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Category: Thriving after Loss

  • What Inspires Me?

    What Inspires Me?

    When I saw this question as a prompt my first thought was,

    “No one will be interested in that.”

    Then I realized that quite often, my first thought is an attempt to avoid a place that feels too vulnerable.  I wondered why I felt vulnerable writing about what inspires me.

    My biggest inspiration is my family, especially Dan, my husband, Peter, my son, Leah, my daughter, and Arya, my granddaughter. Arya is the newest member of that list at little over 1 year old, and I wanted to go right to her because she is such a delight. I love watching her discover things about her world. I love her unabashed trust in all of us who love her.

    I want to recapture some of her pure delight for myself.

    I would not be able to appreciate her the way I do without the inspiration of Dan, Peter, and Leah, so before I continue my reflections of Arya, I will start with them.

    Dan inspired me from the day I met him. He was the first person who really saw me for who I was, even though it would be many years before I saw myself that way. He was instrumental in helping me to meet that person and grow to appreciate her, and then to love her. He always gave me unconditional love at a time when it was not apparent in my life. He helped me learn to trust myself, and relax into the person I am meant to be. He opened up the door of possibilities before I even knew that there was a door.

    As my firstborn child, Peter inspired me to be a better person, and a better mother than I ever thought possible. The sight of this tiny human that blessed our lives over 40 years ago made me appreciate child-like joy through play and discovery.

    He inspired me to find play again in my own life.

    Leah inspired me to take a stand for myself when I sought a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean) birth. Peter’s birth was a C-section due to complications from a car accident. I wanted a different birth experience with Leah. We educated ourselves about VBAC, and were successful.  Leah also inspired me by the way she lived her life. (Although I didn’t see it at the time!) She was intense from day one, and always fought for what she wanted.  I later thought that maybe this was because she would be here for such a short time.

    She also inspires me to live the life I was meant to live, in order to honor her life since she’s been gone.

    My family inspired me throughout my life to follow my own path, and to do my inner work, so that I could provide an environment for them to do the same.

    Back to Arya.  I know in my heart that if I had not done my own work, the work involved in creating a family that thrives, and the work from my grief journey that I would not have been able to be fully present to the wonder of my granddaughter. I do not have layers of protection around my heart from suppressing my feelings during my life. I learned how to feel all of my feelings, so my heart is open, and from that place I can appreciate my granddaughter with a completely open heart.

    The humans that I love the most inspired me to live my best life, to meet the difficulties of my life with grace, to be vulnerable. So there you have it. We don’t like to be vulnerable, and yet that’s what makes us open to love and a worthwhile life.

    I am inspired to be vulnerable.  I’ll take it!

  • Full Spectrum of Feelings

    Full Spectrum of Feelings

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    I’m often asked how I can be joyful and live the life I am living when I’m doing it without my daughter’s presence in my life.

    I’m asked if I have gotten over her death, or if I’ve healed and accepted her death.

    I will never get over Leah’s death. I’ve had a 20-year inquiry into what healing form her death looks like, and I have a problem wrapping my head around what accepting her death means.

    I’ve accepted that she is not here, and that in order to live the life I was meant to live that I had/have to find a way to honor her, and to be the best me that I can be. That has not been an easy road, and it has meant that I needed to learn how to feel my excruciating feelings of grief.

    In the early days of my grief journey I used diversion and distraction to keep from feeling my feelings of grief. I thought that if I ate enough chocolate chip cookies, I wouldn’t have to feel the pain of losing my daughter. I thought that those feelings would eventually go away if I pushed them away long enough.

    What I found out is that they got louder to get my attention.

    The intensity of my feelings made them overwhelming.

    I learned that feeling them was the way through, and when I allowed them to be met they quieted down. There are many ways to feel our feelings. My own practice of present moment awareness, Samyama, is what helped me learn to get better at feeling my raw feelings. I could bring one feeling at a time, to my heart, and my heart shifted the feeling. Our hearts are alchemical vessels that can hold whatever we bring to them. As I began to have a greater capacity to feel my painful feelings, I found out that I could also feel joy and happiness to a greater degree. I learned that I can feel joy and pain at the same time.

    I like to thing of feelings as clouds.

    There are different kinds of clouds, and they always move through. Even dark storm clouds move through. Our feelings are the same. They are not good or bad, they are energy that need to be met and felt, and then they move through too.

    When they come back, it doesn’t mean we are regressing. When we are present to our feelings, we realize that the feeling may seem similar to feelings we have had before, yet in this moment it is slightly different. Just like no two clouds are alike.

