Tag: grief

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You don’t ever let go of the thread….

The early morning is dark with misty rain pattering on the quiet pavement. I roll my little red well-worn carry-on suitcase to the car my husband has already started. The lights glow in the dark, the white clouds rising from the exhaust pipe.
My heart is very full, my mind seeing images of the Ottawa airport where I’ll eventually land, and the goodbye I said yesterday to one of my oldest, dearest friends.
Yesterday, I felt quite anxious about this trip.
Not because of the destination. I’m flying to gather with a beautiful group of people I’ve gotten to know over these past 18 months who all form the Orphan Wisdom School. We are scholars, gathering to hear the wonderings of Stephen Jenkinson, author of “Die Wise” and master storyteller, historian, question-asker. We talk about death, culture, sorrow, loss, humanity, religion, love.
No, my anxiety wasn’t because I’m about to attend our final session together, although I’m aware it’s our last. The week is yet to come, and new conversations still to happen.
My anxiety came from the goodbye I just said.
My sweet friend is literally in his final days of life, and he may be gone from this world while I travel.
As I sat by his bedside yesterday, we both knew it might be our last meeting, our last goodbye.
What a strange experience to know you will likely never see someone again. I think of immigrants long ago leaving for another country. All the human death from disease (in other words not a sudden or surprise death that’s unanticipated). Moving far away in the physical world because of slavery or war. Jobs taking people half way around the world to seek their fortune. Children growing up and leaving home.
Saying goodbye and knowing you’ll never meet again.
Not physically, not in this world.
Goodbyes are sad, tragic, frightening.
Let’s question this. Because The Work is about looking at everything, anything. Including goodbyes of such magnitude.
Especially goodbyes of such magnitude.
Is it true that goodbyes are sad, or tragic, or frightening?
Yes. So very sad. I’ll never see him again. We’ll never have our deep conversations again.
I thought this about my father during his leukemia illness so many years ago. Tragic.
I thought it frightening when my daughter left for Europe and bombs were exploding there. I thought it sad when my son moved away to college. I thought it terrifying when my former husband wanted a divorce.
Missing them. Gone. Goodbye.
But can you absolutely know it’s true that saying Goodbye is wrong, or that feeling all this is too horrible to stand, or that these experiences called sadness, fear or devastation are too great to bear?
Can you know you can’t go on, despite such a deep, formidable goodbye? Can you be sure you’ll never see them again, really (even if they’ve died)?
No.
I’ve seen my dad regularly for over 25 years, and he hasn’t been on earth in a body since 1991. I see him in my mind. I see him behind the wheel of a car as I stare at a man who looks just like my dad with his salt and pepper beard in the lane next to me.
I see my dying friend’s smiling face and hear the way he says “I’m serious!” with a smile, which means in our language “I so agree with you 100% on that point!” I see him saying how much he loved me, and everyone he loved and felt close to, when he learned he had a terminal illness five years ago. He became more expressive. He said what he thought more often.
I can’t know for sure, in absolute terms, that goodbyes are sad, tragic or frightening in and of themselves. I can see it might be my thoughts about goodbyes that produce suffering.
Goodbye seems to be a part of life. Fully and completely. We don’t only have Hello. We have Goodbye. That’s the way of it.
How do I react when I believe Goodbye is so sad, or tragic, or something to be feared?
I start to feel anxious. Pictures race through my mind of holding my friend’s thin hand, rubbing his swollen feet. Pictures of laughing so hard with him at a party a few years ago, caught on film. Pictures of our childhood neighborhood, the walk from his house to mine when the world was closer together and simpler.
When I believe Goodbye shouldn’t be happening, I feel a movement inside like drinking too much coffee. Can’t sleep. Need to get “work” done. Laundry, tasks, post office. Wondering if there’s anything else I can “do”. Hard to hold still. Wondering what it would feel like to know this might be your last day.
But who would I be without this terrible story of Goodbye?
This doesn’t mean it isn’t heart-breaking into a million pieces. It doesn’t mean I don’t cry.
I do.
I cry as I get into my car after leaving the building where my friend lies, rain still misting on the city street.
Without the thoughts it shouldn’t be so, and life shouldn’t include goodbyes and endings….
….I stop feeling frantic, conflicted.
Something very deep within stops fighting the moment. Something remembers I am not in charge, but something far greater–the movement of life and death–knows more than I do. I am not too small for this. I am a human being, I have the astonishing privilege of awareness of All This.
Turning the thought around: Goodbye’s are filled with love.Goodbyes are the awareness of love. Goodbyes are bitter and sweet and profound and life-changing. They are life-shaking, beautiful, fearless.
Believing my thoughts about goodbyes was what brought anxiety and sleeplessness, and suffering.
And it isn’t really a total and absolute “end”.
You are in my heart forever, even if you are no longer in this room, no longer in this town, no longer in this country, no longer on this planet in your human form.
The Way It Is
~by William Stafford
There’s a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change. But it doesn’t change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can’t get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding.
You don’t ever let go of the thread.
 
