A dear friend passed away this week. I’m devastated, reflective and humbled, all at the same time. Her illness was unexpected, her decline precipitous, and her death sudden. Given the gift of sharing my love for her over the phone by her family and friends, I said goodbye. And then I was just there, standing in the kitchen with my grief.
One of my friend’s favorite sayings was “good grief!” which she often exclaimed when I shared something she found dismaying or alarming. Given the adventures I’ve lived and shared, she said it more frequently than perhaps she or I would have liked! The term always felt somehow quaint and old fashioned, and was classically her.
Curious about its origins and meaning, I looked up the definition–”used to express surprise or annoyance” (Merriam Webster)–and then came across this organization–goodgrief.org, which is “a free informational resource to assist individuals and families in finding the wellsprings of renewal in the grieving process.”
This post was born because of both: the memory of her words and the resource that found me because of them. I dedicate this to my dear friend, Robin, who loved my writing and joked that she read my posts in search of punctuation errors, which she claimed she never found. May she be reading this now and find one or two. In my grieving has come that glimpse of renewal (and a brief smile as I write this).
In reflecting on her death, I came to the realization just how much I would miss her, the uniqueness of her. We had worked together for just one year, eight years ago, and had become “fast friends.” After I left the organization, we stayed close, saw each other a few times a year, and due to our schedules, filled the gaps with long, deep telephone conversations, a rarity in this day and age.
I could share anything with her because of the love and trust we had for one another. My increasingly unconventional life was an unending source of amusement and fascination for her, and while she may not have always understood or agreed with it, she accepted me and it unconditionally; and I her with her ordered closets, martini dinners, and wicked sense of humor. We made each other laugh and we cried together too. She even indulged me by allowing me to share a private cacao ceremony with her, which she, rather surprisingly to us both, loved.
To allow myself to feel fully and grieve, I found myself at the beach, where I often go to release my pain. There, I built a tiny altar of stones and shells in honor of her. As the tide rose, I wept, said goodbye and watched the waves envelop and wash away the altar. I kept one shell, a perfect spiral of a shell, as a beautiful memory of the ritual and of her. I have been carrying it (and her) in my pocket everywhere I go and it gives me such solace. I know she is with me always.
In reflecting on my grief, I came across this wonderful passage, which so eloquently expresses my experience of loss and healing:
“[W]e don’t get past the pain. We must go through it. We can’t go around it or over it or under it either. The path to healing through loss, which means the path to wholeness, requires that we incorporate our pain. To incorporate means to literally take the pain into our body (corps). We get to that place where joy and grief can live together by becoming whole. The process of healing, whether from a physical illness or from a catastrophic life disturbance is a transformational journey. We are changed in the process. The goal is not to be the ‘way we were’ once again, the goal is to be more than we were before, to include more of life. Ultimately the goal is to include loss in our love and trust of life.” – goodgrief.org
Good grief, Robin, I will miss you so, my darling friend! You will always and forever have a special place in my heart and soul. You are my soul sister.
Copyright ©2019 Soulscape Coaching.
For the longest time I had no idea what surrender really meant. It was only when I had to let go of so much in my life over more than a decade–a career or two, a long-time relationship, a home several times over, my native land (my Canadian readers will get this), all my furniture, my ego, my shame, many of my fears and more–and thought I was relatively “unattached” that a chasm swallowed me whole, and I had no choice but to surrender completely.
What I did not realize at the time, but do now, is that I was experiencing another dark night of the soul. The first one I experienced was merely a prelude, and one that I willingly chose as I dove into the waiting embrace of Mama Cacao. The second one came out of nowhere, unbidden; and the more I resisted, the more it persisted.
So, I prayed, and I prayed hard. And She sent me an answer, one that I did not understand at first, but followed, and which has since led me to a devotional path. I surrendered to it. (Note: this is so new to me that I’m not quite ready to share more, but will when I am.)
So, you are the first to know, after my husband, that I am no longer a soul’s path coach (please know that I will still call on my coaching skills as needed). I’m hesitant to call myself anything at this point, and I’m pretty sure that calling myself a messenger of Spirit would draw some attention on a business card :), so for now I’m a cacao medicine guide and shamanic practitioner for journeys to wholeness. And that may change too, but for now, it feels true as it comes from a place of total surrender.
Being with my Mom as she was dying made me see how important it is to be able to let go in life and in death. True compassion lives in the act of letting go, and yet it one of the hardest things we have to do in life. Far too often we have to learn the hard way to let go of that to which we have become attached.
And what’s left, after all that letting go, is the most beautiful, luminous crystal made from all that pressure and molten fire. It’s you, all shiny and purified, and so much wiser and stronger.
Choose your catalyst (or embrace the one that comes to you), stay curious, stand in awe of the wonder and mystery of life, and know and believe that what you are opening to is exactly what you need. Give yourself permission to let go of whatever is holding you back, standing in your way, or keeping you from the joy and peace that’s on the other side. Let go, so that what’s meant to be reveals itself.
As I sat at my Mom’s bedside in palliative care, I heard the suffering of the other women patients close by. I felt deeply for each of them, sharing their pain in different ways. I know nothing of their lives and yet I became intimately aware of their frustrations, fears and pain. I was not always comfortable with this knowledge, and at the same time I knew that discomfort, when we don’t push it away and instead sit with it, can deepen our understanding of ourselves, and, in this case, our relationship with life and death.
The Buddhists have a deep understanding of death and rebirth. They believe that the last thought we have when we are dying will determine our next life, so meditating on Buddha or praying to God may well ensure that your last thought is a good (or godly) one. Cultivating the inner voice of stillness through meditation and simply noticing and witnessing thoughts that arise is the path to a peaceful mind and Buddha-like thoughts.
My mother and I did not talk about her death at any great length, as she was an intensely private person to the end. What she did share was that she had had a good, long life and was ready to go. While she was not a religious person, she did have a secret spiritual side, sending money away and receiving crystals, stones, amulets, and spirit dolls that brought her hope. Since I couldn’t know what her last thought was going to be (hopefully, one of spirit), I said this Buddhist prayer for myself and then for her each day to ease her passage and my mind, and for the both of us to face death fearlessly. May it bring you peace.
We need to sit on the rim of darkness and fish for fallen light with patience. – Pablo Neruda
) realized meant metaphorical death. Right now, according to the shaman, I am to teach about death, which is a beautiful flower. I took this to mean that I am to teach about transformation, how in order to grow and evolve in this life, parts of us (sometimes little and sometimes not so little parts of us) need to die, so something new can be created and we can unfold like a flower.
