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Category: Grief

  • Why I Don’t Live a Balanced Life

    I used to endeavor to live a balanced life.

    I used to think that if I controlled and managed everything in my life just right that I would be happy. If I could carve out the exact right number of hours for family, work, health, recreation, etc. that I would have the right formula for success. If I didn’t get angry, if I didn’t get sad, if I didn’t get in situations that brought up my “negative” emotions I could stay in a comfortable place. I could avoid confrontation. I could avoid criticism. I could avoid disapproval. I worked hard at this, trying to stay on an even keel at all costs. And the cost was huge.

    I found that striving for balance was a constant inner struggle.

    I found that in order to be perceived as being balanced and in control, my inner battle with myself raged. I confronted myself when I couldn’t control my anger. I criticized myself when I ate the wrong food, or too much of it. I disapproved of myself when I did not meet the standards of perfection that I thought would guarantee a happy and balanced life. I was miserable, yet I kept at it convinced that if I was able to live in the narrow bandwidth I could accomplish my goal. I was still working as a Project Manager in construction at the time. We were doing start up on a new building, and we were trying to get the set points on the building’s control system to work properly. The set point spread was 4 degrees on the heating and cooling system. If the temperature went 2 degrees higher or 2 degrees lower than the set point the heating or cooling would come on, depending on the season. I wanted a set point. I wanted an automatic setting that would ramp my emotions up or down if they got 2 notches away from my ideal state of tranquility.

    Another way to look at it is to imagine a teeter-totter. I loved going up and down on one at the park when I was a child. It wouldn’t be much fun if it stayed in one place. Or imagine standing on it in the middle and balancing it. Think of the struggle it would take to get it to stand still.

    The harder I tried to live a balanced life, the harder it became to try to stay in the place that I thought would give me balance. Staying in that place also assured that I didn’t have to be seen. I thought it would be a comfortable place to be, an invisible, calm, small place to live.

    And then my daughter died. I found out that I couldn’t control anything.

    My life was thrown into a chaos that was beyond anything I had previously been trying to avoid. I didn’t have the strength to figure out how I had let this happen. I knew at some level that it was not my fault, yet for a while I blamed myself. I was tossed into an inferno of devastation.

    When I began to emerge from this place and looked around at the destruction that was my life I had a choice. I could continue to try to put my life in an order that resembled my former life, or I could open my eyes wide and ask, what now? That’s what I did.

    I had already been to the depths of despair, the place I thought I could manage myself with enough control and force. That had me struggling to be perfect and beating myself up when I couldn’t reach my idea of what perfection was for me in any given moment. Instead I chose to live an unbalanced life.

    Living an unbalanced life means that I get to live fully as myself. I get to feel the full spectrum of feelings in all of their messy glory. I choose to live here, without a set point to regulate my emotions. Yes, it means that sometimes I am sad, fearful, or feel down. I’ve found that when I allow myself to engage with those feelings fully, I can move through them and feel exhilarated, excited, and joyful. So these days I choose to live an unbalanced life, a life that is messy, chaotic, creative, inspired, and imperfect.

    It has freed me up to feel the glorious magnificence of my wild heart.

  • What do Gratitude and Self Care Have to do with Grief?

    In the last two weeks I’ve had conversations in both our Dinner Party group and our Meetup group about grief at various stages. As I listened to others experiences of grief I was struck yet again by how taboo talking about it is in our daily life.

    These are some of the things I heard;

    My family or friends wonder why I’m attending a meeting about grief, isn’t that morbid?
    I’m feeling stuck, or unsafe, or I want everything to go back the way it was before.
    My family expects me to be over this by now.
    I’m grieving “wrong.”
    I’m feeling hopeless.

    As we gave space for all of these stories to be voiced, I sensed a shift in the energy of the room. We gave them permission to grieve in their own unique way. Tears flowed, memories were shared, and there was even laughter. Those who may have felt hesitant to attend visibly relaxed.

    The road through grief can seem scary, treacherous, and not worth the effort of even starting on that rocky road, so when you wonder if it’s worth it to go through the pain without any guarantee of a pay off, here are two places you can start: gratitude and self-care.

