The award-winning song “You’ve Got A Friend in Me” is blaring as the drama group sings out with wild enthusiasm. Flying arms reach out to as many others as possible with fist bumps. The song ends with hugs, laughter — the joy of being together. These are the Born To Act Players, a non-profit group of young adults with challenges — Down syndrome, autism, seizure disorders and more. Some of the participants have dealt with illness, surgery, death of a parent or sibling. Their lives have had times of struggle but not in this moment of togetherness.
(818) 788-HOPE (4673)
Grief Support Groups Serving West Los Angeles, Encino and Agoura Hills
Grief Support Groups Serving West Los Angeles, Encino and Agoura Hills
Posts by Lynne Goldklang, LMFT
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.
When we are experiencing deep grief, our relationship with ourselves would ideally be gentle, kind, accepting. Yet that is often not the case as we bombard ourselves with expectations, overload, regrets, guilt and even shame. The presence of a negative inner companion can be our reality during times of trauma and sorrow.
Lynne Goldklang is a psychotherapist, writer and a grateful member of a HOPE bereavement group.
“I don’t think of all the misery but of all the beauty that remains.” — Anne Frank
It was one of those restless nights a few months after my husband’s death as I flipped on the TV and stared at the movie that was playing. A mother is sitting in a hospital waiting area crying as her young daughter’s life is ebbing. A strange older woman engages her in conversation and asks who is dying. The old woman listens carefully and then advises the grieving mother to be aware of “collateral beauty” — words that are the title and essence of the movie.
The meaning of collateral beauty as portrayed in the film is that love and kindness are all around if the grieving person is open to notice and receive. It is a term that is mystical yet down to earth, easily accessible.
Dance to a new rhythm
Whistle a new song
Toast with a new vintage
The fizz doesn’t fizz too long.
There’s only one way to make the bubbles stay
Simply travel a new highway
Dance to a new rhythm
Open a new window
Ev’ry day!
Auntie Mame — from the musical MAME.
You have probably heard the term “comfort zone” — a way of living that brings peace and harmony to your everyday life. If you have had a recent loss of a beloved, that term may feel like a long-lost memory as you grapple with intense emotional pain along with decisions and changes you did not desire. Illness, death, major crisis take you out of all that was familiar and comfortable. It is a forced journey beyond your comfort zone.
Listen to Lynne Goldklang as she reads A Yearning For What Can Never Be. Grief is an intense missing, longing, wanting, yearning for what can never be.Grief is loss so profound that relief is impossible, undesirable, an insult to love lost.Grief is forever — and healing an illusion of optimistic folly.Grief is the vulture that attacks without mercy. The moments of your…
But that shadow has been serving you!
What hurts you, blesses you.
Darkness is your candle.
Your boundaries are your quest.
You must have shadow and light source both.
Listen, and lay your head under the tree of awe.
— Rumi, a 13th Century Poet
Grief in its rawest form can feel like a shroud: grey, bleak, hiding but not shielding us from unbearable pain. Grief can cause us to question if we will ever again recover our essence, zest and sense of hope. There is no antidote, nor would we want there to be. Grief is part of every life. It is a time more than any other when we need the healing balm that is found in states of awe.
I was in the doldrums, sorting through a drawer, mourning my husband as the date of our anniversary approached. That old Kenny Rogers song, “The Gambler,” was playing in the background. I stopped what I was doing hoping for some comfort in the simplistic lyrics. I was drawn to a deck of cards in the back of the drawer, feeling compelled to spread them all out and see if I could find something to lift my spirits.
There is so much to discover in an ordinary card deck. The four suits alone give us a look at basic aspects of life that are impacted when there is a death of a loved one.
After the death of my husband, Don, I found myself adrift in my spiritual life. My religious beliefs from childhood offered some comfort but I wanted more. I wanted to forge a relationship with my husband that was eternal. I was drawn to those friends who told me of messages they were receiving from their deceased beloved ones.
“Everybody needs beauty… Places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and cheer, and give strength to body and soul alike.” — John Muir
In the musical Hamilton by Lin Manuel Miranda, there is a song that describes the pain Hamilton felt following the death of his cherished son in a duel — a death that haunted him all his life: “There are moments that the words don’t reach. There’s a grace too powerful to name. We push away what we can never understand. We push away the unimaginable.”