The thing is, we don’t even have to hold on to the thread. It’s with us no matter what, even if we forget it’s attached.
The word goodbye in English comes from Godby, Godby’e, Godbwye, God b’w’y, God bwy yee, God buy you, God be wi’ you, God be with you.
Infinity, vastness, mystery, and love be with you, carrying you always (it is).
God be with you. God is with you.
God be with you, dear sweet dying friend.
God be with you, father. God be with you, all the people of the world coming and going and living and dying.
God be with you, dear reader.
Thank you for being awhile here with me.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Much love,
Grace
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Death Seems Unfriendly

The other day I got an email from someone who recently had an enormous loss, the death of her beloved sister.

She had never heard of The Work and someone suggested she explore it.

We wrote back and forth, and she had wonderful questions and I could almost hear her mind cranking away at the ideas we discussed: the power to be able to ask if something really is true, especially when it seems like it IS absolutely true….the question of whether or not it is a friendly universe when it appears it is not.

Sometimes people have a puzzled response around questioning the mind….like…what are you talking about?!

It reminded me of how unusual it is, in many ways, for the mind to question itself. It feels like a thinking machine. It’s just busy, occupied with thoughts, which it mostly assumes to be true.

And out of these thoughts, feelings are born.

The space between thought and feeling is so so fast sometimes, almost impossible to catch. It seems like we just feel bad…and it’s either OBVIOUS why we feel bad, or MYSTERIOUS why we feel bad.

For this woman who was struggling, it felt obvious why she felt bad. The death of someone close.

That kind of loss when things appear to be entirely done, finished, over: death, or a major break-up, or a house burning down….these kinds of sudden losses can raise huge responses inside us.

Why even do The Work? 

The person is gone…me doing The Work won’t bring them back!

I remembered myself and how I’ve felt when I had that thought…how I still react sometimes with loss or change that appears sudden, quick and unexpected:

  • that person is gone
  • I will never get over this
  • life by myself, without that person, is horrible/sad/depressing
  • other people are happy, but not me
  • the universe is not friendly
  • God/Source/Reality has pulled the rug out from under me

Pulled The Rug Out.

What a great phrase to describe the shock. A person is standing on a carpet, and someone or something comes along, big and strong enough to grab the edge of the carpet and yank out that rug. Of course, the person standing on the rug topples over, they fall and land hard, they are confused, they are frightened, they feel hurt.

So let’s do The Work.

The rug has been pulled out, figuratively speaking….is it true?

Yes. I thought things were going differently, beautifully. I hate the way they went. I don’t like death and endings. The loss is tragic for me.

IT IS TRUE that my life will never be the same, and the universe is NOT friendly!!

You’re supposed to feel happy, like the universe is friendly, all the time…is THAT true? You’re supposed to feel different than you feel, really? 

Well…it seems like it would be better to NOT feel this way. But I’m not sure I’m supposed to feel differently than I feel.

The difficult part is when I believe that if things were different and this loss was not present, that would be much, much better….

….and then the jump to the conclusion, very speedy quick rapid, that un-doing the loss is the ONLY way I could feel better.

Since un-doing this loss is impossible…there is no way to feel better. Ever.

THAT is a huge, gigantic, deep, very painful trap.

Can I absolutely know I will never feel better, ever again?

Not at all. I’ve had death and loss and endings and it turns out….over time, it was better. It wasn’t up to me really.

Is it absolutely true that the rug was pulled out from under me? That the universe is not friendly? That the universe has mean, violent intentions?

No. I can’t absolutely know this. It seems true sometimes, especially about this whole Loss and Death stuff. But I’m not 100% sure. It seems sudden…but on the other hand, I’ve been aware that people die since I was a kid.

Death is not really NEW news.