    Gratitude

    When you don’t feel like you have anything to be grateful for, start with what is right in from of you. Be grateful for good clean water to drink, for the sun shining on you, for the rain, for good food to eat, for a nap, for a smile from a friend, or for a hug. We think gratitude has to be grandiose before we can start to be grateful but instead start where you are. Gratitude can be a game changer.

    Write down three things you are grateful for everyday. It’s important to write them down! At the end of the week, read your list. Your capacity to appreciate even the small things in your life will begin to make a difference in how you see everything in your life. For example, one of my clients was grateful for clean underwear.

    Self-Care

    I talk about self-care, lots. In the early stages of your grief journey, self-care may mean attending to your basic needs like getting enough rest and eating nourishing food. Having the courage to go to a grief group is also self-care. Simple things like that can give you a glimmer of hope, even a willingness to keep going.

    We often don’t feel like we deserve to take care of ourselves, or we believe we are being selfish. That’s why starting with the basics is important. This is true whether you are grieving or just discovering the importance of self-care for the first time. Self-care gives you a greater capacity to cope with your feelings. When you have greater coping skills, your willingness to move through the grief continues to grow.

    Before I continue, consider this. If self-care is a word or concept that makes you cringe because of the way it’s portrayed, or if it triggers an old wound, I give you permission to change it to something that resonates for you. This was the case with one of my clients. Self-care felt more like a block than a benefit. This client changed it to soul-care. Choose a word that works for you.

    Self-care changes and evolves as you do. Revisiting your self-care rituals regularly can help you to fine-tune yours. I take a look at my self-care rituals whenever I start to feel burnt out or stressed. That usually means I’m neglecting what I call non-negotiable self-care rituals. I get busier and I think that skipping yoga class for a couple of weeks won’t hurt, or I think I can eat just a little gluten. I find out why they are non-negotiable. When I’m attending to self-care I have a greater capacity to handle the stress, and when I am getting busy but am doing self-care rituals then I recognize the activities I am participating in that are not serving me.

    I also take a look at my self-care rituals as the seasons change. For me, it’s a good time to see if anything needs to be refined, or added. Here is a blog I wrote about Radical Self-care. (link to blog)

    Discover What Nurtures You

    What are your non-negotiable self-care rituals?
    Make a list of everything that nourishes you; body, mind, and soul.
    How do you like to have fun? Put it on your list even if you haven’t done it but have always wanted to try it.
    What people, places or things inspire you?
    What stirs your soul?
    What adds beauty to your life?
    Continue to add to your list.

    Now I’m going to suggest something that may sound radical to you, schedule your self-care, all of it. Things like massages, haircuts, or acupuncture are scheduled for obvious reasons. I’m suggesting that you schedule an appointment with yourself and give self-care the same worth as you do your massage therapist or the person who cuts your hair. Your list will come in handy when you schedule a self-care break, and don’t know what to do. Look at your list and choose something!

    Here are a few more ideas:

    • Take walk outside.
    • Step outside barefoot and connect with the earth.
    • Have a cup of tea or coffee without looking at your phone.
    • Pick or buy yourself flowers.
    • Do nothing.

      One of my favorite self-care rituals is doing nothing, absolutely nothing. Try it for five minutes and see what you think. When you start to feel guilty for doing nothing remind yourself that it’s five minutes. Everything you need to do will still be there when the time is over, and you may be a little more relaxed.

      Self-care helps you to relax, reduces stress, and develops a greater capacity to feel your feelings. Self-care is the fuel for your tank. When your car has no gas, you can’t go anywhere. The same is true for you. When your energy reserves are depleted, you don’t feel like doing anything. Self-care brings abundance back into your life so you can be your own best self.

  • Should I Put My Grief on A Shelf and Have Some Fun?

    I was asked the other day if I get tired of talking about grief. If I’d rather put down my grief and go do something fun. These are really good questions.

