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.
Anytime you find yourself saying the word, “should,” like in “I should do that” or “I should really go there,” ask yourself “Really, why?” Is it some obligation or expectation that a family member or friend imposed on you? Well, guess what, that’s theirs, not yours. They re-gifted their “should” to you, because someone gave it to them. And we all know how much we love being re-gifted. The re-gifting can stop with you. You have the power.
Only you know, and get to decide, whether you want something or not. The key word here is “want.” So, if Aunt Isabelle thinks you “should” go to so-and-so’s party, go only because you truly want to, not out of obligation. Go because you care about your cousin or your nieces and nephews or because there will be really good cake, don’t go because you “should.” When you say “yes’ to going because you truly want to, you will show up in an entirely different way. And, if you choose not to go because you can’t think of a really good reason to go, then you will have to live with the consequences, which may be a really lovely bubble bath with candles and a glass of wine (and don’t forget the rubber ducky).
When I was a little girl, I was shy, introverted, loved books and animals of all kinds (lions, especially). I saw the goodness in people. I giggled a lot. And some people (particularly dentists and doctors for some reason) called me “sunshine.” I guess it was all that blond hair and innocence.
) 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.
We closed ourselves off to the world as we knew it and entered a cocoon, a sanctuary, to emerge from our chrysalis more vibrant and alive, and with bright wings that allowed us to rise above ourselves and the world and see with new eyes.
Some of us have blocks; some have walls and others have fences. Whatever you call yours, they are the unconscious beliefs we hold, or emotional wounds not yet healed, often developed at a very young age, that stop us from moving forward or making a change that would benefit us.
Come to see your block as a stone on a path in a beautiful Japanese garden; your fence with a curved wooden door, opening onto a gorgeous courtyard; your wall with a secret cavern opening to the sea. Your new beliefs are beautiful and spacious and they support you.
The energy of Lake Atitlan is like nothing I have ever experienced. As I boarded the boat in Panajachel that would take me to my solo retreat, I felt in awe of the lake’s vast expanse cradled amongst towering volcanos and highland hills. The energy was powerful but distinctly feminine. I felt sheltered and cared for, even held, by its energetic presence.
I came home from my retreat open, spacious, fully present and reinvigorated. The light in my eyes stayed for weeks and weeks, and came from a deep place within me. This was no mere vacation glow. Touchstone moments and talismans from my retreat became reminders of that sacred, renewing energy. I could call upon it and return to that fierce and nurturing feeling anytime I wanted.
I was always afraid of the dark. Things going bump in the night (which was usually just my big sister under my bed). Where did that fear of the dark come from? From the uncertainty of it, from not knowing what was behind or within that darkness, or from wanting to avoid the darkness of pain or sadness?
And then I discovered another kind of ceremony, and it involved chocolate, actually raw cacao. My life and my perception of ceremony changed forever.