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Category: Milestone Days

  • Holding On to Who You Are – Chapter 3

    Holding On to Who You Are – Chapter 3

    As I reread this chapter, I immediately saw the roots of my intuition playing out in my life.

    I saw the tentative way that I mothered my children, and the fledgling awareness of my inner voice making itself known to me as I faced the so many losses.

    My inner knowing was strong, yet it wasn’t quite ready to lead.

    I was sad about that at first because it feels like I’ve wasted so much time not being myself. As I sit with those feelings, I realize that all the experience, all the paths with their twists and turns and all the messiness of my life, were, and are, a part of the journey to love all the parts of myself, even the parts that aren’t always so easy to love.

    This chapter brought me to tears as I read about my resolve to be the best mother I could be, even though I felt like I was failing. I was the best mother I could be at that time. By staying true to that calling, being the best mother I could be, has led me to be the best person I can be, and to continue to excavate the parts of myself that need more love.

    The person that I was holding on to as I traveled those early days of grief, the essence of who I am, was always present. Some days it was easier to feel her presence and other days it felt like I had been abandoned.

    Leah now has a stronger place in my life. She is always present as a sacred witness to my continued unfolding. These days the unfolding has a different quality to it. My life has an ease and flow to it like it never has before. I used to struggle to be myself, now I allow myself to unfold. The struggle would always lead to self-doubt and self-recrimination. The harder I tried to beat that struggle, the tighter hold it would have on my life.

    It wasn’t until I learned, through my grief journey, the necessity of letting go.

    I learned to let go of the need to control every aspect of my life. I’ve learned to allow what is here to be here, and that by doing that, I give it voice, and expression.

    Rereading my book is giving me gifts that I would not have noticed if I had not returned to these pages to shed a light on the totality and value of my grief journey thus far. The fullness of those gifts is yet to be revealed. I can feel them beginning to coalesce.

    I’m once again humbled and grateful for this journey I am on.

     

  • Chapter 2 ~ Early Grief

    Chapter 2 ~ Early Grief

    I find the juxtaposition of early grief and 21-year grief startling.

    As I went through this latest date marking Leah’s death, it felt more difficult than other years.  Maybe it always does, and I forget that it does. The date of the death shines a glaring light on the event that changed the course of my life.

    Revisiting the time of early grief in this chapter shows me the passage of time in an almost surreal way.  This chapter plunges me into the unknown territory of life without Leah’s physical presence. My feelings were raw and unformed back then. I was reminded of the terror I felt as I faced what was to come, not feeling like I had anywhere near the skills or capacity to do so.

    How does one continue to live after the death of a child?

    All those thoughts were coursing through my body at that time, sending me deeper into my own shell, isolating me from my deepest fear.

    This year as I sat with my feelings, I noticed them circling around me, waiting for their turn. It’s almost like they trust me now, so they can wait quietly until I am ready for them. I invited them in, one at a time, feeling them deeper than I have allowed myself before now. It feels to me that as I continue this journey, that is what happens, each year I am able to go deeper into my feelings, and when I do, they shift a little more, and show me their wisdom.

    It’s always a relief when that day is over, it’s intensity, even now is not somewhere I want to live every day.

    I do take with me the blessings and grace that always show up when I am with my feelings as they arise in each moment.The blessings and grace that allow me to continue this path, to walk with others on their grief journeys and teach them how to tend to their hearts after a loss so deep.

    I always emerge from this time with gratitude.

    Gratitude that I met my grief journey the way I did; by doing that I am able to live my life fully. And that means being able to feel the full spectrum of all my feelings, even when they are painful.

  • Family Vacations

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    Recently we took a family vacation with our son and his family. We went to northern MN, to the boundary waters. The lake we were at was at the Canadian border. As a matter of fact, the border was in the middle of the lake.

    Here are some photos of our trip. I think they speak for themselves.

    I also know for a fact that I would not have been able to enjoy it like I did if I had not met my grief the way that I did. (Reason 7, 468 for meeting grief when it arises in you life….:)

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  • Another Side of Grief

    Another Side of Grief

    It’s been 8 months since we’ve moved to St. Paul from Raleigh, NC.

    We moved here to be closer to my son and his family. Our granddaughter Ayra was born in July of 2020, and after we met her, we knew that we wanted to be a part of her everyday life.

