My Site

Category: Thriving after Loss

  • 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.