grief, hope, Photograph by Tamara Beachum, Photography
“Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow has not yet come. We have only today. Let us begin.” ~ Mother Teresa
grief, Holiday, moving forward, Photograph by Ken Gehle, Thanksgiving
Our lives are altered now, we know that. We feel it every day. We feel it more acutely at the holidays. Traditions that we had become accustomed to are different even when we follow the same routine. But sometimes following those same traditions to the letter is not what we want anymore, or family dynamics get in the way. The first Thanksgiving after my husband died my daughter and I could not bear our annual tradition of Thanksgiving at the beach. A lump has to be cleared from my throat every time I think of that last chilly walk on the beach that turned out to be the last walk on the beach we would ever take together. The following year we did manage to go back there. It was not as hard as I anticipated but Ken’s gaping absence from the gathering was palpable. Rather than having dinner at the house we went to a restaurant. It was a good way for all of us to alter the tradition without throwing it out entirely. It was hard but it was good. Since then we have had to evolve again and, for the first time last year, I made Thanksgiving dinner myself. I’ll do it again this year. Ken was always the cook in our family so I’m still learning to time it right but it was edible. And this year I might even attempt his family’s apple pie with crust made from scratch for the first time. My son remembers it and has put in the request so I’ll give it a shot. As for the gratitude portion...
children, grief, heARTmaking activities, Holiday
Halloween marks the gateway to the holidays for me. Family traditions start to take center stage again, the air turns crisp and I can feel the ghosts of ‘what was’ starting to gather. Long-standing ways of marking the special days don’t work quite the same now. We adjust. For as long as I can remember, Ken made homemade pizza on Halloween. He was a master at making the yeast dough, hovering over it the better part of the day to punch it down when needed. I’m a decent cook but pizza dough that is consumable is not in my bag of tricks. (Our daughter helps in this photo taken fifteen years ago today.) I tried to make it myself one year but that effort resulted in a lump of goo at the bottom of the trash can and tears, mine. We ordered a pizza; it was not the same in many ways. So we adjust again. We could abandon the practice but I would prefer to preserve it for my son who is still at home. He has memories of Halloween pizza just like I do. Soon I will be off to the bakery where they sell a fine freshly made pizza dough in a plastic bag. My son doesn’t trick-or-treat anymore so maybe he will help me put it together tonight, the evolution of a tradition. Last year I offered a workshop with tips on getting through the holidays when you are grieving a loss. It included a short activity booklet with tips and tools that I include for you here. I hope you find it useful this season....
grief, Photograph by Ken Gehle, Wordless Wednesday
All of the Wordless Wednesday images are available as fine art prints. See the details...
accepting new love, grief, Kairos, Motivational poster, moving forward, openness, Photograph by Tamara Beachum
I flipped through a magazine while my son sat in the barber’s chair getting a back-to-school trim. A photo of a woman standing on top of a mountain peak, arms outstretched, with her body backlit by the sun caught my eye. She was clearly experiencing a moment of kairos time. The first line told me this was also a story of loss. The subject of the article, Jen Lacey, had made the difficult decision to have her leg amputated after it failed to heal properly from an accident. Coming to the end of the piece I realized that, substituting a few words, I could have written the same. “It’s hard to be a [widow]; I won’t sugarcoat it. But every day, I get more used to my [new life], and sometimes I even forget it’s there. You might think I’d dread having strangers ask questions, but I don’t mind—some of them are in a situation like I was, [pre-widowhood], and I can offer advice. Lately I’ve been mentoring new [widows] and hosting [widow] support groups, and it’s allowed me to help people, which is what I’ve always loved to do… The best part: I wake up every day with hope…” I’m not saying I understand what it’s like to be an amputee – clearly I don’t – but this is the closest analogy I can think of to explain what life feels like as a widow. A part of me was severed when Ken died. We spent our young adult lives in each other’s orbit and grew into maturity together. We became parents and experienced all of those firsts...
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