Tag Archives: Grief

Finding Joy on Holy Ground

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Evergreen trees are strapped to car roofs, colored lights are twinkling everywhere, Amy Grant has been singing carols since the week before Halloween, and the latest mood-making dusting of snow has my thoughts returning to the Christmas story again.

Bethlehem was crowded with people returning to their hometown to complete the paperwork demanded by the occupying Romans. The inns were overbooked; relatives had long ago filled guest rooms and even the couch in the den was taken. With limited options, Mary and Joseph were lucky to find shelter in a space usually reserved for livestock, and so it was there that Jesus was born among the cattle and placed in a manger bed.

The Holy Family I Made in High School
Used in the Christmas Morning Worship Service 2022

Most of the Nativity scenes I’ve seen over the years have been limited to Mary, Joseph, the Baby Jesus, and perhaps some shepherds, sheep, and the magi thrown in. On the other hand, the Nativity scene I saw at the Cathedral in Sorrento, Italy, this Spring is more like the vision playing in my head.

Nativity Scene in the Duomo di Sorrento Taken Through the Glass
April 2024
A Detail Provides a Closer Look
April 2024

This version presents a busy community, with life happening all around. Families and friends talking, laughing, eating, and working together, and right in the midst of it all was the Holy Family. In this portrayal, the shepherds and magi have arrived. Angels are still lingering overhead, but certainly not a multitude of the heavenly hosts. Most of the choir had already returned to heaven, but what a joyous, loving, and life-affirming portrait of people going about their daily lives together surrounded by the sacred. Perhaps that’s what it means to be standing on holy ground…ordinary people living their lives in friendship, love, cooperation, and peace.

Angels sang, shepherds marveled, and after their long journey, foreign visitors rejoiced. However, wise men from the East had an inkling that trouble was brewing in the seat of government. Herod was distressed…and all of Jerusalem with him…’King of the Jews’? Indeed! He began plotting and planning, but before taking action, he awaited a report from these wise seekers. Warned in a dream…not the most efficient form of communication in my estimation, but seemingly popular in this story nonetheless…not to go back to Herod, they returned to their own country via an alternate route.

Life Size Nativity in the Town Square
Mainz, Germany 2017`

I have heard this story countless times, yet I continue to find new messages in the relatively brief reports. This year, I am especially moved by the concept of finding joy despite adversity, oppression, and foreboding. Giving birth in a stable might create a lovely pastoral picture, but laboring on a bed of straw, with the stench of manure in the air and the lack of clean running water, is not that appealing. Mary and Joseph were in Bethlehem in the first place to facilitate the collection of taxes…not taxes that would build better roads, improve schools, or make life better for everyone; it was simply to line the pockets of the Romans. And then, of course, Herod lurked in the background…whether the main characters knew it or not…the danger was real. And yet, despite all this, the overarching theme of the Christmas story is joy…exceeding great joy!

Light In the Darkness
Kaiserburg, France 2017

For many of us, especially during holidays, grief and loss test our ability to feel joy. Ongoing wars, homelessness, hunger, climate change, and the apprehension of what may lie ahead in the coming year leave many of us with sadness and despair. It almost seems wrong to feel joy, happiness, or pleasure. How can we think of celebrating? On the other hand, how can we not?

A Small Section of the Nativity in the Cathedral
Strasbourg, France 2022

After relating a litany of simple pleasures in his poem, Sometimes, David Budbill continues,

“I am so happy I am afraid I might explode or disappear or somehow be taken away from all this, at those times when I feel so happy, so good, so alive, so in love with the world, with my own sensuous, beautiful life, suddenly I think about all the suffering and pain in the world, the agony and dying. I think about all those people being tortured, right now,
in my name.  But I still feel happy and good, alive and in love with the world and with my lucky, guilty, sensuous, beautiful life because, I know in the next minute or tomorrow all this may be taken from me, and therefore I’ve got to say, right now, what I feel and know and see, I’ve got to say, right now, how beautiful and sweet this world can be.”

None of us is promised a tomorrow. This is the day, the moment, that we have been given. It is up to us to appreciate our blessings, savor the richness of life, not give in prematurely to despair, and live it well.

Ancient Fragment in The Cathedral
Amalfi, Italy 2024

Seeking beauty and joy doesn’t mean surrendering to the world’s evils. We are still called to work for justice, live with kindness and generosity, and march, stand up, and speak out when necessary. The words of the poet Lynn Ungar give me comfort, courage, and, most significantly, direction.

“I hope that you remember that joy is an act of resistance. Pleasure and laughter and imagination are acts of resistance. Telling the truth, even in a whisper, is an act of resistance. We didn’t want to be the resistance…But here we are…There is not always a way forward that looks like what we want—justice and fairness and creation of the common good—and that’s a painful thing to wrap your mind around. But there is always a way forward that includes love.”