    There was a time that I wanted all of my feelings of grief to go away. I didn’t want to remember that my daughter was dead. I didn’t want to remember the feelings that were unresolved when my mother or father died. I wanted the feelings to go away so I could get on with my life. But how could I really get on with my life when I had so many painful issues, old stories, and constructs that lived in my body as both pain and restriction that kept me immobilized both emotionally and at a deeper physical level? We think that if we muscle through or soldier on all of our unresolved pain will step aside and let the real us through.

    I found out that it is called unresolved for a reason. By finding a way through my difficult feelings, I found out that some of my pain and body and eating issues were connected to my grief. Because I said yes to excavating the life I was meant to live, I discovered my true self, what I call my Nanciness. It meant being scrupulously devoted to following the bread crumbs of my grief journey, what I call today my grief spiral, no matter where it lead me, no matter where it continues to lead me.

    Just what does a grief journey look like almost 17 years in? I no longer feel like I’m actively grieving my daughter’s death. Her death affects me daily, for sure, but now there is a different texture to my days. Yes, there are still days that I feel sad, that I feel the pain of losing her in the car accident, remember those days in the hospital, especially as the milestone days of the anniversary of her death begin to get close. Today I use the resources available to me which brings me to a new level of understanding, or integrates a certain feeling in a new way.

    Grief is a Doorway.

    Grief opened a door to the greatest transformation of my life, and it can for you too. When I was completely broken open and on my knees in my darkest hour, I didn’t realize that my loss provided the perfect condition for new growth; open fertile ground to nurture the seeds of my soul’s purpose. I didn’t see it at first because I was holding on to what I lost, hoping against hope that I could stay the same and that I wouldn’t have to change.

    Grief Changed Me.

    If I had resisted that change I would have been trying to hold on to a life that was no longer the same as the day before her death. The fabric of my life no longer held the same threads, and if I tried to hang on to my former life it would have fallen apart anyway because the old stories would keep wrapping around a structure that was no longer there, it is an illusion that had no substance, no form.

    Today I know that I would not have the capacity to have fun if I had not followed those breadcrumbs almost 17 years ago. Having fun, being connected to my creativity and to the things that make life meaningful for me are the gifts and blessing of my grief spiral. So no, I don’t want to put down my grief so I can have fun. I want to walk my life’s path so I can be connected to what is important for me these days: to my ability to make meaningful connections, and have meaningful conversations, to listen to my body’s wisdom and feed her and move her in a way that truly nourishes her, to share my life with a life partner who has experienced the same loss, to be able to meet each other where we are and still have fun together, to appreciate my sense of humor, to find pleasure in the simple things like bringing in a bunch of zinnias for my office, and gratitude, always gratitude, for everything and everyone who has brought me to this day in my life.

    What are some of the things that make your life worth living these days?

     

  • A Good Death

    Last week at the Raleigh Death Café  a participant’s question about what constitutes a good death prompted much discussion.

    As I listened to the interesting conversation I flashed back almost 17 years to Leah’s hospital room.

    I remembered holding on to every thread of hope as we conferred with her doctors.

    I remembered Dan helping the scared sparrow fly free in the parking garage stairway.

    I remembered holding Leah’s hand and stroking her cheek, telling her that she too could fly free if that is what she needed to do.

    I remembered inviting her friends and our friends, who had been camped out in the waiting room with us for five days, to say good-bye to her when we knew she would not be returning to us physically.

    All of these memories were in my head, swirling around; I brought them to my heart.

    In that moment, sitting in the midst of a discussion about what constitutes a good death, I knew.

    Leah’s death was a good death.

    My head wanted to slice and dice the discussion and make an argument against the possibility of a good death, but my heart knew in an instant. I took a deep breath and let the knowledge of Leah’s death as a good death take up some space. I spoke it out loud, in that moment, without thinking about it. It felt like a new level of peace. I let the tears come and felt myself witnessed in this new awareness. The moment passed and the discussion moved on.

    As I reflected on this moment in the days since it happened I realized that I was not capable of considering that hers was a good death at the time of her death. I was many chapters of my story away from even knowing the concept of a good death as it referred to my daughter. Nothing about her death was good, at least at the time. As I began my grief journey I excavated the gifts of that journey and yet, I still had not contemplated a good death.

