Yesterday, I planted lilacs. They usually bloom in the first week of May and I have always loved their intense perfume which seems to fill my head and cascade down the back of my throat. I love the varieties of lavender to purple color, the fronds of tiny blossoms. In the past, I brought armfuls of branches in to the house, filling every room with fragrance and causing my oldest child to sneeze repeatedly. The smell of lilacs now call up memories of Alby.
In my new home, there is one old, scrawny lilac, struggling towards the sun and not having much success as it is surrounded by fir trees. So I was thrilled when a colleague told me that he would be winnowing out his wild patch of lilacs, not encroaching on his walkway. Gladly, I accept a bucket full of shoots.
Yesterday I planted ordinary lilacs. I spread these shoots out in the yard several sunny places. I also planted some Korean lilacs with smaller flowers. This morning, cup of coffee in hand, I visited these new residents in my garden to say hello and welcome them. They are standing up straight, reaching towards the sky. In a couple of years, I will again be scenting my home with their aroma, remembering Alby with a smile.
Gesundheit!
Friday, May 12, 2017
Wednesday, May 3, 2017
Birthdays and Anniversaries
It’s May again. It happens every year. Lately, I have been
more focused on writing my book, on my consulting job, on helping clients and
on my herb garden. I spend time trying to decide when to make my Moss Milkshake
and spread it on the bare spots in my yard. I imagine soft waves of different
shades of green instead of brown mud with weeds struggling to find some sun.
It’s May again, that time of year when everything is
sprouting, popping out of the ground, turning from grey and brown to green,
red, pink, yellow…It’s May and it is, once again, catching me by surprise. My
life is filled with bright spots, soft spots, and underneath it there it is,
the mud and muck of grief.
I have witnessed clients anticipate anniversaries and
birthdays months before they happen, dissolving into fear and worry. I used to
do this too and over the years, have stopped feeling anxious months ahead. I
have a plan for May 6 and thought that would be enough this year. But this
morning I posted some information on a grief support website and when someone
made a slightly negative comment, I felt stabbed. And I realized, well, here it
is. It’s May and underneath it all, I feel a bit raw. Maybe more than a bit.
In the midst of the rough pain of grief we beg the universe
for it to be over. Slowly we discover that we have longer stretches of calm,
longer periods where we are more involved in the lives we have built for
ourselves after they died. AND…you see, it is never either or. It is never done
with, not really. I have a great life, a growing career, two book contracts, wonderful
opportunities and a lot of love. I rejoice in how the “children” are creating
their own lives and how our family continues to expand and dive into new
adventures. I am grateful for travel, for support and for everything that has
come my way since he died.
AND, it’s May again.
I miss him.
Labels:
being,
bereavement,
family,
garden,
gratitude,
karuna,
life,
loss,
love,
meaning,
sorrow,
transition,
widows,
writing
Wednesday, April 12, 2017
The Happy Thanatologist
I just returned from the Association of Death Education and
Counseling Conference in Portland, Oregon. Some people who love me fear that my
choice of profession at this stage in my life is based on an unwillingness to
let go of the trauma of death or, at the very least, it is probably really
depressing. I have to tell you that
neither of these suppositions is true!
Delving deep into how people cope with death and
loss and how they come out the other side is actually inspiring. Attending
lectures by passionate researchers, psychologists and counselors and listening
to others who are supporting people of all ages, in all kinds of grief, is
enlivening. I paired this educational experience with a visit to my oldest
daughter to see her new home and a visit with some dear old friends so my 10-day
trip was fun as well as educational.
I had never been to Oregon before and it is quite beautiful,
although a little wet. My dear friend took me to the Columbia Gorge and we saw
the amazing Multnomah Falls which splashed on our faces. We started talking in
the car at the airport and did not stop until she dropped me off at the hotel
for the conference. I love it when you haven’t seen friends in a long time and
it is just a matter of catching up on the interval with stories. I am very
grateful to her and her husband for being so welcoming, especially since I
invited myself over!
Once ensconced in my hotel room with a view of the
Willamette River, my conference experience began in earnest with a meet and
greet. Many old colleagues were there including a woman from my first year
cohort in my Master’s program. And I began to meet new colleagues, accept
dinner invitations and share information and ways to practice. The keynote
speakers were stimulating, especially Okello Kelo Sam, a former child soldier
from Uganda who drummed and sang while telling us about the orphanage and
school he has started for children who have suffered as he did.