A Sunday School Project Still Hangs on My Tree
Made with love by daughter Jennifer in the 1970s

And so, in this season of peace, hope, and love, I will acknowledge the darkness as I seek the light and continue to quest for joy, beauty, and laughter. I will look with amazement, love, and tenderness at the faces of my children and grandchildren, just like the young mother who gave birth in a stable two thousand years ago. Like the shepherds, I will be open to mystery, surprise, and discovery if I’m brave enough to grasp them. I will be challenged by the example of the wise ones to move forward with determination and purpose toward justice and fairness, not allowing worry and dread for tomorrow to rob me of my delight in the pleasures of today.

“Joy does not simply happen to us. We have to choose joy and keep choosing it every day.” Henri Nouwen

Finding joy in dark times isn’t easy, but let’s pledge to make it our goal and defiant means of resistance. We can face an unknowable future if we lock arms and step onto the holy ground of our lives together in a spirit of love and compassion.

Everyone Loses!

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This is a different kind of post for me. I debated with myself whether or not to post it. 
 In the end, I decided I would. 
My heart is breaking with overwhelming sadness for the people of Ukraine, but I also have compassion for the ordinary Russian people who are also going to suffer because of 
Putin's Senseless War. 
There is only pain and anguish for all those involved. Everyone loses! 
I am greatly inspired by the dedication, valor, and resolve of the Ukrainians, but I am also encouraged by the Russians who are marching...at significant personal risk... in the streets of Moscow, St. Petersburg, and cities across their country. 
To be clear....this post is about the ordinary Russians I met two decades ago...not Putin's Government and as always just thoughts that are swirling around in my head.
Ukrainian National Flower
Photo credit: Pixabay

“ If you don’t know the guy on the other side of the world, love him anyway because he’s just like you. He has the same dreams, the same hopes and fears. It’s one world, pal. We’re all neighbors.”

—Frank Sinatra

In the summer of 2002…twenty years ago…Dave and I took a two-week river cruise from Moscow to St.Petersburg. Growing up in rural Michigan, this was an unusual step for us. We were Cold War kids who grew up with the Russian threat an ever-present part of our lives. We hid under our desks during air-raid drills…as if that would have protected us. We watched Khruschev on the evening news banging his shoe and vowing to ‘bury us’, and we held our breath during the Cuban missile conflict. But…after the fall of communism, the dismantling of the Berlin Wall, and the break-up of the Soviet Union, traveling to what Ronald Reagan once described as ‘The Evil Empire’ seemed both improbable and yet…very possible. So…why not? We bought our tickets, packed our bags, and left on a very long flight toward the east.

Stepping off the plane in Moscow, we were immediately struck by the size and condition of the airport. In the intervening years since our visit, the airport has been enlarged and expanded, but twenty years ago, it was about the size of the airport in Burlington, VT. Also, surprisingly, there was no orderly plan for how passengers would be processed through immigration. Instead, it was an exercise in ‘survival of the fittest’ with lots of jockeying for position. Raised with midwest politeness, we couldn’t return push for push or shove for shove, so we were the last two people from our group to eventually exit into the waiting area to meet our guides.

Our ship, the Tolstoy, had once been the pride of the Communist Party reserved for high-ranking members of the Politburo. The decor and amenities were classic 1970s. Luxurious, it was not…but it was comfortable enough and would be our home for the next two weeks. Our hosts were paid to take care of us, of course, but soon we became aware of the many times the crew went above and beyond to make us feel welcome and comfortable…always with a smile.

Outside St. Basil’s Near Red Square
Moscow, June 2002
Dave and I got totally lost inside St. Basil’s.
There were plenty of twists and turns, and all the signs were in Russian.

On our second night, we were taken to the Russian circus. “Don’t worry. We will have a bus to take you back to the ship at intermission if you don’t wish to stay.” Dave, who was always just a big kid, absolutely loved the circus. So we stayed until the end. Yes, the circus was amazing, but I was much more interested in watching the faces and reactions of the children sitting behind us. Wonder, delight, and oohs and ahhs needed no translation. It was such a joyous experience.

As we traveled, it was interesting to speak with Russians about the changes taking place. Of course, lacking Russian language skills, we could only talk to educated English-speaking people. The older Russians who had good jobs and status due to their skills with English missed the security of employment under communism. Now they had to find work in the private sector, as guides for visiting Americans, for example. On the other hand, the younger Russians welcomed the changes and were hopeful for a future under their new leader, Vladimir Putin.

Leaving Moscow, we traveled north toward St. Petersburg via the Volga River stopping at towns and villages along the way. At each port, we were met by friendly people who were proud, enthusiastic, and excited to share their country with us. After living for so many years under communism, they were happy to be reclaiming churches and religious sites and couldn’t wait to show us. There was scaffolding and signs of progress everywhere as well as the unavoidable and ubiquitous signs of decay, neglect, and poverty. One of the Russians Dave met told him that the Russians knew that we were afraid of them during the Cold War but that they were never afraid of us. “What do we have that you would want? Nothing. We have nothing.”

Taking a Break
Outside St. Sergius Monastery

In preparation for our trip, I dabbled with the Russian language using a primitive program on my computer. In the end, although I never actually learned the language, I learned how to say five simple phrases: good morning, good evening, please, thank you, and I’m sorry. All of these phrases came in handy, but I could recognize other random nouns, even though I couldn’t really employ them, which was very serendipitous.

