grief, grief as teacher, letting go, loss, Photograph by Tamara Beachum, Quote
I am tired to the bone, more teary now than I was at my mother-in-law, Peggy’s, memorial service and I smell like other people’s perfume from all the hugs. (That’s a good thing.) My stoic Scottish side automatically comes out at memorial services but stories do sink in when I let them. Robin, my sister-in-love, spoke beautifully of her mom during the service. I can only hope that someone speaks as eloquently of me when I’m gone. Some of that history I had known for a while and some I had only learned recently when Peggy and I sat together during the last weeks of her illness. She was a remarkable woman who erred on the side of inclusion and for that I will forever be grateful. I came along late in her son’s life but she observed us and pronounced our union good. That meant a lot to me, to both of us. I realize now that Peggy and I should have had some mother/daughter dates long ago without having our men around. They are fantastic people but the four of us together had too much to say. I will cherish these last few weeks when she and I swapped our stories, past and present, with pregnant pauses in between. Given a similar love of nature, we sat on the porch naming the birds we knew and questioning each other on the ones we didn’t. Fellow pluviophiles, when a thunderstorm rolled through we relished the sudden darkness and I opened the blinds so she could see the deluge from her bed. We talked about simple pleasures...
grief, grief as teacher, letting go, transformation
The Executive Director of Soaring Spirits International, Michele, posted three group photos of Camp Widow recently. She unknowingly illustrated an evolution of one of the widows in the room…me. In the first shot, I’m way in the back. I know I’m there but I’m hidden, or hiding. I mean come on, why in the world would I be in a room full of widows at the age of 44? In the next, I’m closer to the front: owning my experience, learning, growing, moving forward but still somewhat on the edges, tentative. In the last I’m standing shoulder to shoulder with Michele and we are smiling, genuinely smiling. I am transformed and transforming. Michele supports widowed people in a way that often leaves me in awe. Love is her superpower and it shows. By this point in my own evolution I have embraced my life the way it really is, not the way it was supposed to be. I experienced the worst pain of my life and lived. I’ve stepped all the way to the front now, no longer afraid to be seen. When I started my business as a grief support practitioner I imagined working with clients one-on-one and while I still do that I’ve found that my greatest rewards come from teaching and leading creative group sessions. Camp Widow has offered me the opportunity to lead groups several times and when they are over I have a sense of reward that was absent in my work life for many years. I have also had the opportunity to teach creative grief support practices to hospice workers, counselors and pastors...
grief, grief as teacher, loss, Motivational poster, openness, transformation
Would you think I had lost my mind if I said that our losses can result in favorable changes in our lives? Probably but that’s OK. I would have thought the same thing a few years ago. Now, however, I can see transformations that might not have happened without my losses. Here are just a few of the ways that I’m different: I worry less. I wish I could say not at all but I’m not immune to fear. My worst nightmare came true and amazingly…I survived. It was awful, I don’t want to relive it and if I could wave a magic wand to make it go away I would. But I now know I can survive. I’m much less willing to settle for aspects of life that are not feeding my soul, my career for instance. Grief gave me the courage to respond to a calling rather than merely having a job. I have closer relationships with old friends and have experienced the love and caring of new friends. Did some people fall away during this time in my life? Yes, but I understand how uncomfortable it can be to be with someone in grief or making changes in their life as they learn to live with their whole hearts again. I have compassion for them and wish them nothing but good. I understand that we are all connected. I have more empathy for the pain of others than I did before and a desire to support them as they find their way. I know that love lives on. I could go on really but I think...
animal totem, grief, grief as teacher, spiritual, transformation
Twenty-plus women walked in silence through a labyrinth. In their hands they carried burdens – stones of various sizes – representing something they wanted to let go of: anger, shame, resentment, an event that could not be changed. As one of the leaders of the Redefining Loss to Live Wholeheartedly retreat, I stood on the outside of the circle, moved at the meditation taking place. But this story is not about them. It’s about the transformation that happened for me in that moment. Grief has gifts for us if we let it teach us. It took some distance from the raw days of early loss to see that. It clarified my priorities. Grief asked the question, “Are you willing to be unsatisfied with your work now? Still?” As I watched the women walking their own path but supporting each other with silent compassion, I understood that I was finally living my calling: offering supportive care, teaching, using my creative talents. New friends and deepened relationships with existing friends is another unexpected blessing. The last woman waiting to enter the labyrinth is a new friend; someone brought to me by the work she did with my husband. Beyond her stands my co-leader for the retreat, an angel who cared for us during Ken’s illness and for me long after. We went through our independent grief journeys as empathetic witnesses for each other. Our conversations showed me that though our losses were different we experienced similar emotions. We could listen to each other in our grief with understanding and without comparing losses. As the three of us stood there within arm’s...
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