    One of the things that I’ve been aware of since we’ve moved here is the grief of all of the time lost when we lived apart.

    I was surprised to come upon this as grief.

    The fact that I can still be surprised by grief tells me how complicated grief can be. Even though I am aware of grief in my life, I can still be taken aback by the more subtle nuances of grief.

    My son had lived an airplane ride away form us for over 13 years.  We saw each other 2-3 times a year during that time, and we all longed for more time together.

    There was a time when I didn’t see a solution to wanting to be more of a part of my son’s life.

    Because I didn’t see a solution, I also didn’t see the possibilities.

    Because I didn’t see the possibilities, I was not open to any of the ways we could be a part of each other’s lives on a more regular basis.

    Once I began to get curious about how we could spend more time together, possibilities began presenting themselves. One of the first was to build a tiny home in his back yard, and spend summers in Minneapolis, and winters in Raleigh. Our plans to do just that were well underway when we learned of our granddaughter’s impending arrival.

    Because I had already opened the door of possibilities, when we were called very strongly to move here permanently, we walked through that door with ease.

    My grief came from not engaging the field of possibilities sooner.

    Thinking that I have wasted time that could have been better spent. I’ve found that is a common theme when we are looking at life decisions from the lens of grief, or disappointment.

    What I’ve learned through my own journey is that we are not ready until we are ready. When we are ready, we find what we are ready for, our teacher appears. Lamenting what we haven’t done, what we didn’t say yes to earlier can keep us stuck.

    Learning how to live with presences helps us to embrace what is here now, where life is calling us in each moment. It doesn’t mean that we will never feel difficult feelings again, or that grief stays up on that shelf where we put it, hoping it will stay our of site.

    Rather it means that we have the resources to meet our feelings, all of them, when they show up.

    As I met these most recent feelings of grief, I realized that up until now, I was not ready to make the move that I made. I am aware of all the reasons that this is true. I became aware of them in a moment of knowing as I sat in my daily Samyama practice. I was able to hold those feelings of grief in my heart, and allow my heart to transmute them. I also know that I don’t know ALL of the details of this move, and that is ok. I trust that as I continue to be devoted to the present moment, I will know what I need to know at exactly the right time.

    When you are ready to get curious about your own grief journey, I am here.

     

  • The Rhythm of Time

    The Rhythm of Time

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    One of the things that I often talk about is recognizing the impact that the rhythm of time has had on my grief journey.

    All throughout my life, I’ve always been fascinated by how time can feel different, depending on what is going on.  Maybe that’s why I was so aware of the surreal quality time took on as I traveled my grief journey.

    In the very early days of my grief journey, I was aware a different rhythm to the weeks and weekends.  The weeks were spent trying to get back to normal, even though it was a new normal. The weekends had more space to feelings to arise, and I was so weary from trying to go back to a semblance of normal, that all I could do is sleep. And then Monday would come again, and I the pattern would repeat, over and over until I began to slowly do the work to change this particular rhythm.

    Another time that I noticed a different rhythm was around holidays and milestone days.

    Sometimes it was because a particular holiday held special memories for my family. Other times it is because a holiday changes the normal rhythm of our lives anyway.

    What do you notice as a holiday or milestone day approaches? Do you feel anxiety arising, and not know why?  It could be because of associative memories, or it could be the shift in the way time feels around these times.

    This year, I noticed a shift at Memorial Day because of memories of last year, as we were beginning to quarantine. What I’ve discovered is that each year brings different feelings depending on what has gone on the year before. That’s why it’s important to ask yourself each year as a holiday, or milestone day approaches, what you need this year. Each year may be different.

    When we give ourselves the space to be present to what we need now, we are able to find it.

    In the early days of my grief journey, often I found myself wishing a certain day would not come so I wouldn’t have extra time to feel those painful feelings, or I would use diversion or distraction to numb the feelings. I found that was not helpful. It did not make the feelings go away. It make them louder and more intense, and they eventually have to be felt anyway.

    When you are facing a difficult milestone, or holiday, take some time to ask yourself what you need this year, now, today. Not what worked last year or even last month.

    The more I sit in presence, the more I receive exactly what I need in each moment.

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  • Our Journey to St. Paul

    Our Journey to St. Paul

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    I took some time during the past week to do some deeper reflection on the past year and everything it brought up for me.