    My grief journey taught me that when we feel the full spectrum of our feelings, we can live a fuller life. When I fully participate in all aspects of my life, does that mean I have healed from the death of my daughter? That is a question that I continue to sit with. Healing doesn’t look like what I thought it would when I considered it early on. That may be a topic for further discussion.  What I know now is that when I can bring all of my feelings into my heart, my heart can hold them, and my head doesn’t have to try to figure out what to do with them.

    That right there is a step in the right direction for me.

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  • Is Self-Care Necessary?

    Is Self-Care Necessary?

    Self-care is a hot topic these days.

    Taking care of ourselves is important. One of the things I’ve discovered is that self-care is necessary for us to step fully into who we are meant to be in this world. This was an important lesson for me as I excavated the life I was meant to live over the course of my grief journey.

    I’ve had many conversations about self-care, and so many of us, myself included, think, (or used to think) that caring for ourselves is selfish, and we must take care of others to show selflessness. Yet, if we don’t take care of ourselves, we don’t have the energy to be there for others.

    That led me to do take a deeper look at self-care, how it impacts us, and how it changes as we evolve.

    Our needs may sound similar of we compare early grief and preparation for a marathon; however the specifics of each one looks very different.

    Self-care always calls for attention to what we need at the time, such as, the need for rest and sleep, the need for good food to nourish our bodies, and movement.

    When we are preparing for a marathon, our food and movement needs are much different than what we need in early grief.

    Movement in early grief helps to move our feelings through and may be gentle in nature rather than the regimented schedule required for marathon preparation.

    We may not be hungry, as we emerge from grief, yet nutritious food helps us to regain the capacity to feel our feelings. Food helps to support our bodies as we prepare for our marathon.

    In early grief sleep may be elusive, or we may sleep more than we did before, or a combination of each. Consistent sleep is important as we prepare out bodies to run a long distance.

    As you can see, self-care shifts according to where we are in our lives, and what is going on. I’ve touched on only a few of the activities we can do to take good care of ourselves. There are many more, and each person’s needs are different.

    Take some time to listen deeply to what you need emotionally, spiritually, physically, and intellectually.  Make a list of your needs in each category, and revisit it from time to time. You may discover your non-negotiable self-care rituals through this process.

    Those are the things that are a necessity for you to be the best you possible.

     

     

  • 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.

     

  • Emerging From Covid

    Emerging From Covid

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    I’ve been having a lot of conversations lately about how we are feeling as we emerge from the absurdity of the last year. The way we showed up in the world changed in an instant. The way we did business shifted, maybe forever. The way we socialized was distanced. From the first time I heard the term social distancing, I thought, no, that’s not what we need. We need physical distancing with social connections.

    As I think back to the early days of last year, when we first knew that our lives would be changing, yet we didn’t know how they would be changing, I was reminded of my early days of grief. And I realized that we were going to experience grief in ways we never had before.

    In my conversations about this past year, (and beyond) I’m hearing about so much grief.

    Grief about what we lost.

    Grief about the changes we experienced.

    Grief about the unknown.

    Our losses are so much more than the obvious.

    Some of us lost loved ones,

    And our losses extend into many layers of our lives.

    The way we work, the way we connect with friends and family, the way our children attend school, and so much more.

    Maybe some of the things we lost are better off gone from our lives, maybe they made space for more important endeavors.

    I think it’s important to consider what we have gained. So many questions arise as I consider these for myself.

    How have your relationships with your immediate family changed? What is different from the way it was before? What opportunities for creating a life you want to live presented themselves during this past year?

    A new understanding of what is important.

    The urgency to take a stand for those things, or make changes that align with your values.

    A greater understanding of who we are and how we want to live our lives going forward.

    We hear a lot about the “new normal”, what does that mean for you?

    Whenever you experience a major life-changing event, there is an opening to create a new life, to change the way you show up, and respond.  Where is your life calling you?

    Take some time to consider how this past year impacted you and what changes are right for you.

    And take time to grieve for your losses, honoring your feelings and making way for what is emerging.

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  • How Did I Get Here?

    How Did I Get Here?

    It occurred to me that if you are a recent reader of my blog, you might not know how I got to a place where I’m able to be vulnerable about my grief journey.

    Let me take a few minutes to bring you up to date.

    All my life I’ve been a seeker. Even as a child, I always sensed my inner light, even though I was sure I was wrong. A lot of things in my early life led me to believe that I had no value.  Neighborhood kids bullied me, I was sexually abused starting at age 8, and I had a severe stutter, which affected most of my early life. Still, I had glimmers of what came through to me as my true essence. I always thought that was hogwash.

