grief, music, Photograph by Ken Gehle
We have been talking about making meaning from our losses and learning to live wholeheartedly again in The Creative Grief Studio course for which I am a teaching assistant. Grief alters who we knew ourselves to be and a new self begins to emerge as we carry the loss and the love. Something one of our participants said got me to thinking about the evolution of my music playlists. When my husband died I took over his phone. It had all the music he loved on it and much of that we had shared on long car rides. I couldn’t listen to it. I wiped it clean. The playlist I came up with reflected where I was: Be Here Now, Stand Back Up, Just Breathe, hymns from the memorial service… As time went on I added music from new artists I was discovering, music we hadn’t shared: Sarah Jarosz, Jonsi & Alex, Fleet Foxes. It was comfortingly unfamiliar. Looking at my playlist today I see it has evolved again. It has truly become a Wholehearted Playlist. Gone are the songs from the service but some of the old songs we shared are back. They no longer cut me open. Folk music has been added as what speaks to me now has changed. A certain tempo and tone and artistry are important to where I am now. And my most played song on that list since the slate was wiped clean? “A Home” by the Dixie Chicks. The Wholehearted Playlist grows. I grow into this new self carrying the loss and the love. Has the music you listen to...
grief, just be, music, Photograph by Tamara Beachum
I had big plans today. Preparations for the Redefining Loss to Live Wholeheartedly retreat have been a joy and I was looking forward to getting back at it bright and early this morning. But Grief said, “Not today.” The anniversary of my husband’s death – the third now – is coming up in mere hours. I’ve been wondering when Grief was going to show up unannounced expecting to be invited in for tea. Her visits are always the same; she stares at me silently from across the table with her piteous eyes, making even the cup in my hand feel burdensome. So here she is, right on time as usual. At first I tried to pretend I didn’t see her lurking there outside the kitchen window in the rain. I locked the door quickly after my son went to school hoping she didn’t know that I knew. I disappeared to the basement to busy myself with laundry. She can’t get to me down there, right? I was determined to avoid her. But Grief said, “Not today.” The fog and drizzle conspired with Grief to ensure my heart was made as heavy as the air. She wore me down. I let her in. We sat in silence for a while. I told her that if she didn’t mind very much I was going to meditate for just a few minutes. But Grief said, “Not today.” My sweet cat crawled into my lap sharing the comfort of her purr with me. I sipped my tea. We settled in together and rested in each other’s company. After ten minutes had plodded by...
grief, just be, meditation, Motivational poster, music, Photograph by Tamara Beachum
“Just be,” was the sagest advice I received upon entering grief in full force. “What the heck does that mean?” is what I heard my internal voice silently reply. A dear friend who lost his wife nine months before I lost my own beloved gifted me with that message as we departed from another tear-soaked get together. Though I didn’t get it at the time, I came to understand. I remembered his advice and examined it periodically as I tried to live my new, strange life. But I didn’t do it right away. I tried to outrun grief first. It can’t be outrun. Don’t let your mind get weary and confused Your will be still, don’t try I found myself with the bizarre title of executrix and there was much involved in this business of concluding a life: car tags and titles to be changed, hospital bills to be paid, insurance company and hospital representatives to mediate, credit cards to cancel, clients to contact with the sad news and many papers to sign. It went on and on. I was very busy, purposely so I now realize. It felt like it was over a month before I even sat down. There was no time to just be. Truth be told, I was afraid of what would happen if I did quiet myself long enough. There were moments of torturous grief and I was certain that I would be swallowed whole by them if I sat still for too long. Don’t let your heart get heavy Child, inside you there’s a strength that lies Then the day came, I finally...
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