    If you were to ask me what a good death is, I’m not sure I could give you a finite answer. Before that discussion last week, it never even occurred to me to consider a good death for anyone I knew.

    I’d like to think that it came into my consciousness at precisely the right time.

    If I did come across the concept of a good death earlier, maybe I wasn’t able to really hear it.

    If a good death feels like an unspeakable concept for you, trust where you are right now. If it intrigues you, bring your feelings to your heart and allow them to rest there. All of our perceptions about what death is and isn’t hold a mystery that cannot be understood by all of the analysis of our heads.

    Our hearts can understand what our heads want to hold on to for dear life. Bring everything to your heart and breathe.

  • Tails From the Road

    In the past month I have traveled to two book events, one in Boulder, CO, and one in Minneapolis, MN. I’ve begun to write about each of them several times, but it took awhile until I was ready. Even though the content of each event was similar, I received unique gifts from each of them.

    The Boulder event was my first on the road.

    I was well prepared and found myself feeling none of the usual anxiety I experienced when I was faced with previous public speaking experiences. The participants and I created a space for grace and vulnerability to be present for each of us. When I suggested a short break, the group as a whole wanted to continue so as not to disturb the energy. It was a sacred circle that allowed for each of us to witness each other’s vulnerability in safety. Our conversation throughout the evening was poignant and moving. The date of the event was April 28th, which is Leah’s birthday. When I was offered that date as a possibility, I immediately knew that was the perfect date. We felt her presence.

    The Minneapolis event was held at Modus Locus, a beautiful art gallery space that our son Peter’s friend operates. The audience was full of Peter’s friends and some of our family from Minnesota. Again, it was a warm and welcoming audience who appreciated hearing my story and my particular way of walking with grief.

    Talking about my story and bringing my work into the world in the way I am being called to do so, brings me to a vulnerability that sometimes takes my breath away.

    My stories come directly from my heart, and sometimes they are different each time I speak. I have a deep abiding trust that the stories that need to be told in each moment will be there for me to share. Preparing to do this work has brought me to my knees many times. Each time I speak I am brought to a new edge, challenged to grow in a new direction, and I don’t always know what direction that will be. For this reason, I am again learning a new nuance to the present moment. When I stay in the moment, I receive everything I need to share my journey, to answer a question, and to integrate the lessons that are present at that edge. I’ve learned how to use embodied movement to assist me to move through any feelings and emotions, either new or old, that I meet at these edges. Because of my experiences at my book events, I am learning a new way to be in the world on a daily basis. I am learning the importance of creating a strong structure to hold the organic transmission of my intuition and to provide a strong place for it to reside and flow.

    After I returned from Minneapolis I was deeply drawn to silence.

    I wanted to write about my experiences yet my guidance was directing me inward. As I sat each day and listened I discovered deep feelings and shifts that were calling to be heard. I let them be there as they were, moved gently when movement was called, and shed a few more layers that were ready to go. I am still emerging from that place, meandering through my days, listening and being with what is here, writing when I am called.

    It is in these places that I continue to do my own inner work, to grieve, to move, to feel, to care for my self and my soul. I emerge from that space nourished and energized so I can continue the work I am called to do. It is a dance, always changing, always evolving.

  • A Dream About Leah

    I had a dream about Leah last night. It’s been a while since that has happened. In the dream, I knew at some level that she was no longer with me in physical form, so it gave me great comfort to be with her in the dream. She was slightly older than when she left and was wearing clothes that I didn’t recognize. Anyone who knew Leah knows that she was very fashion conscious and wore her clothes like no one else could. Our communication was not by words, but rather, by thoughts. I asked her who was buying her clothes now that I wasn’t. She pointed to herself. I asked her if she’d like to go shopping with me, if she needed new clothes for school. She smiled and said yes. I sat from afar and watched her for a while. There was a sense that she was reaching out through the dimensions to me and I savored the time.

