By Andy Smallman

Andy Smallman is a long-time educator, advocate for healthy human development and founding director of the Puget Sound Community School.

People who have experienced the death of a loved one understand what it means to feel as if one’s walls are closing in. The more recent the death, the more significant this feeling often is, although emotional reminders of the loved one sometimes surprise us years later by how powerful the feelings are.

Take a moment and ask yourself an important heartfelt question: What is my purpose?

There may even be many parts to that question. What links me to community? Who am I now? Where do I belong? What is important to me?

These are all very important questions, and perhaps until now you’ve been someone who knew yourself, or at least thought you did. Now your grief, the loss of your loved one, has zapped your confidence. As you begin the next step on your unexpected journey, you may not be sure who you are, nor what your purpose is or what that purpose could be. It’s not easy to see your evolving identity and purpose through the grief, yet creating or re-creating purpose is a worthy goal. If you are asking yourself questions about what your purpose is, perhaps you are also saying you want to find meaning in your life now.

“Raindrops on Roses and whiskers on kittens.
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens.”

You probably recognize those song lyrics from Sound Of Music. It is easy to dismiss that song as a bit of tuneful fluff with charming images. Another way of viewing it is as a gem of musical wisdom on how to survive the tough times of life.

It’s raining outside.  I’m sitting inside listening to the rain and pondering the essence of Nature as I watch the raindrops and leaves falling. Nature is so beautiful… and restoring. The rain brings regrowth and soon the trees will be green again. How do we know that? Because we’ve seen it happen over and over, cycle after cycle.

It’s a common question: What is life like after two years of grief?

This question is similar to questions you might have asked earlier. What happens during the first year? What happens after one year of grief? What happens during the second year? These are markers of time, yet grief does not always know what time it is.

You are grieving, upset, depressed, anxious, feeling alone and lost while finding yourself in a maze of people. Some of those people are family, good friends, co-workers, neighbors — the myriad of human beings who inhabit your world. You used to be able count on them to lift your spirits, trade a smile, give a caring word. Now you barely recognize your life and the people in it. Some are avoiding you as though you had a contagious disease. Even worse are those who speak in a language that cuts right to the bone of your despair. Perhaps you have been on the receiving end of these gems of insensitivity. Here are just a few that you may recognize:

If you’re a current member of a HOPE group or an alum, do you remember your orientation at your first meeting? Many members, even a few weeks after that first meeting, can’t remember a thing that was said. They remember how they felt — the overwhelming emotions that virtually prevented them from speaking, and — also very important — the kindness and compassion of the therapists and mentor who explained the process to come. But what was said? No.