    There is no doubt that 2020 held many difficulties for all of us.  What I noticed for me is the disruption of pandemic affected me on a personal energetic level.  I felt remnants of things that I thought I was done with swirling around in my face.  Old childhood wounds, parts of myself that I didn’t like, voices of judgment.

    In the past I may have wanted to ignore, or get rid of the uncomfortable things.  This time I got curious, I had the time to get curious. For many years I had been “trying to slow down”  In 2020 I actually did it, our of necessity.  The message I continued to receive was that,

    “Now it the time to attend to everything that has been clamoring for your attention all your life.”

    That seemed like an insurmountable endeavor, and yet moment-by-moment I was able to meet everything that arose.  I gained a new perspective on presence.

    This moment here, and now this one.

    I’ve been dancing with presence and present moment awareness for a long time.  It is what I turned to early in my grief journey to help me navigate the rocky waters of grief. It is the foundation of my daily practice as well as my work with my clients.  How was it possible that I had more to learn about it?  And yet there was, there always is, because the present moment is always new.  There have been times that I have tried to figure out how it works in my head.  When that happens I struggle with the concept of what present moment is.  I tell myself if I can just figure it out logically, I’ll have a much better explanation of what it is and how it works.

    And while I am in that struggle, I am not being present.  Huh.

    This year we traveled from Raleigh, NC to Minneapolis, Minnesota in an RV to meet our granddaughter.  Upon returning we decided we were being called to move to Minnesota to be closer to her and to be a part of her life.  My initial thought there was that we would take about a year to do it slowly, there was a lot to do.  I talked to a friend who is a stager and a couple of realtors to get a better understanding of what we had to do.  It seemed even more overwhelming, and I was sure that waiting until spring of 2021 was the sane decision.  And then I got present.  I asked deep in my heart what was needed.  I’ve been doing this a long time, and I recognize my intuition when it arises from my heart and soul.  I received guidance to set up an appointment with the realtor we decided to work with. It was September 27, 2020.  We thoroughly talked about the steps needed to do to get ready for an open house.  She told me that she thought we could be ready for an open house on October 24th.

    My mind was waving its arms, (metaphorically!) saying things like, ”That’s less that a month away! “  “That’s impossible”  Your crazy if you think you can do all that in less then a month.”

    And then I heard myself say, Ok, let’s do it.

    My mind was incredulous.  I didn’t ignore them, I brought them into my heart, let them be heard. I found this helpful in helping those voices to calm down; they felt heard. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t doing what they told me to do.  They only wanted to be heard.

    On December 27, 2020 we were sitting in our new condo in St. Paul MN.  We moved in on December 11th.  I can honestly say that I am not carrying any remnants of overwhelm from the activities we did to get ready to move, of buying a new condo, and of physically moving here, taking 3 days to drive over 1600 miles to snow country in the winter.  My prayer of a snow and ice free move was a welcome gift.

    After we moved, we spent the first week unpacking boxes and getting organized full time. We got our new home to a place of livability. We still had lots of boxes to unpack and new homes to find for our belongings, but we also made time to continue to settle in, which for me meant listening to what I need in each moment.

    We explored our new neighborhood when the temperature was above 30.  We found the closest entry into the skyway so we can walk when the temperatures are in the single digits. We found our neighborhood co-op and became members.  We envisioned what our new life would look like, each of us writing about what we need daily, or weekly. We purchased new furniture to fit our new space and organize our books. And most importantly we saw Arya,(and Peter, Christine, & Marlowe)  a lot.

    We saw Peter and his family more in the last month than we did all last year.  We love all the possibilities that come with living close.

    About 2 years ago we began a conversation about building a tiny home in Peter’s backyard. At that time, we envisioned spending the summer months there, and at the same time spending more time with him.  We talked about what that might look like, both physically and emotionally. Dan began designing tiny homes, and we talked about what we wanted in a new home, choosing a final design.  We were in the process of looking at a few possibilities for the backyard project when Arya was born.

    And then we met her.

    After that, there was no question that we would move to Minnesota full time so we could know her, and be a part of all of their lives.  That meant a change in plans. For me, a tiny home was out of the question if we would be there in the winter.  We decided to revisit a dream we had early in our marriage. We found a condo in downtown St. Paul in a walk-able neighborhood. We are on the 32ndfloor, and have a beautiful view that includes the Mississippi River, as well as sunrises and sunsets. Our condo fits our style and our simplified life.

