The holidays can be painful reminders of a life that “was,” but New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day with parades, football games and gatherings are triggers that make you realize how different your life really is now.
Our hopes center around the idea that this is a “new year.” In the “celebrating” of the New Year, our intentions are courageous. We hope that we will heal and feel that our lives are settling into a “new norm.” Our reality is often so different.
“Grief, I’ve learned, is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give, but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go” ~ Jamie Anderson
Following the death of her husband of 26 years in May of 2017, Marianne Simon began Poetic Plantings Publishing as a “the first step in the journey of all that I am still becoming.” They call it that – “the year of firsts.” The implication is that it will be a painful year of all the landmarks you will survive without your…
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.
Conversations After The Death Of A Parent Or Spouse
by Sue Rowen, LMFT
“Anything that’s human is mentionable, and anything that is mentionable can be more manageable. When we can talk about our feelings, they become less overwhelming, less upsetting, and less scary. The people we trust with that important talk can help us know that we are not alone.” ― Fred Rogers
Your parent has died. Have you stopped speaking about this huge loss and your pain to your remaining parent?
If you’re grieving, you might feel exhausted and possibly hopeless as you attempt to find your way. That’s understandable and natural; grieving is complicated and can be all consuming. It can drain your mental, emotional and physical energy and pours the neurochemistry of cortisol (a stress hormone) into your weary body. Cortisol levels remain elevated for the first six months of bereavement, affecting heart and immune functioning, as well as quality of sleep and life. So, what can you do? How do you get through each day?
“Peace can become a lens through which you see the world. Be it. Live it. Radiate it out. Peace is an inside job.” – Wayne Dyer
Let’s start with a few baseline questions. Are you impatient? Are you angry? Do you like yourself?
Whatever your feelings, they are not unusual. They are part of your grieving process. Truth is, these feelings, including anger, can be positive and useful emotions if acknowledged and expressed appropriately. On the other hand, if anger or any emotion is repressed it may lead to various health issues, such as high blood pressure, or weaken your immune system.
Grief is simply a fact of life. If you love someone, then you are destined to experience grief. Fortunately, this simple truth has become more accepted and recognized. From the publication of “On Death and Dying” in 1969 by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, the subject has become much more openly discussed. It has become so common that National Grief Awareness Day hardly raises an eyebrow. This year, National Grief Awareness Day is August 31, and we invite you to consider some of the insights expressed on National Today’s website:
“Don’t walk in front of me… I may not follow
Don’t walk behind me… I may not lead
Walk beside me… just be my friend”
― Albert Camus
The lonely walk, the storm that shakes your foundation as you toss in the wild wind, the dark tunnel that seems endless. You are filled with the deepest grief beyond your imagination when your beloved has died.
I wrote this short poem about a month after my brother died:
My grief is like an ocean swell
rolling toward shore.
It rises but never breaks.
It came to me while sitting quietly during a yoga class, breathing deeply. There were swells of grief but no tears. The stillness helped me put words to my feelings. I had cried when he died, but then it subsided. Too quiet. Where was my grief?