The Doma and Kiosk in Goritsy

Walking down the road into the village of Goritsy, we passed rustic kiosks in front of several houses. Most offered linen socks, dried fish, and flowers. As I lingered at a stand that also displayed small carvings and wooden toys, the Russian owner began to speak to me—in Russian. As she spoke, gesturing toward her house and husband, I recognized one of the random words: doma…house.

One of the reasons Dave and I were such good traveling companions was that while we were pretty timid individually, together, we were brave enough to take risks and even break the rules if necessary. So, when the woman’s husband beckoned me, I followed him into the house. Dave followed along as well, all the while muttering, “We shouldn’t be doing this. We shouldn’t be doing this.”

I don’t know why I was singled out to be invited in. I’m not even totally sure why I followed, but I’m so glad that I did. The first things we noticed as we entered the house were the intricate carvings…all swirls and ripples…that adorned the door frame. Communicating with gestures and charades, our host showed us into his workshop, where he had created a primitive jig-saw by connecting a metal wire to electricity. With the wire glowing red hot, he cut through thin boards to fashion his decorations and some of the small toys we had seen at the kiosk. Next, he led us farther inside his home, inviting us to look around and take pictures if we chose. The house was primarily one big room with a thick wall a few feet shy of the ceiling dividing it into areas. Colorful images cut from newspapers, magazines, and calendars adorned the walls throughout. The kitchen was dwarfed by a vast stone oven behind which the children slept…probably the warmest place in the house. He was obviously proud of his humble home, especially his color television resting on a brightly colored tablecloth. As we were leaving the house and ending this incredible encounter, we noticed several items hanging on the wall, like those at the booth. Indicating that we’d like to buy the double-headed eagle…a symbol of Russia…our friend said the only words we all understood…”Dollars? Rubles?” He removed the artwork from his wall, wrapped it in a newspaper, accepted our dollars, and posed for a photo. We never learned his name, but we felt very blessed by our encounter. We simply referred to him as our Russian Friend.

Our Russian Friend
Hanging on our Wall for Twenty Years

“If you doubt that we are all one, tell me, what language is laughter, what color is love?”

minnavanna

A dozen years before we went to Russia, Billy Joel…another Cold War kid, visited what was then The Soviet Union. In many ways, his experience mirrored ours prompting him to write the very moving song Leningrad.

Today the memory of our Russian adventure leaves me filled with a strange emotional soup of conflicting feelings. When I think about our time in Russia, I think about the people we met. Do they know what’s happening across the border? Are they marching in the streets, or are their sons driving tanks?

  • Flowers for Sale
  • Sharing Songs with Us
  • Yulia and Rita
  • Meeting our Ship
  • Artist on Kizhi Island
  • Selling Dollies to Tourists

Dave and I often spoke of this trip as one of our favorites. Traveling and meeting people lowers the veil, and we see one another as the siblings that we are. We can’t help but notice how much alike we are…how much we share. In another place and time, we might have been good friends. Instead of what might have been, we are all locked in a horror story with only losers.

“War may sometimes be a necessary evil. But no matter how necessary, it is always an evil, never a good. We will not learn how to live together in peace by killing each other’s children.”

Jimmy Carter

You Left in Autumn

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“Grief is the price we pay for love.”

Queen Elizabeth II
A View of the Muskegon River
Penny and Dave’s, Big Rapids, 2020

Autumn is definitely my favorite season, but this year along with the foliage, the multiple flocks of geese winging their way south, and that crisp, juicy bite of the season’s first apples …quite unexpectedly…October arrived with a replay of the grief I thought I had put into a manageable box months ago. Soon, I will mark the second anniversary of my husband’s death. Of course, I knew it was coming, but I wasn’t expecting to have such a visceral response to a mere date on the calendar.

You left in autumn. The leaves were turning. I walked down roads of orange and gold. I saw your sweet smile. I heard your laughter. You’re still here beside me. Everyday. ‘Cause I know you by heart. ‘Cause I know you by heart.

Terrance Harrison / Margaret Nelson “I Know You by Heart”. sung and recorded by Eva Cassidy
A Singular Beauty at Plum Loco
Shepherd, Michigan, 2020

Several times in the past few weeks I have been awakened in the night by the sound of my own weeping and the chill of tears soaking into my pillow. I feel myself moving uncontrollably toward the empty pit of despair. The colored leaves that litter my path offer no traction to brake my footsteps as I slide toward the edge of the abyss. I grab saplings to slow my descent and I resist with all my might until I am balancing on the edge of the void…halted…and safe…but knowing that I am precariously perched. I breathe in and breathe out.

Leaves on the Path
Sylvan’s Solace, 2020

The return of autumn colors, the sounds, the smells, and yes, the taste of sweet cider and pumpkin doughnuts…involuntarily…put me back where I was at the time of Dave’s death. Without conscious thought, I was…I am…reliving that chapter and all the emotions that accompanied it over and over again.