    We are adjusting to our new lifestyle. Dan retired, and is getting used to a new rhythm. I’m continuing to do my work; and listening to where I’m being called next. We’re both enjoying spending more of our days together, and exploring our new city.

    All of these changes were able to happen because we were present to our feelings throughout the process.

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  • 20 Years is a Long Time

    20 Years is a Long Time

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    We marked the 20-year anniversary of Leah’s death earlier this month.

    20 years.

    That fact is enough to stop me in my tracks.  20 years is a long time.

    That’s what I thought when I first began to mark 20-year milestones; 20 years since I graduated grade school and high school, my 20-year wedding anniversary, 20-years since my mom died, and my dad, and so many more. Those milestones now have many more years added to the time that has past.

    20 years since I last saw Leah’s precious face in person, and felt her hugs; that’s a lot for my head to grasp.

    The week leading up to this anniversary was intense. We were in negotiations with both the selling of our home in Raleigh, and the purchase of our new home in St. Paul, MN.  We’re packing and doing all the things necessary to ensure an organized move.

    Dan retired after a 41-year career.

    It was election week.

    Mercury was going direct.

    With all of these activities swirling around in my world, I turned to presence like never before. The only thing that kept me grounded was to breathe deeply, come into my heart, listen deeply to the guidance I always receive there, and act (or not act) from a place of Divine Wisdom. I was guided more often than not to just be. That seemed counter intuitive to me in light of everything clamoring to get done, and yet it was exactly the right guidance.

    Each time I tried to write about what was happening, nothing came. I chided myself for not following through on my commitment to share my experience of going through this time. And each time the message was clear, not now.

    On Sunday, November 8th, we had a Celebration of Lives to mark this anniversary, via Zoom. Leah requested a party this year; she let me know that she missed all us as much as we miss her. The celebration was exactly what we needed this year.
    Many of our family and friends joined to remember Leah, as well as their loved ones. I’ve been sitting with and basking in the energy of that gathering as I’ve been continuing to sort, and purge, and pack.  I’m aware that I am also grieving this move, and I’ve not wanted to give in to it because I want to get more done first. And that reminded me that “waiting until” is something I’ve done all my life, and it’s at the root of all perfectionism.  See if any of these statements ring true for you.

    If I wait until I am the perfect weight, then I can wear cool clothes, or …..(this has changed throughout the years depending on the circumstance)

    When I retire, then I’ll have time to dance or paint, or write poetry.

    When I get my life in order, then I’ll be able to be a better partner, or mother, or friend.

    When I have more time, then I’ll tend to my grief.

    When I first started to dismantle perfectionism in my own life, I had to take a long hard look at these statements.  Why couldn’t I wear cool clothes before I reached a perceived number on a scale that may or may not be realistic?
    Why can’t I dance, or make art, or write poetry now?
    And grief, what if I make time to be with my feelings of grief as they arise?  That is what I teach, and I’m beginning to allow myself to grieve my move. I’m not just leaving a home that we love. I am also saying goodbye to friends, and to professional relationships I have cultivated.  I’m saying goodbye to warmer weather, and to my identity here in Raleigh, among many other things.
    Even after all this time, my first reaction is to push the grief away to “get things done.”  What I know is that allowing my feelings in, and to let them be here until they move through will allow me to be more productive in the long run.
    Grief has taught me to slow down and to listen deeply. When I do that, I can get curious about my first reaction, and see what is underneath. Usually it’s what really needs attention, it’s what I’ve been avoiding with the excuse that I’m too busy to tend to that now.
    Presence is my practice, and it’s here that I connect with my heart.  My head may not be able to grasp 20 years, my heart doesn’t have to grasp it, it can hold all the feelings that arise now and as I continue to move through this time.

    Grieving is an active pursuit. Even allowing my feelings to be here as they are is an active choice.

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  • Finding Joy, Even in Grief

    Finding Joy, Even in Grief

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    Is it possible to find small moments of joy when we are grieving, or when we are living through a pandemic?