How do you react when you believe this is too much for you to handle, and Reality is not kind?

Terrified, nervous, sleeping badly, comparing myself to other people who have it better than I do, angry, frustrated, mad. Staying home by myself. Wishing I could just die.

Not enjoying life, that’s for sure.

Deep breath.

So who would you be without the thought that the universe is mean, frightening, and unpredictable, and that you can’t handle this loss?

Without the thought that things will never be the same, that all is NOT well, or that the rug was pulled out from under you?

You may have to pause and think about it. What if you really didn’t believe this was 100% terrible, this situation you’ve experienced that hurts so very much, or that it is such a surprise?

What if there was some small part of you that could feel what it would be like, to not believe in a universe that plays mean tricks…like pulling the rug out from under you?

What if you are handling it? See if you are. “Are you breathing?” as Byron Katie says.

For me…I stop. I begin to wonder. I notice I AM breathing, my heart is beating and I am alive.

I didn’t actually DIE because of this event.

I look around the room I’m sitting in, and notice books, furniture, windows, ceiling…all intact. Everything quiet, waiting.

I notice a hum inside, some energy that is alive, here, in this body.

I turn the thoughts around to the opposite, to try them on, in this world of duality and opposites:

I am OK, I am handling this, the universe is safe, reality is not mean, there may be other ways I could feel better than only the one way I think would offer relief.

There may even be advantages, or something inviting me to see, after this experience. Perhaps something is calling me forward, inviting me to recognize something truer than I previously thought, to become aware.

Could there be anything, anything at all (even very small) that might be NOT terrible about this situation?

You don’t HAVE to see it as positive, friendly, lovely, sweet, kind and loving right away, especially when it really seems like it’s not.

This is simply finding the turnaround, a different way, a different FEELING about this whole thing.

  • that person is here, in my heart, forever
  • I will always get over this, everyone does eventually
  • life by myself, without that person, is wonderful/happy/enlightening
  • other people are happy, and so am I
  • the universe is friendly
  • God/Source/Reality has caught me and held me and supported me the whole time

“The whole notice of death is a beautiful and very potent spiritual awakening…The body will go, thoughts will go, imagination will go, self-image will go…death takes it all away, doesn’t it? And for the mind this is terrifying….But if you imagine; body gone, mind gone, feelings gone, memories gone, no past, no future, all falling away…what’s left? And what’s that LIKE? What’s the sense of that awareness? So death actually points towards awareness, towards consciousness. It takes everything away except what is essential. All form temporarily subsides. It reveals what you really, really, really are.” ~ Adyashanti

Is this really all terror and sadness, as I remember that person I love, who used to be here with me?

Or is this love, too?

Much love, Grace

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This Life Is Enough

Today I went to my very first open casket viewing of the death of the golden-hearted young man, a beautiful friend of mine, who suddenly died this past week.

It was a mild, soft, mid-summer afternoon. I parked and crossed the street with heavy city traffic moving by in all directions.

The very same funeral home where I sat over two decades ago at a large dark wooden table with my three sisters and my mother, as we received the ashes of my father’s body.

All these years later, and I knew right where to go, not one wrong turn. Even though I have only been inside once, it is there in a central part of my city, I see it and notice this funeral home from time to time.

I remembered the forest green trim, the carpet, the gentle hush inside.

This time I was guided to the right as I entered the home.

It is amazing to look upon the body which once held such a sweet friend, the face still intact, the hands folded gently across his waist.

I sat with his family, listening to them talk about their son/nephew/grandson, and then looking, looking again over at him….imagining him with laughing eyes open, like the photo on the stand nearby.

His body there, but not him.

The life force that moves and courses through us, that animates us…so very mysterious.

No clearly identifiable source, no socket we’re plugged into that we can see with our body eyes.

Yet, we all know when its there or not there. We feel it.

As I sat in the quiet place, with talk and movement of people, the ache in my heart was still heavy, the tears still there, caught in my throat in waves.

But I knew that this time of someone dying was a repeating experience.

I remembered that my mind wants to understand and KNOW. My heart, or something else that is not really the mind, is quiet. It only wants to be.

Those who have gone are apart, separated, far away, missing, lost, silent, absent, unfinished…..is that true?

Can I absolutely know that this is true?

I remember my father like it was yesterday that he was here. I see the face of my young friend with his adorable smile.