It seems that my nearly five-year-old grandson, who was with me on the morning of Dave’s death, is also having a difficult time. As little boys are want to do, yesterday, he built himself a fort complete with a picture of Dave. Later he told his friend that he was feeling very sad because he missed Papa Dave and he wished he hadn’t died. Could it be that Autumn was bringing this wee one’s memories into the light too?

Perhaps, much like the rising action of a good novel or the mounting intensity of a particularly good piece of music, this is a necessary wave of grief that builds until it is suddenly released on the anniversary where it can be acknowledged, named, and then put away until the wave crests again.

I’m not sure how that works in the heart of a little boy, however.

Imagining At An Early Morning Window
2020

Grief is so complicated. Just when you think you’ve tamed it…bam…it whacks you upside the head. At times the pain feels so raw and fresh, and at other times it is just a dull ache that moves in, follows you around, and makes itself at home. There are also days when grief remains so quiet you almost dare to believe it’s gone, and you spend the entire day smiling.

Grieving is a lonely business until I remember that in addition to the personal griefs we each bear, during this long and painful pandemic, we are all experiencing a communal loss. Everyone on the planet has lost someone or something. Each of us…children, too…can easily create our own long list of what was taken and what we long to have returned.

The Missing-Dave part of the mourning process has taught me that when looking back over our time together, the petty annoyances that drove me crazy, the minor disagreements we occasionally shared, and the less than stellar times that filled the empty spaces in our lives all begin to fade into the mist. What I remember…what I miss…are all the simple day-to-day experiences that make up life…the fun, the laughter, the mundane, and the knowledge that someone was witness to my existence.

With COVID-19, we are still in the rising action of the plot. At times the intensity is nearly unbearable, but when finally we reach the climax, falling action, and resolution, will we look back and watch some of the negatives fade into the mist and remember the positives that have come out of this challenging time? Will we remember how precious the smallest things were and honor them for the richness that they bring to our lives? Will we remember the good? I wonder.

So far, I am resisting the gaping maw of depression that threatens me. I am sad…and that’s OK. Pain and joy are simply opposite sides of the same coin. When I relive the pain of loss, I cannot escape the adjacent memories of love, tenderness, laughter, and joy.

Mary Oliver instructs us that “To live in this world you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.”

Leaves in the Chippewa River
Sylvan Solace, 2020

“These autumn days will shorten and grow cold. The leaves will shake loose from the trees and fall. Christmas will come, then the snows of winter. You will live to enjoy the beauty of the frozen world, for you mean a great deal to Zuckerman and he will not harm you, ever. Winter will pass, the days will lengthen, the ice will melt in the pasture pond. The song sparrow will return and sing, the frogs will awake, the warm wind will blow again. All these sights and sounds and smells will be yours to enjoy, Wilbur — this lovely world, these precious days…” 

E.B. White, Charlotte’s Web

Next year, Autumn will come again. The trees will swish their leafy skirts, apple trees will share their bounty, little boys will build forts, and once again, I’ll be ready to ‘let it go.

Laughing Death in the Face

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“Remember me with smiles and laughter, for that is how I will remember you all. If you can only remember me with tears, then don’t remember me at all.”

Michael Landon, Little House on the Prairie

I am becoming quite the movie buff. My new condo is literally only five minutes from the local multiplex and I’ve discovered that going to the movies is a rather enjoyable solo activity. In fact, I’m pleasantly surprised to learn that I almost prefer going by myself. I can decide to go at the last minute, I can sit wherever I choose, no one talks to me during the feature, and if I decide to leave early, there’s no one to disappoint.

Over Thanksgiving weekend, however, I went to the movies with my sister’s family which was great fun. After purchasing our tickets, drinks, and popcorn we moved to the butter and salt station where my nephew showed me a trick he uses for making sure the butter is on all the kernels not just those on the top of the bag. He took an extra straw, put it into the bag, pushed it down near the bottom and then deftly placed it under the spout for the melted butter. As he released the warm liquid into the straw he carefully pulled the straw up through the popcorn and voilà the butter was distributed evenly throughout. Great idea!

Movie Popcorn is the Best!

The next time I ventured off to the movies I thought I’d try the new butter technique. I place the bag of popcorn under the dispenser and then positioned my straw into the bag and aligned it with the spout. It was a tight fit getting my straw in the proper position. It looked easy when my nephew did it, but eventually, I had everything in position and pulled the handle forward and began to fill the bag with rich, creamy butter. It was then I noticed the butter dispenser to my right. I wasn’t aligned with the butter. I was filling my bag of fluffy white popcorn with Vitamin B & C-Pomegranate-SoBe-Water! Yes, the entire bottom of my paper sack was filled with vitamin water!

Not to worry, I put some butter on the still fresh kernels at the top of the bag and headed into the theatre. It’s true, most of the bag was really wet and soggy, almost to the point of saturation, but hey, the top third was delicious!

“If you can laugh at yourself, you are going to be fine. If you allow others to laugh with you, you will be great.”

