Watch this short TedX talk by Molly Carroll about the power of human connection.
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Grief Support Groups Serving West Los Angeles, Encino and Agoura Hills
Grief Support Groups Serving West Los Angeles, Encino and Agoura Hills
We all remember falling in love. We all remember those wonderful feelings we experienced when we fell in love. And if we experience love again, later in life, we become reacquainted with feeling alive and exuberant, like the teenagers we once were. But falling in love can also be shocking when it happens after the loss of a beloved spouse and no…
This trip to Italy was my first real test of myself: to see if I could still travel, without my husband Marvin, and still enjoy traveling on my own. Since Marvin died, I had traveled abroad to see family but not as a tourist, and this was going to be “it.”
Grief can best be described as an unpredictable weather condition. For anyone who’s visited the Caribbean, it’s like one of those storms that comes out of nowhere. Imagine lying out on the beach, letting the sun rays penetrate your melanin with a cocktail in one hand, eyes closed, and head tilted toward the sun. Then you open your eyes and see the storm clouds. Before you can collect your vacation read and beach bag, there’s a downpour. There’s no way to escape it, you’re in the storm. While you don’t know when it will end, it’s a common enough occurrence that you know it will pass. This scenario encapsulates my relationship with grief. I often don’t know when it’s coming. I’m suddenly hit with a wave of emotion – sometimes, it knocks me down, but I always get back up.
The silence of a falling star
Lights up a purple sky
And as I wonder where you are
I’m so lonesome I could cry.
— Hank Williams Sr.
You are probably not surprised by loneliness following the death of your loved one — your dearest one in the world. Missing the person, their nearness, habits, loving ways or even not-so-loving ways, how they look, feel, sound, the touch of their skin, the illusion of never-ending days together.
I miss you. You gave me my life. You were my protector, my teacher, my moral compass, my comfort. I feel so alone without you. No one worries about me the way you did. No one loves me the way you did.
Jill Smolowe, an author who has written about her own experience with grieving, reflected on what pain meant to her following the death of four of her loved ones in quick succession when she was in her thirties. In her article, The Value of Sitting With Your Pain, she says, “While grappling with that pile-on of losses, I discovered that something a therapist had told me years earlier was true: my pain would be more tolerable if I could ‘just sit with it.’ “
“Earth is perfectly placed in what astronomers call a star’s ‘Goldilocks zone’ where the sun isn’t too hot or too cold but just right. This advantageous distance has allowed life to flourish on Earth, with the sun bathing our planet in life-giving warmth…”
I recently wrote an article that dealt with insensitive remarks made by others. This time the camera of life will be a “selfie.” See if any of these remarks resonate with your own self-talk.
First come the common painful practice of “would of, could of, should of” comments that can really hurt. Here are a few examples:
If you are grieving for a spouse or anyone else you loved who has died, you have probably found yourself talking to them at times. Late at night, holding a pillow next to you, perhaps, or alone as you walk along a trail. More than likely, you have found this comforting, to simply talk to your loved one… ask questions… reminisce… or…