    I did a lot of work to move beyond the abuse of my childhood. By the time I had my own children, I was in touch with a semblance that inner light most of the time, yet I was still a work in progress.

    In November of 2000, my 17-year old daughter Leah died from injuries she sustained in a car accident on her way to school; she was a senior. She hit a tree, the only one in the middle of a cornfield, and had severe brain injuries. After 5 days in the hospital we had to make the impossible decision to remove her from life support. I thought my life was over.

    And it was, my life as I knew it would never be the same again.

    Shortly after she died, I received two messages. They were similar to the message I received as a child about my inner light.

    Losing Leah is too high a price to pay to not live the life you were meant to live.

    Everything you have done up until this point has prepared you for what is coming next.

    I had no idea how I was going to make sense of either of those messages at the time; however, I knew that in order to honor my daughter, I would have to try to excavate the life I was meant to live. I turned to a practice that was already a part of my life at the time, a direct experience practice of present moment awareness called Samyama.

    Samyama helped me to be with the pain of my daughter’s death, without all of the stories that went with it.

    I also already had a trusted Samyama practitioner. In those days I didn’t want to talk about Leah’s death to anyone who didn’t know me well. I was self-isolating, and staying in my pain.  It’s what most of us do in early grief.

    I found Samyama to be a powerful resource to unravel the stories that held me in a place of suffering after Leah died.

    I found that my heart could hold the pain, and teach me how to be with my feelings, which eventually began to shift them.

    I discovered that my heart is an alchemical vessel that can hold anything, no matter how big or painful or uncomfortable.

    I learned how to get better at feeling my feelings.

    Every time I was able to bring my feelings to my heart without the stories, I would receive blessings and grace, every single time. I was beginning to experience the alchemy of grief.

    The alchemy of my grief journey allowed me to go deeper into those old childhood wounds, and heal them more fully. My daughter’s death provided me with the initiation necessary to fully excavate that light that was only a glimmer earlier in my life.

    I found my voice through my grief journey and I learned how to take a stand for myself. I learned that when I speak from my heart I do not stutter. I learned that I can feel joy and pain at the same time; they are not mutually exclusive.  I became an author and a speaker. I uncovered that light that has always burned in my soul.

    I am living the life I was meant to live.

    Living the life I was meant to live means that I continue to be present to where life is calling me in each moment. That is the biggest lesson of my grief journey, and how I continue to honor my daughter.

     

     

  • Through the Gate

    Through the Gate

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    I took this picture on a recent walk.

    I’ve always been fascinated by wrought iron gates.

    Gates are a common image in guided meditations, in dreams, on a walk.

    For me, they represent entrances into a mysterious place, my inner realm.

    Gates have appeared at many important times of my life.

    There was a gate into the yard of office of my Samyama practitioner when I was processing early grief. (And it matched a gate I’ve often seen in a dream)

    I used to love swinging on the gate to my yard as a child. I can still remember the feeling of freedom that I felt as I was doing it.

    This gate is locked, AND it is not attached to anything on either side.

    We easily walked around it.

    Gates can represent entrance into something wonderful, or they can block passage to a place that is forbidden, (at least in some stories or dreams) or a place that we don’t want to enter.

    Maybe, if we look closer, the gates that we think are keeping us safe, that we don’t want to enter aren’t attached either. Maybe upon closer examination, there is a way around.

    Grief can feel like this sometimes.

    It feels like a locked gate, and we avoid it at all costs because we don’t want to go to a place that is unfamiliar. Grief can feel like uncharted territory.

    What if we find that when we go through the gate, we are greeted by a guide who will show us how to meet our grief with grace? That’s what happened for me when I when through that gate early in my grief journey.

    What will you find when you go through the gated you come across in your journey?

    You need only to be willing to enter.

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  • Reclaiming My Voice Through My Grief Journey

    Reclaiming My Voice Through My Grief Journey

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    One of the biggest changes I’ve experienced as I traveled along my grief journey is speaking up; I’ve reclaimed my voice.

    As I prepared to bring my book into the world I needed to cultivate the capacity to tell my story in the way I was being called to tell it.

    This was very daunting for me. I grew up with a severe stutter. I avoided speaking (not just speaking to an audience) at all costs. I felt shame, and was sure something was deeply wrong with me. Yet, by this time, I recognized my inner guidance. I knew what it felt like in my body, and I was being called to tell my story.