Martin Niemoller

One day, not long after the popcorn incident, I was baking brownies to take to my brother-in-law. The scent of chocolate filled my small kitchen with the promise of deliciousness. Near the end of the baking time, I took a peek into the oven to see how they were doing. Something was very wrong. There was a pool of oil floating on the top of the semi-solid brown batter. What had I done? I reviewed the directions. I hadn’t added too much oil as I first suspected. I had omitted the egg! Quickly, I retrieved the brownies from the oven and stirred the half-baked mixture with a fork. They were still wet enough that I could easily add the eggs and then return the pan to the oven. Without hesitation, I cracked first one egg and then the other into the warm chocolatey concoction. Do you know what happens when you add eggs to something hot? They begin to cook! OMG! I began to stir frantically in an effort to combine the eggs with the brownie glob before they turned to scrambled eggs. I’ve come to terms with chocolate wine, but huevos con chocolate…I don’t think so. Never fear; I beat those eggs hard, fast, and with great determination. In the end, the only evidence of my culinary blunder was a few very small white flecks of egg marbled throughout an otherwise perfect pan of brownies.

He ate them with delight.

“Never be afraid to laugh at yourself, after all, you could be missing out on the joke of the century.”

Barry Humphries
Remember the Eggs

My late husband, Dave, would have loved those stories. Humor and the ability to laugh at ourselves and each other sustained our marriage for forty-three years. In many ways, the two of us led parallel lives. We had very different interests, attitudes, and styles, but we both loved to laugh, and we considered it quite an accomplishment when we were clever enough to get the other to “fall for” one of our many jokes. Not to brag, but I “got” him most often. Laughter was a very important part of who we were as a couple and who we were…are…as individuals. For many people, the trauma of loss has them questioning whether they will ever laugh again. Many people wonder if, in their grief, it is inappropriate or unseemly to smile or laugh. Thankfully, that wasn’t my experience. Telling Dave’s stories and jokes is a way to keep his memory…and him…close and alive.

As much as I wish it were otherwise, Grief has become an omnipresent fixture in my life. It hides in the shadows and rises unexpectantly with the specter of Death, his co-conspirator, to fill me again and again with unspeakable sadness. I have learned, however, that I am pretty resilient, and when I can look Death in the face and let loose with a hearty guffaw, Grief can not defeat me, and Death does not win!

Finding the ability to laugh isn’t always easy. There are days when joy can remain an out-of-reach, unattainable goal, but Happiness and Laughter also live at my house, where they constantly work to keep the sadness at bay. Often when I least expect it, I’ll find a picture, or remember a funny situation, or come across an object Dave unintentionally left behind for me to discover, causing me to smile, chuckle, or dissolve into fits of laughter.

“Ah! To be able to make someone I love laugh years after I’m gone, that is all the immortality I could ever ask for.”

Kate Braestrup, Here If You Need Me

Soon after his death, my sisters and my daughter-in-law were helping me pack Dave’s clothes for Goodwill. “What is this?” my daughter-in-law asked incredulously. The look on her face was a mixture of bewilderment, disbelief, and hilarity. Pinched between her thumb and index finger, she held a piece of navy blue knit material. Suddenly, right there, in the midst of this very sad task, the four of us began to roar with laughter. She was holding the remnants of a long-forgotten practical joke….her father-in-law’s rather ample…underpants with “Chick Magnet” emblazoned across the bottom.

Chick Magnet Undies

Thanks, Dave!

And…Take that Death and your little buddy Grief too!

One Foot in Front of the Other

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“You’re braver than you believe, stronger than you seem and smarter than you think.”
A.A. Milne, Christopher Robin

Several years ago, my granddaughter and I took a short hike toward a promised overlook. It was obvious that she was really not enjoying this adventure. Her foot hurt, she was tired, and she wanted to turn around. The ‘beware of bears’ sign didn’t help either. We stepped off the wooded trail to rest on a large boulder while considering what we would do. In this small clearing, the sun’s rays shone down upon us, no longer filtered through the leafy overhang. We could hear the rush of a small stream as it played amongst the pebbles on its way to the sea, and wildflowers were peeking through the scrub in their dresses of white, blue, yellow, and orange. It was a brief moment of light in the forest. After this short respite, we stepped back onto the path, into the shadows, and beneath the umbrella of leaves.

Glacier National Park

“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.“

C.S. Lewis

Grief is like that, too. As I hike the trail through this valley, the trees open up more frequently to moments of light and flowers and joy, but without warning, I look around and find myself once again in the gloom of thick underbrush and beneath branches that block the sun. Even so, if I keep myself open, grief continues to teach me her lessons. Fear, courage, and bravery are on the first page of her syllabus. It takes a certain amount of daring to face the disorientation and uncertainty of life after a loss. Nothing is as it once was, and finding your bearings is difficult. To live without equilibrium takes strength, faith, and fortitude.

Grief is also about becoming untethered. It’s about losing an identity. Losing a map and compass all at once – a way to orient our life.

Samantha Smithstien

“You’re so strong and brave,” people told my friend at the death of her second husband. “I’m not brave or strong,” she replied. ” I just get up every morning and put one foot in front of the other.”