Even though my heart feels like it’s breaking open, I feel the Great Hum of something that knows this day, this moment, is part of all of this here.

Who would I be without the thought that death is a problem?

I’m not even sure.

It stops my mind short, to even imagine it…….Something happens that unfreezes a bit.

Something opens, quizzical, so uncertain, so strange….not the kind of thinking I’ve practiced when it comes to death.

What if this is all enough? What if that life was enough?

(Even though a voice protests that it wasn’t).

Even here, with the going and coming of the most profound level. The going of someone I love.

Suddenly, as inquiry washes through me, I realize that this very same day, only hours before I was sitting in the funeral home, I had run into a friend with his brand new baby only 12 weeks old. He was seeing her briefly during lunch hour at day care, before he returned to work.

A body just born to here, a body just left here.

Could it all be enough? Really?

That is the turnaround, the awareness of the opposite. Maybe this is enough, has been enough, will be enough.

“When you realize what you are now, the issue of death will solve itself.” ~ Adyashanti

Yes, perhaps this is enough, here. Perhaps my heart is full beyond comprehension. Perhaps All This is full beyond imagination.

I notice that NOW, I am going to put on my dancing clothes, and go dance. For now, this body is dancing on this planet, apparently, without needing to understand….without asking why. Even with tears, pouring down my own cheeks.

“If you realize that you have enough, you are truly rich. If you stay in the center and embrace death with your whole heart, you will endure forever.” ~ Tao Te Ching #33

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Letting Go In Grief

Yesterday morning I learned that a young man had died who I did not know extremely well. Not the details of his life, or what he was doing every day.

Whatever “knowing” someone extremely well means….

I had found him totally and completely delightful and sweet, like giving him a big huge hug, from the moment I met him. Like recognizing a long-lost friend.

He came to the dance I facilitate with my partner, and several other dances attended by many people who love to dance in Seattle.

When I learned he was gone, I began to weep.

He reminded me of my son from the very start….they look fairly similar, are close in age, and have a kind-hearted, joyful, unassuming energy.

Maybe this is why I felt so tender towards him.

Or maybe it was because he reminded me of myself.

Seeking answers, asking questions, craving understanding, observing the love and pain of this world and having a great hunger to know.

When I was 22, the age of this dear young man, I suffered deeply from my own thoughts about life and death.

Life actually felt very difficult at the time. I had dropped out of college. I wasn’t sure which direction to take. I wanted only to read philosophical works, spiritual scripture and sacred text, and talk about meaningful life-and-death matters.

Fortunately (I can now say it was fortunate) that never stopped.

And here today, learning of this death, I feel very contemplative and full of grief.

Almost like its too much to write about, and yet it is here, filling my consciousness.

Death feels so decisive, permanent. It feels like loss.

Every single one of us has known others who have died.

And what is this moment when the awareness that someone is gone occurs, and there is a powerful energy that moves like a great wave?

The temporary nature of everything presents itself.

Here again today….everything is temporary.

This past year I have encountered two other deaths of people I knew and loved. I still think about them. I still see them talking, smiling, in my mind. So vivid.

I still see my own father, gone so many years apparently, standing in the kitchen, cooking and wearing a big chef’s apron. Like it was yesterday.

Talking, smiling, his facial expressions, his wire-rimmed glasses.

The mind calls up the picture with such acute precision, so real.

Then the feeling enters, an expression of the thoughts and beliefs.

The grief pours in when I have the thought “I will never have that again” or “I want more of this image, this person, but more is impossible”.

Can I be with this memory, and allow it to live, in big-screen technicolor? Just let it be here, this full-blown memory of this wonderful person who I loved?

Because when I can let it live here in this present moment, when I take in my surroundings (oak table, green chairs, silver laptop computer, family baby photos, sound of airplane, white flower in vase, pink fingernails typing) then this is all here, as well as the internal image (his face, smiling, laughing, head tipped back, brown eyes, happiness).

All here. Things, pictures, memories, feelings, grief, appreciation, love.

Unknown, mysterious, impermanent, wild.

Letting go of the demand, the ache to have more of something….more time, more connection, more of that memory, that person, more, more, please more.

Even being with the feeling of wanting more.

Recently, a dear friend offered this poem on the anniversary of her husband’s passing.

Today, I share it with you, in honor of those who have gone before, whose images I hold in my mind and heart.

When the heart breaks open with letting go.

