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...
grief, loss, Photograph by Ken Gehle, poetry, storm, teacher, why
According to my daughter’s Facebook profile she has two mothers: me and a dear teacher from middle school. I have always been fond of being in that company because this woman loves my children, I mean really loves them. She does this for them and hundreds of others. She is proof positive that the heart does not have a finite amount of love to give. She was only 34 when she died. Stacey Daniel taught Language Arts bringing stories alive for hundreds of children and supporting them as they learned that they too had stories to tell. She found the special talent in each child, lovingly brought it out from where it was hidden and wrapped it up as a gift before handing it back. Wide-eyed children opened those presents and found that they could do what they had not imagined. They believed because she believed. As she was leaving, a hurricane was crawling up the east coast. Today there is a storm in our hearts. I remember seeing Stacey sign my husband’s memorial service guestbook, a modified portfolio of his images. I was so touched that she and several other teachers were there for my children. As I tried to process this unexpected news, I looked back at the page she signed. Her name rests beside this image of another storm our family endured. How ironic? How apropos? Yes, both. Another hurricane at another time. Another unexpected loss. Another wave crashes down. While I use prose to articulate my thoughts I so admire those who use poetry as their art form. Stacey’s friend, Jon Goode, an Emmy...
children, clown, grace, grief, loss, openness, suffering, why
How can it be that even clowns die? Our community lost a dear soul this week suddenly, without warning. We are shocked beyond measure, devastated. Vincenzo Tortorici was many things: loving father, larger-than-life personality, accomplished juggler, master of ceremonies, vaudevillian, puppeteer, Buddha scooter jockey and introspective wise old soul. A clown and actor by trade, he made the lives of children a little brighter during their stays at the local children’s hospital. Dr. Pucci was a miracle worker who knew how to set nurse traps with toilet paper, catch invisible balls in paper bags and make children forget where they were for a little while. I love to laugh and I make my attempts at humor, often funny only because of their feeble nature. I am not a natural; he was, sparkling eyes and all. I honestly can’t recall a single encounter with Vince where I did not laugh. We have boys the same age but as they have gotten older their interests have diverged. My interactions with Vince have been reduced to chance encounters in the grocery store or the YMCA. Social media has allowed me to stay in touch, laughing at his musings and putting in a comment or two. Even in the way he wrote you could hear his humor reflected. That’s a skill! Vince signed his posts with a clown face. :o) Of course he would. More than a humorist though, Vince could meditate profoundly over deep questions of spirituality, the root of creativity and on suffering. With his loss we suffer. The void is great. We ask ourselves: Why? How do we hold this...
close up, grief, loss, Photograph by Tamara Beachum, Photography, widow
In the immediate weeks after my husband died I found myself zooming in to take pictures of ordinary things. I wish I could say exactly why but it was just something I did. It gave me some unnamable comfort to focus no farther than the distance to the end of my arm. My favorite wine still bubbled. Distracting myself from the task of buying new tires – something he always did - I examined the colorful candies in the vending machine. Considering a crack in the cool floor, my children playing nearby. My sweet cat’s sympathetic eyes. I looked at what had not changed. The sun still came up in the morning, the wind still blew, and for now these things endured no matter who was in the world and who was not. Close ups were my instinctive way of recognizing some level of gratitude for life. There they were, existing alongside my grief. Something, however small, was still right. What do you still appreciate that has not changed? What comforts you? What brightens or lessens an otherwise painful moment? What patterns, colors or textures give you a moment of respite? I invite you; take a close...
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