    When I woke up, I sat on the porch with my coffee thinking about the dream. This one had the quality of a connection with her. She connected with a known shared activity, clothes and shopping. Her presence had the characteristic of an alternate reality, things not quite the way they were when she was here physically. I know this is the very description of dreams, and yet, there was a knowingness that we were both visiting a place where we could relate at least in that moment. Plus, she gave me a smile, her smile, one that lit up her whole face. My memory of that smile does not do it justice, I could not have imagined her smile in the way I experienced it in our dream.

    As I continued to be with the dream, I allowed myself to miss her, and I wondered what my life would have been like if she was still here, if she didn’t die 16+ years ago. If, instead of mourning her loss, I would have been celebrating her life all these years. I wondered where she would be living, where we would be living, and how the four of us would be different then we are today.

    I was wistful. I missed her. I allowed myself to feel the longing in my heart for my daughter, for what might have been but she’s still not here. That’s the part my head can’t wrap itself around; she’s still not here. No amount of wishing her back will change that.

    I look at my life now, and I know that I am living the life I was meant to live, honoring the message I received right after she died, that said, “Losing her is too high a price to pay to not live the life you were meant to live.” Getting here was not easy, staying here is sometimes still not easy, and yet, here I am and there she is.

    I’m grateful for the times we can connect in that liminal space that l don’t fully understand. It’s another part of the unknown that unfolds as I travel the spiral of my grief initiation. Bringing all of the journey to my heart, to hold, to allow, to be with whatever shows up along the way. It’s in my heart that the alchemy happens, the place where I receive blessings and grace that allow me to continue to live on the other side of the veil from my daughter; blessings and grace that give me the courage to bring her light into the world through my story. I continue to bow the to the mystery.

  • Relaxing Into Myself

    When the dust settled after my book launch party I wondered, “

    Okay. What now?

    What do authors do once the editing, publishing, and launching are done?” The answer came soon enough; market the book. I began the process of writing to venues to request book events and speaking engagements, shifted my networking message, and changed my mindset from being a forthcoming author to being a published author. I took my time with this process. That is to say, I paid attention to my own self-care and nourishment. I feel different now. I carry my work differently, and I need to continue to cultivate my own rhythm as I refine the way I bring my work into the world. I need to nurture my body and my self as a strong container and vessel to hold this work as I continue forward. As I sat with this process the words that I heard were: I am relaxing into myself. That’s not what I expected to hear.

    I wondered, what does it mean to relax into myself?

    At first I wasn’t sure, and, as I have continued my practice of loving self-care, it’s become more apparent.

    A lifelong friend recently told me I was a different Nancy. That means she knew me back before Leah died. How was I different then? Did she mean that I was a carefree Nancy who skipped through life with utter joy, only to be brought to my knees after my daughter’s death? No, I was a very quiet and, some would say, shy child and teenager, and this introspection continued into adulthood. The last thing a younger version of myself would be doing is sharing my story with others, no matter what the story. The initiation of my daughter’s death changed me and the process of writing my book changed me yet again. I now feel most like myself when I am sharing how I learned to thrive after Leah died, and the ways that I did that.

    There was a thread that ran throughout my life beginning as a child. I often heard,

    “Someday you will do something important.”

    When I heard it as a child, sometimes I was excited and I would dream of what the important thing would be. Sometimes I was confused because I didn’t know how to find out what the important thing would be. I always felt different, isolated, because I felt like I was doing something wrong, that I would never discover my destiny. This probably contributed to my introspective nature. Whenever I heard that I would someday do something important, it was like jumping to the last chapter in a book without all the background information provided in the chapters leading up to it.

    As I sit here today, those chapters have been filled in. My important work is nothing like I imagined as a child, dreaming of magnificence. I could never quite capture the full vision of what that significant work would be, nothing ever felt like it fit, and I wasn’t inspired by any of the daydreams of importance.

    This gives me a new appreciation of the present moment. My entire journey has included a continued nuance of presence. When I was dreaming of a future of greatness, I was missing what was right in front of me, the treasures that are found in this very moment.

    What does this have to do with relaxing into myself?