Walking Away
For Sean
C Day Lewis

It is eighteen years ago, almost to the day –
A sunny day with leaves just turning,
The touch-lines new-ruled – since I watched you play
Your first game of football, then, like a satellite
Wrenched from its orbit, go drifting away

Behind a scatter of boys. I can see
You walking away from me towards the school
With the pathos of a half-fledged thing set free
Into a wilderness, the gait of one
Who finds no path where the path should be.

That hesitant figure, eddying away
Like a winged seed loosened from its parent stem,
Has something I never quite grasp to convey
About nature’s give-and-take – the small, the scorching
Ordeals which fire one’s irresolute clay.

I have had worse partings, but none that so
Gnaws at my mind still. Perhaps it is roughly
Saying what God alone could perfectly show –
How selfhood begins with a walking away,
And love is proved in the letting go. 

Love, Grace

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Flowing Tears Doesn’t Mean It’s Bad

Sadness and grief have been addressed by teachers, psychologists, philosophers, and religious figures for centuries. Sadness appears to be a long-term experience of humanity.

Loss, despair, change, death…these often bring tears. Many thoughts appear in the mind, sometimes almost simultaneously with this emotion or feeling called sadness.

Expressing sadness can feel strangely out of control. Often, when we really “cry our eyes out” we just let the wave take us from beginning to end. And then, it’s over.

Deep sadness that keeps appearing or returning can become more difficult to navigate. How do we humans work with sadness that remains…with terrible loss or grief, perhaps life-changing loss that follows the death of a loved one, or some other permanent change.

“I’ve developed a new philosophy – I only dread one day at a time.”~Charles Schultz

When I look back on my experience of sadness in my life in childhood and then later as I grew up, I see that I had some really interesting thoughts appear very quickly (that I never questioned) when it came to sadness.

These beliefs about sadness kept my feeling stuck, unresolved, unexpressed somehow:

  • my sadness will bother other people
  • I need to keep this to myself
  • if others know I am sad, they won’t be honest with me
  • no one knows how to help people who are sad anyway
  • there’s no solution to this loss (the person is gone, the event has passed)
  • I’ll feel this way forever
  • being too emotional or sad is a sign of weakness
  • if only this hadn’t happened I wouldn’t feel sad in the first place.
  • I hate this feeling

These kinds of thoughts are heavy, weighty, and very difficult for allowing this thing called “sadness” to run through us, without trying to manipulate ourselves or hide it or change it ASAP.

So here it is. Tears, grief, sobbing, body rocking, the voice making sound. Perhaps your sadness is only quiet tears falling from your eyes, and maybe not even that.

Instead of judging this experience….I let it be here. I let it take the time it takes. I notice that there is an end. I remember that there is a saying “have a good cry”. Like it’s actually a good thing, like it releases something.

“I hope no one who reads this book has been quite as miserable as Susan and Lucy were that night; but if you have been – if you’ve been up all night and cried ’til you have no more tears left in you – you will know that there comes in the end a sort of quietness.” ~C.S. Lewis in The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe 

I was listening once to Adyashanti, one of my favorite spiritual teachers, talk about holding a funeral for his dog. He found himself weeping, sobbing openly while everyone gathered around. And right in the middle of that great grief, he noticed a great warmth in the center of his heart, like a light beaming there.

Without any judgment or hope that I will soon NOT be sad anymore…if I watch this sadness thing and notice what is happening…I may find that grief and joy are present together.

I entered my house last night after taking my darling son to college and leaving him there. THAT was when sadness hit me, and I cried. I was having thoughts like “he will never live with me again” (and, chuckle, I do not know that this is true). Something about entering the quiet cottage knowing this, with the thought right there.

The thought enters “I miss him” and I immediately question it. Not 100% true. Images rapidly firing through my mind’s eye of him being born, standing up in the park for the first time, age 8, age 12, now. Do I miss any of that? No, he is right here, in my mind. I can picture him perfectly. I know what he might say, how his face looks.

This is not denying sadness, making it something different than it is. It is just noticing that I cry and cry for this goodbye moment, acknowledging somehow this change….and that this moment is also hello. I begin to find advantages for his departure.

“Is it sadness that you are feeling or love? Isn’t it love, feel it as deeply as you can, let it live in you, allow it, let it cry you, take you over even, its okay, love is all powerful. Don’t confuse feelings that you believe to be sadness with what love feels like, my dearest.”~Byron Katie

Love, Grace