    Each year when I enter into the portal of Leah’s death, it always takes me back to November of 2000.
    I remember how I felt when the police came into my office to escort me to the hospital.
    I remember how I felt on the drive to the hospital, and when I found out what happened.
    I remember seeing her for the first time, and my uncontrollable shaking.
    I remember how I would grasp on to each gossamer thin thread of hope that she would return to us.
    I remember leaving the hospital for the last time.
    I remember every detail of that time. I think that is why I am reluctant to enter this time each year; I know I will be taken back to events that I wish were not a part of my memory.
    They don’t come in linear progression. They come in flashes throughout the days and weeks leading up to November 8th.
    This year they are tempered with a new understanding of my life and with a new relationship with Leah.
    Each year when I review these occurrences; I receive new insights. Each year I am able to unravel more and more of the pain and anguish that still lives somewhere in my body.

    This year I’ve been noticing the similarities of living in 2020 and my grief journey, and grief in general.

    I’ve noticed that the stages of grief, denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance, are some of the same feelings we’ve been feeling throughout the past 7 months.
    These stages aren’t linear; we don’t finish with one before we move on to the next one. (I used to think that was true before I traveled my own journey.)
    You may find yourself spiraling back around to these feelings time and time again. What I found for myself is that when I allow the feelings to be here and allow myself to feel them, they shift; they are not the same each time they come back around. That’s what I mean when I say that each year my experience of this time of the year is different.
    We can look at the grief we are feeling this year the same way. Look at all of the stages of grief, and at where and when you’ve experienced them this year.
    Back in March, we were in denial, surely this wasn’t serious, and it would blow over in a few weeks. And then the whole world closed up, and our lives completely changed in an instant in ways we could never imagine.
    That’s what happened to me when Leah died, that’s what happened to you when you experience a death, whether it is the death of a loved one, or another kind of loss, like the loss of a job, a relationship, a way of life, your identity, or the ability to have coffee with a friend.

    Think of how you cycled through these emotions since March, how you are still cycling through them.

    What have you learned about yourself?
    Where have you grown?
    What have you discovered no longer serves you?

    The difficult times of our lives provide doorways into some of our greatest transformations. Each time you experience one of these stages, and all of the emotions that come with them, how have you changed?

    What are you still holding on to?
    What do you wish was the same as it was before?
    These are all questions that I encountered as I traveled my grief journey. When we know that we are experiencing grief, we know that there are ways to meet it, and we can find a way to move through it in our own unique way. Everyone grieves in their own way, there is no one right way to grieve, and there is no one right way to process 2020.
    David Kessler, a renowned grief expert has just written a book called Finding Meaning, The 6th Stage of Grief. It is possible to find meaning, purpose, and even joy again after loss. Sometimes we find the breadcrumbs of meaning, and it’s enough to give us the faith to continue to cycle through our feelings yet again.
    It’s been almost 20 years since Leah died. This is the 20th time I have cycled through my own experiences. I still am brought to my knees at times. I will never get over the death of my daughter.
    I will continue to honor her and myself by saying yes to where life is calling me in each moment. Even in a pandemic we are being called. Even in a pandemic we can find meaning. Even as we grieve we can unearth the jewels that are the blessings and grace that give us the courage to continue.

    To find the blessings and grace that lead to Joy.

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  • My Grand Adventure

    My Grand Adventure

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    On July 24, 2020, I became a grandmother for the first time!

    I’ve known this was going to happen for a while, yet I wasn’t fully prepared for the flood of emotion that arrived upon the sight of my granddaughter’s face at 3 AM on a Saturday morning. It rocked my world like few other things have; the birth of my own children, come to mind.

    The death of my daughter rocked my world in a different way.

    In these first few days of my granddaughter’s life I remembered back to the early days of Peter and Leah’s life. And I can never think of Leah’s birth without thinking of her death. As always when I think of her, there is a mixture of sadness and joy. Right now my heart is so full of joy and love.

    On August 15th, we packed up our rented RV and set off to meet our granddaughter, Arya Soleil Loeffler for the first time. Because of the times in which we are living, we all came to the decision that this was a safe way to travel and minimize the risks that we have all been living with since March.

    We had an amazing trip!

    Camping in our RV for the first time, staying in friends and relative’s driveways when logistics allowed, and enjoying each other’s company on the long 3 day drives each way.  Even Kali, our cat came along, and eventually calmed down and found a place to chill.