    And just how did I go about this process? One of the things I did was to listen deeply to what my body needed in each moment. I made lists of these needs, both physical and emotional. I looked at the pattern of my days and shifted them until I found a rhythm to my days that fit where I am right now. I continue to pay attention to how I feel as I go through my days and when something feels off I inquire inside and readjust. Relaxing into myself is dynamic; it can change from day to day or week-to-week depending on my schedule, my energy level, and so many other factors. That’s why it’s important to stay present and continue to listen to deep inner wisdom.

    Here are some ways you can cultivate your own rhythm.

    Slow Down.

    Slow down with everything. When you slow down you can hear your inner wisdom. I’ve also found that on those days when I have a lot of things to accomplish, slowing down helps me to get more done in a more relaxed way. You read correctly, slowing down gets more done.

    Look at your daily schedule.

    Are you doing some things the same way everyday for no reason? Is there another activity that you want to add to your schedule and you don’t know how to find extra time? Sometimes simple changes to the template or pattern of your day can open up or shift your schedule enough to find extra time. One thing I did was get up 15 minutes earlier and shower first thing. This opened up time for me to write everyday. Something I wanted to do more consistently; but didn’t until I shifted my schedule.

    Include Self-Care.

    Look at your self-care rituals. Do they reduce stress or make you feel more stressed? Eliminate anything that induces stress. Add new activities that inspire you. Find some time for self-care everyday.

    Move.

    This is a part of self-care for me and it deserves a separate mention. Movement changes everything. When I don’t want to move, I do the “I don’t want to move dance.” Letting my feelings and emotions have a voice, no matter what they are has been one of the most important factors in cultivating a rhythm that works for me right now.

    Eat Food that Nourishes You.

    There are a lot of ideas out there about what food we should eat. Find out what food nourishes and nurtures YOUR body. Yes, there are general guidelines about quality and nutrition, and no one way of eating works for every body. I know what my body needs, and I have often abandoned myself with excuses that sabotage me. This reminds me of a question I was asked recently, “What does being an Eating Psychology Coach have to do with grief?” My answer to this is another blog topic.

    Be Gentle with Yourself.

    What would you say to a friend who came to talk to you about a problem or concern? Treat yourself the way you would treat a beloved friend. Learning compassion for myself and my journey was the first step for me to learn to love myself as I am in each present moment.

  • My Book is Launched! (and lessons I learned along the way)

    My book launch party was last Sunday.

    I am now officially an author.

    You may think that my author status took effect when I held the first copy of my book in my hand, but it didn’t. For me it happened Sunday when I stood in front of family, friends, and interested people and shared a little bit of my story about how I moved from a mother devastated by her daughter’s death, and not sure how she was going to get from one moment to the next, to the person they saw before them; a woman standing in the fullness of my being sharing my story of grief and loss, and how I learned to thrive again after that loss.

    It was truly a pivotal moment.

    Dan has often said that I am a threshold crosser. Never before have I crossed such an important threshold. I have been preparing for this day for a long time. Yet, having a book published and cultivating the capacity to bring the work that my book represents into the world are two different things.

    One of the things I shared on Sunday is that there was a point in my grief journey, many years in, that I felt comfortable with my life. I had a job that provided value; I wasn’t crying everyday, or even every week. My life had meaning and purpose, and every so often even a moment of joy. I thought that I had weathered the worst of my grief journey. I still missed Leah, of course, and there would still be difficult times, especially around holidays and milestones, but I knew how to navigate those times and I would be able to continue to live my life in this comfortable place.

    I should have remembered what happens when I get too comfortable.

    It was about that time I heard, “Someday you will help others navigate their grief journeys” and “It is time to write your book.”

    The process of writing my book took me to places I didn’t know I had to go to be able to bring this work into the world.

    First of all it took me on yet another turn of my grief spiral. I went back through Leah’s accident, her stay in the hospital, her funeral, and the early raw devastating days after her death. This happened multiple times. Each time I rewrote or edited my story I was back in those days, reliving my feelings. The gift in this process was that I was at a different place when I wrote the book than I was some 14 or 15 years ago. I received new insights, and when I connected with those early feelings, I was able to assist my clients in a different way, remembering where some of them are as they begin to work with me.