Each day we choose whether to pull up our big-kid pants, put our feet on the ground, and take those steps forward…or not. Often, we’re doing well to sit on the edge of the bed and just think about moving, and there are days when even that is a stretch. But, with courage, hope, and a great deal of bravery, eventually, we shuffle our feet and move to the music of life.

I decided that this year, one of my goals is to consciously work on being brave. “Be brave. Be brave. Be brave, ” I chant to myself throughout the day, hoping that at some point, it will become internalized, and I can change this admonition into an affirmation. “You are brave! You are brave! You are brave!”

For me, being brave means moving forward not necessarily with confidence but with faith. It is believed that scrambling over the obstacles life puts in our path will make the next hill a little easier to climb. Being brave acknowledges that we’re all going to stumble, fall, and skin our knees. It also gives us the resilience not to let those setbacks halt our progress. Being brave allows us to laugh at ourselves when we trip and land spread eagle on the ground, our glasses askew, and those big-kid pants on display for the world to see. Bravery reminds us we just need to get back up.

“Success is not final, failure is not fatal; it is the courage to continue that counts.”

Winston S. Churchill

On my December trip to Vermont, as darkness fell and after hours of driving, I accidentally turned off the road I knew, the road I meant to be on, and started down an unplanned route. In that instant, with a single right turn, I was facing my top three fears…being alone, being somewhere unfamiliar, and making an error in judgment. The disembodied voice from my GPS assured me that I could indeed go forward on the new road and that it would lead me to my destination. Since I had never approached my destination from this direction, I thought perhaps the GPS knew a better way. She didn’t. Following her instructions, I found myself in upstate New York, on the wrong side of Lake Champlain. She’s taking me to a bridge, I thought. She wasn’t. At 10:30 on a Wednesday night, I found myself at the ferry dock, which had been closed for hours. I was on the wrong side of the lake, I didn’t know where exactly I was, I had no idea how to find the bridge, I was tired, and it was beginning to snow. In all honesty, it was scary.

Seyon State Park, Vermont
New Year’s Eve, 2019

Don’t be afraid of being scared. To be afraid is a sign of common sense. Only complete idiots are not afraid of anything.”

Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Angel’s Game

With help via cellphone from my son; after figuring out how to override the GPS that kept trying to take me back to the ferry; and with a great deal of positive self-talk, as I drove twisty, snow-covered, and deserted back roads, I eventually found my way to the bridge and familiar roads in Vermont. I was disgusted with myself for not simply returning to my regular route after making the wrong turn, and yet, facing my fears and solving the challenge of the situation was exhilarating and empowering. Half of being brave is just breathing and taking that next step.

“A hero is no braver than an ordinary man, but he is brave five minutes longer.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson

“Be brave. Be brave. Be brave.” Yes, this is my mission for the year. I was never courageous enough to climb the huge pine tree with the rest of the kids in the neighborhood. I missed seeing the world from that lofty vantage point. What else will I miss if I don’t dare to live my life as it is, even if it is still a little out of sync? I’m learning to be brave, so I’m pullin’ ’em up, and I’m steppin’ out.

“Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final.”

Rainer Maria Rilke with

Learning to Dance with a Wooden Leg

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“The death of a beloved is an amputation…At present I am learning to get about on crutches. Perhaps I shall presently be given a wooden leg. But I shall never be a biped again.” 

C. S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

The anniversary of my first solo trip around the sun is fast approaching. Facebook reminds me of the everyday things that were happening last year as we moved, unknowingly, toward the head of the line where together our tickets would be punched, but where we’d board separate flights. How could I have known that that morning I would come home to discover that Dave had left his body…bad knees, painful legs, and bad heart…behind in his favorite chair, coffee still warm in his cup, to journey to an unknown realm without me?

I was still posting photos from our latest adventure. Dave loved life. He lived without an agenda, taking each day as it came and finding joy, wonder, and delight all around him. Traveling expanded our world, giving us even more opportunities for pleasure, adventure, and amazement. While we were able, we went as far as we could, as often as we could, for as long as we could. When his mobility declined, he could no longer join in on walks in the city or short hikes in the National Parks. Dave would happily find a bench and wait patiently for my return. Knowing he would be waiting gave me the confidence and courage to take my limited hiking skills and head out alone on unknown trails.

Suddenly, there was no one waiting for my return, no one waiting to see my photos, no one waiting to hear of my escapades, no one waiting with a warm car…no one waiting. I had to decide whether to store my trekking poles or learn to move forward on my own.

Scenes from our last trip…Colorado and Utah, September 2018

One of the greatest challenges of grief and loss is learning not only to live without the one you’ve lost but learning to live without the person you were when you were with them and learning to live as the person you have now become. I, only half-jokingly, wonder if that is why senior citizens are asked whether they’ve fallen recently. With each loss, we must regain our equilibrium without the stability of what once was. With a part of ourselves missing, we must teach ourselves a new way to find balance.

Stability often eludes me, but I am learning to live my life with that wooden leg that C.S. Lewis talks about. There are times that are really difficult, the nights are especially sucky, and tears still come unbidden, but now and then, I hear Dave’s voice encouraging me to find joy, seek adventure, and laugh as often as I can.

