follow
      Since the love that you left is all that I get
      I want you to know
      That if I can’t be close to you
      I’ll settle for the ghost of you
      I miss you more than life (yeah)
      And if you can’t be next to me
      Your memory is ecstasy (oh)
      I miss you more than life
      I miss you more than life
      Whoa
      Na, na-na
      More than life
      (Oh)
      So if I can’t get close to you
      I’ll settle for the ghost of you
      But I miss you more than life
      And if you can’t be next to me
      Your memory is ecstasy
      I miss you more than life
      I miss you more than life

      Source: LyricFind
      Songwriters: Jonathan David Bellion / Jordan Kendall Johnson / Justin Bieber / Michael Ross Pollack / Stefan Adam Johnson
      Ghost lyrics © BMG Rights Management, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Universal Music Publishing Group, Warner Chappell Music, Inc

    Yesterday I was able to see a close friend who developed dementia and was moved to live near his family. Our daughter had to drive to another city to pick something up from a client. The facility my friend lives is was only 2.7 miles from where our daughter needed to be. John and I went along and we were so thankful to be recognized and to have the opportunity to visit with our precious friend. I took him one of his favorite vegan bran muffins.

    Oh, yes, your memory is ecstasy….

  • Sea of Life Not Stay Same

    Opening email this morning and reading Neale Donald Walsch’s words: “… in moments when things look bleak — especially in those moments — see only perfection, express only gratefulness, and then imagine only what manifestation of perfection you choose next.”

    Cellular memory of our daughter Stacey’s move to Tennessee shortly after the birth of our first grandchild flooded in while sharing recently with a person who had made a cross-country move soon after her mother’s transition in the Midwest. While she was sure she was where she was to be, she was navigating intense feelings of “missing” her family and the fear of additional loss felt overwhelming.

    Speaking about loss, grief, and the necessity of regaining our emotional equilibrium in the midst of a sea of changing conditions was a reminder my current feelings are woven together with the collateral losses resulting from Hurricane Ian.

    My deep listening to Adyashanti shed some light on the universal journey with all of this. The talk was called “Self-Realization: I Got It!, I Lost It!” but it was excerpted from “The Timeless Nature of Being” given October 6, 2019, in Palo Alto, California.

    Something about it is still with you. Not by grasping at it but just almost like that intuitive sense, “What haven’t I lost?” – just sensing that, making space for it…. ~ Adyashanti

    I was at Walgreens waiting at the check-out counter for someone to come help with a rain-check for Ultra Soft Kleenex tissues. A young girl, maybe 10 or 11 years old, was next in line. As my wait time became longer and longer, I told her she was welcome to go ahead of me rather than wait. She said, “Its okay, I have my whole life ahead of me.”

    Unable to stop myself, I responded, “I have my whole life ahead of me, too, but I suspect you have more time than I.”

    A very wise expression came over her face….

    The sea of conditions is ever changing, that is for certain. But notice how much our expectation creates our experience of what is, what was, and what is yet to be. That young girl might have transitioned before I got up this morning. No, the odds are not in that direction, but the life that we experience is not always what the odds might indicate.

    We played a crazy-fun game this week while Linda’s sister, Brenda, was visiting. Poetry For Neanderthals is a word-guessing game like Password, but with a couple of quirky twists. First, you can only use one syllable words as clues. Second, if you use a larger word you get bopped in the head with a 2-foot long inflatable club.

    For example, if you are trying to get your team to guess the word broccoli, you might say “Green thing you eat for live long and have good health.” The game forces you to explain complex ideas using simple words. I like that. I am good at that. That is why this post is SEA OF LIFE NOT STAY SAME.

    One might go on to add SEA OF LIFE CAN STILL BE GOOD.

    It takes a bit to be good at it but you can even say SEA OF LIFE CAN BE GREAT.

    WHAT WILL IT TAKE FOR YOU TO BE GLAD FOR WHAT IS WHILE YOU STILL FEEL SAD FOR WHAT WAS?

    I THINK YOU GET THE POINT NOW. RIGHT?

  • Stay with the Listening


    This world deserves a kiss on both cheeks
    on the way out of the door
    and you have to let people see you do it.

    Failure to do so becomes —
    you are just another advocate
    but not much of a practitioner.

    ~ Stephen Jenkinson


    Since arriving home in Michigan one month ago, the yet-unanswered questions include: am I going to reopen my practice and if (or when) I will see a friend who went from a daily contact to essentially a lack of contact over this past winter.

    Of course, there is a much deeper structure than the surface of these (and all) questions.

    It has taken me days to be able to listen to the entire conversation with Terry Patten and Stephen Jenkinson — an episode titled: “Overwhelming Beauty — and Being OK, Dying.”

    On his 70th birthday, Terry was informed that there is a probably metastatic cancer in his lungs.

    The talk is available on the State of Emergence podcast now.

    Shortly after listening, a dear friend who is losing her hair in the current process of cancer treatment included this in her recent post about her hair loss: I made a common error…..I didn’t let my painful feelings have any air time. I shifted so quickly that there was no recognition that this particular development has impact. I’m aware where it ranks in the big picture ….. but it’s not meaningless.

    I notice where the questions about my practice or the change in my relationship ranks in the big picture…. but they are not meaningless.

    I appreciate my willingness to stay with the listening and to feel the painful feelings that were evoked by this podcast. To stay with the listening was not easy. The subject matter is not light. It was not pleasurable.

    But it is meaningful and as I stay with the listening, I notice a bit more about what I found intolerable with my friend over this past year.

    As I stay with the listening, Stephen’s words suddenly stimulate a whiff of clarity that sweeps into my being:

      She is still selling comfort as the place to get to….

      If you’re lucky, there are a few people who tend to your silence without asking you to break it….

      I suspect it’s like war, in the following way. You come back from war, and there’s nothing to say for one of two reasons. Either the language has not yet caught up with the realities of war and so explicitly there is nothing to say that doesn’t digress. Or, there is nothing to say to anyone because they weren’t there and there’s no way to bring them closer to it, and if they were there, you’re not talking about it anyway….

      The mother of gratitude is grief. It doesn’t come from being spared….

      If you don’t die of this now, you will die of that then….

    Terry’s stark honesty and his transparency of his not knowing pulls me back so I can stay with the listening:

      We all have the terminal diagnosis. We don’t know the time or the contours….

      The beauty of this life — the thing I don’t want to kiss goodbye — has made itself especially vivid and the fact that I am totally not in control makes everything poignant, tender, full of vibrancy….

      You can’t kiss that goodbye except with tears and they’re not “unhappy.” They’re deeply felt, they are hardly knowable….

    Jenkinson is the author of Come of Age: The Case for Elderhood in a Time of Trouble (2018), the award-winning Die Wise: A Manifesto for Sanity and Soul (2015), Homecoming: The Haiku Sessions (a live teaching from 2013), How it All Could Be: A workbook for dying people and those who love them (2009), Angel and Executioner: Grief and the Love of Life – (a live teaching from 2009), and Money and The Soul’s Desires: A Meditation (2002).