Thursday afternoon, I presented my talk on using expressive
therapies in grief counseling sessions. This is what I am passionate about
because I believe that pairing non-verbal modalities with talk therapy can be
very beneficial. And while I know that developing evidence based research in
thanatology is important, apparently many attendees were hungry for some ideas
that were both practical and different. I expected to have perhaps 20 people at
my experiential workshop; instead over 80 people came. They were sitting on the
floor and crowded in the doorway! The interaction was great and people
continued to comment that they had enjoyed the talk.
Since I’ve been on stage since I was little, my inner
performer came out to play. I enjoyed speaking without a script and I
particularly enjoyed helping people to see that expressive modes can really
help people when they are grieving.
I hope the many people I connected with keep in touch!
Wednesday, August 24, 2016
Meaning and Purpose
When I first began studying grief, I learned about a model
called “meaning-making.” At first this
angered me because I did not think that I could come up with a meaning for Alby's
death. It made no sense that he left us in the middle of our lives together. I also felt that my own life had lost its
meaning, even though the work I was engaged in continued and even ramped up
since I was now trying to complete it alone.
I puzzled over the idea of meaning for a long time.
Dr. Robert Neimeyer, an influential leader in grief
counseling and therapy, talks about meaning making as a way to rebuild your
life after loss. In the reconstruction
model of grief counseling, the story becomes a pathway to transformation. By telling the story of the loss and of the relationship, you can find points of connection. Through the narrative, you might discover new activities, new passions. As
I worked through my own story of loss, I slowly understood that by living a
meaningful life, I would discover its new purpose.
By finding connections from our relationship, I continue to
bring him forward into my life now. In
other words, the meaning in my life moves through our shared story and finds
purpose in the stories I am creating and the work I do in my life now. In other words, there was no meaning in his death but I can make meaning in my own life, afterwards.
Many of my clients talk about a loss of purpose. One young woman feels that it is important to
focus on her purpose now that her shared plans with her boyfriend will not come
about. Even as she cries, she seeks meaning in a penny on the ground, a hawk in
the sky. She visits places they intended to go together and looks towards finding a more satisfying job to enhance her career, as if she is being invisibly encouraged by him. An older woman struggles to find meaning in other parts of her life
besides her work which, although it gives her a true sense of purpose, does not
supply enough meaning to fill the hole left by her husband. She seeks connection with her adult children, in remembrance of their loved one. A mother, mourning
the sudden death of her daughter, searches for purpose now that she no longer
has this child to guide. It will take her a while to rekindle any sense of meaning after this death. A young man, struggling with issues of growing up,
leaving childhood friends and bad habits behind, longs to create a meaningful career to shape
himself as an adult.
It's a common theme although we each have our own unique story to tell. Listen to these stories that you tell yourself and others. Notice where the connections are. Notice your own themes and see if they will lead you to a new sense of purpose.
How have you rediscovered meaning and purpose after death or a difficult transition?
Leave me a message - I'd love to read your response.
Wednesday, August 3, 2016
Beauty and Flowers
There is nothing like death to make you appreciate
life. While depression and sadness lurk
around the edges, the center holds so much beauty. Right now in midsummer, my
garden is blooming with lovely flowers, some of them taller than me. Feathery
cleome nod in the breeze and Echinacea and bright yellow daisies peek out from
under a tree. I planted a few cana lily bulbs in the spring without any sense
of what they might grow into and now, there are this amazing bright red
flowers, bobbing on tall stalks with red striped leaves. I am filled with
amazement that I put them in the ground and they turned into these gorgeous
surprises.
Alby was the gardener; it was part of his character that he
could grow things. He had a magic touch with the earth; when I first met him,
he planted almost an acre of vegetables down the hill from our house. He would
set a pot of water to boil, run down and harvest his corn – from garden to
table within 15 minutes. He grew flowers and got very angry when he discovered
he was actually growing deer candy. He planted herbs for me to use in our
meals. He tended the garden of our lives and after he died, I just could not
take on the plants in his absence.
I have nearly always killed houseplants, although I have had
more luck with the outdoor kind, but he was tending them. Friends have given me
cuttings of jade, spider plants, lovely trailing things that flourished in
their own homes. “You have to water them,” they would chide. I watered them,
gave them pretty pots to live in but still they withered and died in a matter
of days. I decided that I am just not a gardener at all. But this year, I changed my mind. I decided to channel some of Alby’s ability. I planted an herb garden in one of the few
sunny spots around the house and now, in addition to my flowers, I have an abundance
of three kinds of basil, rosemary, tarragon, oregano AND marjoram, and a
thriving sage plant. There is an old
wives’ tale that where a sage thrives, a strong woman lives. So here I am,
world! I am growing plants and they are beautiful, strong and some of them are
even tasty. Pesto, anyone?
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