Bloody Marys on the Deck
Basalt, Colorado, September 2018

If I have died; and you refuse to live because I am gone, I died two times. But if you take the joy I always had in life, and live it for me in your own, and past on to others then I’ll know that the world will stay a better place for I was here awhile.

Nadine McLaughlin ‘Death Wish’
One Afternoon In Maine, October 2019

Years ago…almost two decades now, Dave, my friend Suzanne, and I went out to dinner. It was Suzanne’s suggestion to try a new Ethiopian restaurant that had just opened in her neighborhood. Dave and I agreed to give this new cuisine a shot. We all knew we were in trouble when a waitress met us at the door, asking, “Would you like a booth or a basket?” Basket? Basket? What the heck did that mean? We opted for the booth. It was pretty much downhill from there. We ordered the Ethiopian Feast for Three. When the meal was brought to our table, the chicken portion was represented by a single drumstick. The rest of the meal was also rather scant but easier to share. On the other hand, none of us liked it at all. Thus, to paraphrase Woody Allen at the beginning of Annie Hall…the food was terrible, and there wasn’t enough of it. Life, too, can be painful and hard, but most of us still want more. Even with the pain, darkness, and the aloneness of grief, life is still worth the living.

In the Beatitudes, Jesus said, “Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.” Ecclesiastes…and of course The Byrds…remind us that there is a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.

About that dancing…Anne Lamott says that the loss of a loved one “is like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly…that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but,” she says,” you learn to dance with the limp.”

A few years ago, as part of our church’s Coming of Age program…think Bar Mitzvah or Confirmation…the youth and their adult guides were exploring the idea of death. One of the facilitators asked the group, “How many of you are grieving the loss of someone or something?” Nearly everyone raised a hand…adults and teens alike. I’m approaching an anniversary, a date on the calendar, but I am surrounded by people…friends, family, and strangers…who are also just putting one foot in front of the other and moving slowly down the same path. We link arms at times to steady those for whom those wooden legs are new and as yet untried, but we all move toward the time when, even momentarily, we can leave our weeping and mourning to laugh and dance.

I know this anniversary will be difficult. I’m sure there will be weeping, the ugly cry, runny nose, and the whole shebang, but I also know that I’m learning to dance. The dance may not be pretty considering the whole balance thing, the limp and wooden leg, but…there is still dancing and laughter. Dave is waiting patiently for me somewhere…but for now, I’ll journey on by myself…dancing and laughing whenever I can and recognizing there is still a time to mourn and weep when I can’t.

Following My Own Path
October 2019

Feeling All the Feels

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Ice Cream with Papa…Chocolate

One Spring day, my first-grade class walked all the way from the elementary school to the ice cream stand several long blocks away. It seemed like miles for my short little legs. I walked to the window, paid my money, and took two quick licks.

Ice Cream with Papa

Then watched as the ice cream fell from my cone to the middle of the street. As I watched the vanilla deliciousness melt away, I was heartbroken. I still remember the pain of that loss. The ice cream had sprinkles.

Throughout our lives, we all encounter sadness, disappointment, and loss. Grief is the natural response to losing what is important to us. When a loved one dies, a relationship ends, a job is lost, we suffer chronic illness, our plans are dashed…or we simply watch ice cream melt on the pavement…we can be assured that some degree of sorrow, despair, and grief will soon follow.

I knew that anger was one of the stages of grief, but I thought that meant that I would be angry with my husband for not taking better care of himself or angry with the universe for placing me in this unwelcome and unwanted position. Nope, I could have had those feelings, but in all honesty, I didn’t. Instead, I find that I have a very short fuse with just about everything else. This reaction has taken me completely by surprise.

Inferno
Based on a sculpture by Brian Jungen, AGO, July 2019

I’m angry about things that make sense. I’m also angry about things that only, maybe, kinda make sense, and I’m angry, too, about things that rationally make no sense whatsoever. It’s as though I’ve been blowing all my emotions into a balloon that’s stretched taut and just about to burst. It’s the finality and the frustration of loss that have been filling that balloon. Once the ice cream is on the blacktop, there’s no way it’s going back in the cone. The exasperation of that moment has to go somewhere, so it is transmuted into anger. A fair amount of jealousy is trying to find release, too. A six-year-old watching her classmates blissfully licking ice cream is a case in point. Sadness, frustration, and jealousy are all swirling around together, pushing at the sides of that expanding latex sphere.

Recently, I saw Billy Elliott The Musical in Stratford, Ontario. In one scene, Billy is consumed with anger and frustration. He channels his distress into dance as a way to…as my mom used to say…get the mad out.

Just as everyone experiences loss and grief, no one escapes feelings of anger. Even Jesus was filled with righteous indignation. We’ve been taught to keep our emotions under control…”Keep Calm and Carry On”, but it is important that wherever they originate…the deep despair of death, the myriad minor daily exasperations, or watching ice cream puddle at your feet…to feel all the feels. It’s not healthy to deny or suppress anger. Bottled anger often destroys the vessel that contains it. Might as well look it in the eye and name it. Don’t be afraid to feel the heat and energy of it. Let it wash over you and wallow in it for a spell. Know it for what it is. Then find a way to let the air out of the balloon. Channel that power into a form of positive expression and find a way to get the mad out that doesn’t involve kicking the cat, breaking the dishes, or giving yourself another reason to be angry.