    I also had to look at places in myself that I had never looked at; places that I didn’t particularly like, places that I felt were unlovable.

    I needed to deconstruct the parts of my life that no longer served me, again. I needed to take a stand for myself like I had never done before so I had the capacity: body, mind, and soul, to hold this precious work in my heart and bring it into the world. Every aspect of my life changed. I stepped out of my comfort zone again and again as I did the inner work necessary to love myself completely right where I was, as I was, and continues doing that so I love myself right where I am now, as I am now. I learned what it meant to take care of myself in a deeper way. I learned how to listen deeply to my own inner wisdom, and to take inspired action. I learned to do this on my own timetable, not anyone else’s. I learned to trust myself implicitly. I learned presence in a more profound way.

    Some of you may remember that shortly after Leah died I heard;

    “Losing her is too high a price to pay to not live the life I was meant to live.”

    Traveling the journey of my grief started the process of excavating that life. Writing my book has taken it so much further. I can now say I have crossed the threshold and live the fullest expression of who I am in this moment. I have no doubt that, as I remain devoted to my path that the expression of who I am will continue to evolve.

  • New Year Reflections

    It’s that time of the year again.

    Time to reflect on the year that went before, and make intentions for the year spread out in front of us. For most of my life as the year waned, I would look back on the past year and berate myself for all the ways I perceived failure in my life and how the new year offered me a clean slate to finally get it right. I would resolve to eat less, exercise more, be the best mother I could be to my children, find my potential and finally live up to it, and on and on. Sound familiar?

    A few years ago I was done with the new years resolution treadmill.

    It felt like it set me up for failure rather than provide a roadmap for new goals that would become a part of my daily life that led to a better me. That year I began making a list of celebrations from the past year and making a list of what I wanted to accomplish as I went forward.

    Sometime during this past year I refined my process further. This year I published my book. Along the way this process provided challenges and achievements to celebrate every step of the way. It provided me with course corrections that couldn’t wait for another year to pass, it took me deeper into the practice of presence and discerning for myself what would support me as I took on what seemed like a gargantuan task at the beginning of the year. One of my goals at the end of last year was to publish my book, and if truth be told, I made that intention without really believing in my ability to do so. After I made that goal I heard a little voice inside say, “Other people are authors, you’re not an author.”

    A part of my process this year was unraveling that story and meeting all of the doubts and fears that were hiding in the cracks and crevices as the story disintegrated.

    I went on another turn of my grief spiral as I revisited the events of Leah’s death and how I was feeling in the early years of missing her. My life went through another round of deconstruction during this process. As stories that no longer served me fell away, I had to learn how to cultivate a structure to my life and my body that was strong enough and flexible enough to hold this new work that was longing to be born. This was a part of the process that surprised me, and it was a part that I eventually welcomed because it allowed me access to parts of myself that were long hidden.

    Another experience this year also assisted with my new emergence. Dan and I celebrated our 40th anniversary with a trip to France; 3 days in Paris and a 10-day river cruise on the Saone and Rhone Rivers.

    After returning from our French vacation, and we both brought with us a nasty bug that had us in bed for a week. It was the worst cold I have had in a long time. There was nothing I could do but surrender to my body and let her have the time she needed to heal and integrate whatever was going on. I realized that my grief journey has completely changed the way I meet my life, including how I experienced this particular cold. While I did want to feel better, I didn’t push it. I relaxed as much as I could into my body, without trying to make things different. I had an experience on my trip that also illustrates how my grief journey has informed the rest of my life.

    While we were in Paris, we did a bus tour of the city, which took us to Notre Dame Cathedral. I’d been looking forward to seeing Notre Dame ever since Art History Class in college. As I crossed the square approaching Notre Dame, my eyes started filling with tears. I felt all of the history and splendor of the cathedral, the flying buttresses, the rose window, the arches, all of it just as described in those art history classes over 30 years ago, I was in awe. As I entered the nave the tears continued to well. I looked over at Dan and his eyes were filling too. I stood there for a moment and let myself fully experience standing in Notre Dame.

    Every cell of my body was having the experience. I really have no words for what happened.