    We returned from our adventure on Labor Day weekend.  I’m still integrating the blessings and grace of that visit. Holding Arya, and imprinting the feel of her in my arms so I can remember her now, spending more time with Peter and Christine, and getting to know our gift granddaughter, Marlowe better. We even got to celebrate Marlowe’s 8th birthday while we were there, and learned about mermaids and dragons from her.

    The biggest gift I received is the realization that if I had not met my grief the way I did when Leah died,  I would not have been able to meet my granddaughter with an open heart. I would have had too may layers of protection around it to allow the fullness of my joy to be felt.

    What a huge surprise that was!

    As I’ve  continued to integrate all that has happened in the last few weeks, stepping fully into my new role as a grandmother, and an elder, I’ve had several conversations about my realization that learning how to be with my painful and difficult feelings, especially on my grief journey have allowed me to fully experience the joy of my granddaughter.
    In one conversation, my friend reflected back to me what I told him, and gave me some additional insight. When I said yes to my grief journey, I had no idea what the impact 20 years down the road would be like. I didn’t do it for any implied payback. I did it to honor Leah and the message I received that losing her is too high a price to pay to not live the life I was meant to live.
    I didn’t know that almost 20 years later my granddaughter would benefit from a decision I made back then.
    I didn’t know that the life I was meant to live included welcoming a precious granddaughter into my heart.
    I responded with faith back then. Faith means we trust without seeing results, without even knowing that there will be results.

    So many new insights are available to us when we meet what is here in each moment. Each moment plants seeds for future moments.

    Our world is rocked alright!  We are looking long and hard at our future and making some decisions.  For now, I start each day gazing at Arya’s sweet face and feeling the love in my heart explode, and allowing the smile to return to my face.

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  • Holiday traditions –an unexpected rumination

    Holiday traditions –an unexpected rumination

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    Last week I invited friends and colleagues to share some of their new holiday traditions they started, after the death of family members. I’ve received many great re-imagined traditions as families search for new meaning celebrating the holidays without their loved ones present. My good friend Nancy Ruffner shared the following. When I read it, I knew that it was much more than a post on Facebook. I asked her if I could share it as a guest blog. She opens up an important conversation. I hope you find it as valuable as I do.

     

    I did not expect this. I guess it’s true, the question arrives when we are ready for the work before us.

     

    A friend of mine had queried me and others for new holiday traditions that came about as a result of change or loss. I sat down to write my response and this all fell out.  12/12/19

     

    I believe there is so much grief woven into the holidays (of the know-it-or-not, or like-it-or-not variety). When the parents who have served in the matriarchal-patriarchal roles are no longer with us it seems that children, adult children, are unprepared to assume the role or even enjoy a tradition. Many traditions are abandoned as the participants’ expectations can never again be fulfilled. 

     

    Many people are fixed on the tradition as never changing. Isn’t that what tradition is? Our expectations become affixed on the participants, or the arrival at, or achievement of emotions more than the activity performed to get there.  

     

    I’ve begun to examine and rethink my stance on tradition. Traditions can remain, with an expectation that the participants (or year, or site, or activity, or, or, or) may change.  It’s been my expectation that has been out of whack.

     

    As we are inside the activity of a tradition over the years we enjoy and value the participants.  Kids, for instance, learn from Mom and Dad to value and enjoy putting up a tree or some other joint venture that may involve shared activity, frolic, banter, cocoa, seasonal music, whatever. The peripherals are strong ancillaries. Later that bedecked tree represents a shared sense of accomplishment, a symbol of their work, together, resulting later in pleasure and honor (“the prettiest tree ever”), there for our gazing and reflection. There may be peace. The tradition then allows us to pause, conjure up memories from the past, even several pasts. Endorphins or dopamine (for you scientific types) are triggered and released. Powerful stuff.

     

    A misalignment may occur when we confuse the strong pulls for the tradition and we place it on the participants (or year, or, place, or, or, or). For example, when Mom and Dad, matriarch-patriarch are no longer with us many a family member will find themselves somehow off-kilter, debilitated, or in a “what’s the use” -state. The loss (of participant) overtakes the willingness, not the tradition. Misaligned or misplaced emotion is the cause for many, for a year, a few years, or even permanently. 