“We’ve all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That’s who we really are.” 

JK Rowling, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

My short fuse won’t last forever, but it will probably come again. When it does, I’ll be ready for it, recognize it, and then, like Billy, maybe I can transform it into something creative and beautiful, and perhaps…after a satisfyingly inappropriate gesticulation or two… it will lead me back to wholeness.

A New Road on my Journey

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“You never know how strong you are until being strong is the only choice you have.” Bob Marley

The Hinge…October 2018

“The Hinge” Utah Ghost Town, September 2018

On the morning of October 25th, 2018, I arrived home after a short errand to discover that my husband of 43 years had died peacefully and without warning in his favorite chair. The morning news was playing on the TV, and his coffee sat still cooling in a mug on the table beside him. Finding myself unexpectedly on the hinge…knowing that my life would never be the same…I began an unanticipated and unavoidable journey of self-discovery, exploration, experimentation, and hard work.

“Your life, too, will swing suddenly and cruelly in a new direction with breathtaking speed, and if you are really wise… you will know enough to look around for love. It will be there, standing right on the hinge, holding out its arms to you, If you are wise, whoever you are, you will let go, fall against the love, and be held.

Kate Braestrup, Here If You Need Me

During the months since his passing, I have sought support and comfort in the arms of friends and family. Often, when I least expected it, I realized that there was no other choice but to fall against their waiting embrace of love and allow myself to be held. Eventually, the day arrived when I knew that I must stand alone and begin making my way into an unknown future. Slowly, the hinge will allow the door to open to the new life that awaits. With any luck, I’ll step through to a world full of light, love, laughter, and adventure.

First Steps on a New Path…November 2018

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The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.

—F. SCOTT FITZGERALD

About ten years ago, I had surgery on my knee. I was released from the hospital to recover at home. I spent most of that day sleeping, as I recall. The next day, I was amazed at how little pain I felt and how easily I was able to walk. Crutches? Who needs crutches? This was going to be much easier than I thought. The second day, however, after the pain and numbing medication given for the surgery itself wore off, I was in terrible, terrible pain. That’s the only thing I can compare to the initial grief I felt after Dave’s death. I was numb, and I had yet to experience the pain.

When the numbness of shock and disbelief wore off, and grief descended upon me, it was as if I was completely alone, surrounded by darkness. It was as if my world was illuminated by the light of a single candle. I could only see the path that lay directly in front of me. I was unaware of other people or their needs. Nothing was important, and nothing mattered. I was moving slowly down this unfamiliar path. Each footstep took tremendous effort. 

“There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me. I find it hard to take in what anyone says. Or perhaps, hard to want to take it in. It is so uninteresting.”

C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

Gradually…very gradually…I became aware of others on this path. While I was still unable to connect with anyone, still locked within my own grief, I was surprised by the crowds walking this road beside me. I was surrounded by people carrying heavy burdens of sadness, sorrow, and despair. I still couldn’t break out my own deep emotions to reach out to anyone, but I knew they were there.

I was also surprised by those who had traveled this path that lay before me and knew the pitfalls, landmines, and deep ravines that lay ahead, but chose to turn around, trek back, and walk beside me. The lyrics from the song, “I Believe,” kept playing on loop. 

“I believe for everyone who goes astray, someone will come to show the way.

“DRAKE, GRAHAM, SHIEL, AND STILLMAN

That’s not exactly how it works. No one can actually show you the way. Those who have gone ahead may come back for you, but only to walk beside you. It’s the same journey of grief, sorrow, and the whole nine yards, but each of us must walk it in our own way and at our own pace. But what a comfort just to have someone to walk beside you. 

I’m hopeful that at some point I’ll be able to reach out to those who are traveling this road with me. It will be ever so much nicer when all of us can grab hands and walk together. I’m not there yet, but I know I will be.

New Year’s Eve Hike…December 2018

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.” 

Psalm 23:4
Seyon Pond, December 31st, 2018

On New Year’s Eve, I went on a short hike around Seyon Pond. I was wearing yak tracks; I had my hiking poles, earmuffs, and mittens; and I was in the company of friends. I was also carrying the weight of loss with me, as my mom and especially Dave were never far from my thoughts.

Today, I’ve been thinking a lot about the Twenty-Third Psalm for some reason. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.” 

I have always thought that the ‘walk through the valley of the shadow of death’ was about contemplating my own mortality, but now I’m wondering if perhaps the ‘shadow of death’ is really grief. For in reality, it is the loss of my loved ones that hangs like a veil…a shadow…over every part of my life.  

So here is …The Psalmist Paraphrased: 

Although I’m filled with grief, I am not afraid of what lies ahead, for I am surrounded by love and I’m confident that I have the tools I need to keep moving.

I hope that will comfort me until Spring, when I can lie down in green pastures and find the still waters.

“I didn’t survive because I was strong — I became strong because I survived.”