    I prepared for this calling in several ways.

    I worked with an Embodied Movement coach to cultivate the space in my body to hold my story. I found that even after all the inner work I had done through my life, my body was still holding on to remnants of old stuff that needed to be released. I was able to free up space in my body so that I could embody my story. This work was so powerful that when my coach offered her work to other professionals to learn how to incorporate it into their own work with clients, I took it, and now am able to use Embodied Movement Practices with my own clients to help them to move old feelings through, and make space for where life is calling them now.

    I joined Toastmasters, Video Mojo Toastmasters, specifically. Here I was able to not only learn how to speak in from of an audience, I learned how to create good quality videos, as well as how to create a You Tube Channel.

    I also worked with a voice and messaging coach. She helped me to speak with emotion in my voice without breaking down. Up until that time, I could tell my story, yet there was no emotion in my voice or face. It was one of the ways I protected myself from completely losing my composure. Learning how to tell my story with emotion, with vulnerability helps me to connect with my audiences.

    One of the myths of grief is that time heals all wounds.

    It’s a myth because it’s not just the time that heals; it’s what you do with that time.  Similarly, finding my voice, there were things I needed to do to use it effectively.  I learned how to embody my story, so I could tell it with vulnerability, confidence, and grace.

    Finding my voice not only assisted my to tell my story, it also helps me in my everyday life. I now speak up when I am compelled to speak. I’ve discovered that when I speak from my heart, I do not stutter.

    I’ve dismantled the shame.

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  • 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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  • Back to Basics

    Back to Basics

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    Sometimes it’s good to go back to the basics.

    I’ve been talking about grief for a long time.  I sometimes forget that not everyone is as comfortable talking about it as I am.  Let’s talk for a moment about what grief is.

    Grief is the normal response to any loss. We experience a lot of loss during our lifetime, and we don’t always recognize it as grief.

    I used to think that I experienced grief for the first time when a loved one died.  I faced the loss of my grandparents, and my mother before Leah died.  Even though I did, it did not prepare me for the death of my daughter.

    As I traveled the course of my grief journey after my daughter died, I came to realize that grief is a lifelong journey. We are challenged with many life transitions and losses of differing degrees, over the course of our lives.  We aren’t taught how to handle the feelings that arise when these losses occur.

    Here are a few of my own encounters with grief.

    In school I was always picked last for team games, and I didn’t make the cheer leading squad. Parents or teachers may down play what they consider a minor disappointment. To me these things did not feel minor. Maybe you’ve had a similar experience.

    I was sexually abused, beginning at age 8, and I felt like I was worthless for a long time after that.

    Dan and I were in a car accident while I was pregnant with Peter, and it resulted in a C-section.  We lost the ability to have the kind of birth we wanted, and Dan was not present at his son’s birth.

    While I may not have recognized that grief entered into my life at these times; they had a huge impact nonetheless.  What impact does unrecognized grief have on your life? How can you fully know the answer to that question?

    Looking back from my current vantage point I can see that all of these experiences helped to shape me, and I was able to go back and grieve for these losses once I had the skills and resources available to me, most of which I cultivated after Leah died.

    What if I would have had some of these skills available when these events occurred during my life?

    What if I had known that it was ok to feel sad about not becoming a cheerleader, instead of lying about going to tryouts so I didn’t have to face my disappointment in front of my family?

    What if you were taught how to meet your “minor” disappointments when they happened? We’re often taught to get over it, or move on to the next thing before we fully honor what has gone before.  I would have been so much better prepared for the death of a loved one if I knew that my sad and painful feelings were ok to have, and if I was taught the skills to feel them without the intense overwhelm that often accompanies these feelings.

    We think, I thought, that if I pushed them away, or used some kind of diversion, they will eventually go away and I wouldn’t have to feel them.  (Have you ever felt that way?)

    For me, the opposite was true. The more I pushed them away, the more intense they became.  I knew I would have to find a way to allow myself to feel the feelings or I would not be able to honor Leah in the way I was being called to honor her.

    I learned how to meet my feelings, one at a time, in my heart so that they could shift, so that I could eventually know that it was possible to reclaim myself again; so that I was able to live a meaningful and purposeful life. So that I was able to feel joy again,

    And that is how I honor Leah.  I help others to find meaning and purpose in their lives again.

    Moving through grief, healing your heart does not mean that you will forget your loved one.

    Love won’t let that happen.

    I feel more connected to Leah now than I ever did, and I feel her presence often.

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