    When we returned to our hotel I reflected on my experience at Notre Dame. I realized that the lessons I learned as I traveled my grief journey had served me well in every area of my life, not just my grief journey. I learned to feel all of my feelings whenever they arose, even when I was standing in front of Notre Dame Cathedral.

    In that moment I had a flash of a conversation I had with someone about what is on my bucket list. At the time of the conversation I couldn’t come up with anything on my list and both my friend and I wondered why that was. After my experience at Notre Dame, I knew why I couldn’t come up with a list of things to check off before I die. I knew that I want to fully experience everything I see and everywhere I go as I continue to live my life. Everywhere I am called to visit can evoke feelings and experiences connecting me to people and places that provide deep life experiences. Certainly Paris, the Eiffel Tower, and Notre Dame were amazing places to visit and I reveled in the experience.

    What is the connection between this experience and the experience of bringing my book to into world?

    Both experiences took me out of my comfort zone.

    They both opened my eyes to more possibilities and also forced me to look at dismantling old patterns that no longer worked for me. In the process of that dismantling I had to go deep inside and listen to my own wisdom; listen to what worked for me and not listen to society’s or other expert’s advice or validation.

    I was reminded in a profound way that being present in each moment, feeling my feelings fully, and being open to those possibilities can happen anywhere and everywhere. I was reminded that when I live my life with an open heart I will be led to experiences that will fill my life with what I need at exactly the right time.

  • How Grief Changes Holidays

    While visiting our son this month, I had another moment when the gift of being present revealed itself. In our work, the subject of death and dying is common. When we think of our own demise, it always seems like a lifetime removed from our daily concerns. I had one of those moments of clarity that put life into perspective for me.

    As summer turned to fall and fall to winter, I found myself reflecting on coming into the winter of my years. The average age of death for a US citizen is about 80 years old so, for me, the math is simple. 80 years divided by 4 seasons is roughly 20 years per season. With my 62nd birthday just past, I am coming into the last season of my life. While I recoil from the bindings of age upon my body, my mind has to accept that I can’t change time. The number of years, slowly and inexorably, releases those granular events we call memory.

    I am still making memories even as I take pleasure in the remembrances of long ago. For example, Nancy and I find joy in growing a garden and canning preserves. We spent most of a weekend creating and processing salsa verde. This, along with all the experiences I have collected through my life, help shape the person I have become. The big and the small events of life are the building blocks that form our personalities. It is slogging through a tedious work week and enjoying weekends, vacations, and times spent with friends. It is every time we have laughed, cried, became infuriated, or felt depressed. It is our responses to the occasions of winning and losing, getting a gift, losing a job, making a baby smile, or learning something new. It is these day-to-day experiences, as well as the big events like births and deaths that, if we are lucky, we realize make us who we are.

    For me, recognizing these moments and being open to the experiences that life provides helps me during the holidays. Not all life experiences are positive, but each experience is meant for you. Grief is like that and when it shows up during the holidays consider these thoughts:

    Grieving is natural and normal.

    You are in a real situation and experiencing a real human process. You are trying to figure out what steps to take next.

    Rushing yourself is not helpful.

    Take your time. Feel what you feel on your own timeline.

    Other people may minimize your experience because they perceive it as an insignificant loss or not a loss at all. Be aware of this in others.

    Recognize phrases that are inherently shaming your grief.

    Phrases such as: ”Negative thoughts are bad” or “Change your thoughts, change your life” are oversimplifications of complex philosophical ideas. These phrases often come off as oppressive.

    Recognize that grief felt at a holiday may feel familiar because it has echoes of other older griefs that we may have experienced. Old grief can be triggered through the physical experiences of new grief situations.

    Remember there is a diversity of meaning and experience in each person’s grief.

    Those who are grieving are not necessarily grieving the same way as their family or their friends. Do not assume you know what someone is feeling. Exercise curiosity.

    If you are feeling grief, don’t forget to tend to your feelings and care for yourself.

    When you can’t control what is happening, challenge yourself to control the way you respond to what is happening. That is where your power lies.

    Dan