     

    Some cannot seem to adjust to the change. I hear this often around the holidays. We view TV shows or read of folks with thin a blue funk. They are stuck, or they are DONE. No more. I’ve surely felt it, and I also still feel compelled to fix this (once a caregiver always a…) in my family. I want to enable my family to feel joy, to arrive at “that place”, to have those good feelings and memories. See that? I want them to, I want that for them. I, I, I. Keep reading.

     

    Who then is denied tradition if we declare ourselves to be stuck, or DONE with tradition? One has to wonder about the effects of a Full Stop on the next generation.

     

    Compare it to sports, to college basketball, let’s say. There is tradition in college sports. People look forward to a season. Around the sport they participate in many ways: team, coach, spectator, producers, trainers, site personnel, media, refreshments vendors and so much more. There is honor involved in this tradition. That “part of” -feeling. Pride, maybe strength.  In basketball there are leaders who age out, players also. All journey through a season with their favorite teams, reveling in a winning season, supporting during a tough one. We do not, however, stop the basketball tradition when a star player moves on to the next level or graduates, or when a beloved coach retires. Rather, we continue to support and feed the tradition, turn our sights to the shared activity while still valuing its participants. We celebrate the basketball-activity over years, through time, and the fact that it is through time. We are glad for the season’s experience. We converse about great games and epic plays of last year or last week. It binds, and it creates kinship. 

     

    This tradition carries and celebrates the shared activity. It may not be a tree and a circle of loved ones, cocoa and reflection or peace. However there is certainly the banding together to play or watch the game, the emotional crescendo as delivered by a game or season. The participants-fans are together, not the same ones or configuration every year, and specifically for this tradition. 

     

    What then is the difference? Are we (ourselves) placing too much emphasis on the participants over the shared activity-tradition? Do we place too much on the “is” or the “was” or the “must”? Is our preservation of “was” taking on desperation and abandoning joy? Are we holding tradition hostage, and if we cannot achieve it (whatever “it” means to us) then no one else shall either?  

     

    Who then is denied a tradition? And who is doing the denying? We must ask ourselves those questions and this one: 

     

    What is our gauge, truly, and is it the right gauge?

     

    I see many families struggle during the holidays yet so many others carry on with their ever- merriment. It can be bittersweet to see groups of folks not skipping a beat on the activity, incorporating the changes in personnel if you will, and having a marvelous time. It is hard for the hurting to witness the joy which may then cause the hurting to further retreat. It is hard to stand in a vacuum and know that the joy is swirling all around us, sheesh! A few will find themselves in a web that is difficult to climb out of. What will again make them willing? What will draw on a mustard seed of good times passed, or allow hope? 

     

    We as participants have an obligation to include, to invite, to tempt, cajole and even rally others into our season. Come and just be with. (It’s a No Judgment zone). Have some emotional cocoa. “Whatcha doing? Join us, won’t you?” Set the stage, open-minded and with an open heart.

     

    Those who are hurting have choice also. And choice is good, as there is enough stuff being shoved into our faces this time of year. The hurting may decide to participate as they wish, or can. Perhaps they could observe what or how someone else is tradition-ing, or has, accept a wee bit of emotional (cocoa) exchange. Perhaps they could simply be exposed to a brand new kind of activity, try something on for size and (heart) fit. The hurting can surely retain the ability to “draw or discard” (the idea or activity), but could only bear witness.  Watch, be there, and maybe even join in, if it feels comfortable. 

     

    I believe we have an obligation to others during this time of year simply to set the stage. We can be aware of those around us and afford them the right to their feelings and experiences.

     

    We also have an obligation to ourselves to be willing, and open-minded. Set the table and issue a a kind invitation.

     

    Tradition or no longer, my wish for all is the open-hearted part. 

     

    Nancy Ruffner 12/19/19

     

    Nancy Ruffner, BCPA is a Patient Advocate, Instructor, Public Speaker and owner of NAVIGATE NC LLC. She founded NAVIGATE NC, an advocacy and care management consultancy whose services help persons to navigate the medical, legal, insurance and housing challenges during change. Since 2013 the company has emerged as a fast-growing agency with a goal of becoming a market leader for patient advocacy services in the Southeast. She became a CampaignZERO Educator to furtherserve as the voice of patients and their loved ones. Nancy was among the first in the nation to earn the BCPA credential, Board Certified Patient Advocate. 

     

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