Early in my grief journey I came across Tom Zuba’s Facebook page. I had joined or been added to many pages (most of which I no longer follow) but there was something different about his page and the people (the tribe) there. There was a feeling of hope but also room (permission) to mourn in the way that I needed to in order to begin processing Richard’s death and healing my broken heart. The group was accepting and one of my new friends (Jeanne) graciously mailed me Tom’s books. At first I skipped around and read the topics that I felt I needed to read. Then I read them cover to cover. From there I have used Tom’s book as one of the guides in my daily journaling. I reread a chapter (the chapters are short) a day and respond to it. It is amazing how over time, my responses have changed. I honestly know that reading Tom’s books changed the trajectory of how I approached grief early on. In December I participated in one of Tom’s online groups that was focused on preparing for the holidays. I have used what I learned in this group when important dates, holidays, etc. are approaching. I have found that if I have a plan, then I can “enjoy” and be present in the day. Next I participated in Permission to Mourn – Module 1 with Tom and a group. We took a deep dive into the first seven chapters of his first book. I am looking forward to the day when Tom does a new group (maybe it will be in person when Covid subsides). I have sent Tom’s books to many people who are grieving because I want to help others understand that there is a new/different way to grieve; a way that slowly leads to healing. I have learned many things from Tom and his groups/books and I will share them over time on this blog. Today I want to share an important concept that I’ve learned and embraced: “we can experience many feelings at the same time.” Our feelings and emotions (even if they seem to be in conflict) can live side by side. For example, I can be sad and joyful at the same time. I can miss Richard’s physical presence but be excited and joyful to spend time with friends and family. This has been liberating. It is okay and even healing to let all of these feelings and emotions flow through you. I will definitely share more about other things I’ve learned from Tom, the tribe, and his books in the future. If you are dealing with the death of a loved one and need to find a new way to do grief, I would highly recommend both of these books.

So many self help books and gurus recommend practicing gratitude. I began intentionally keeping a daily gratitude journal last October. I don’t want to paint a picture that I’m some kind of Pollyanna 😂 but being dedicated to journaling what I’m grateful for has definitely been helpful. Everyday I find that I am grateful for large, small, and what may seem insignificant things. Today I’m thankful for many things. Here are a few: *the smell of my pear/chestnut candle; *laughter and people with a sense of humor; *audible books; *friends who send texts for no particular reason; *AIR CONDITIONING; *our pets; *COFFEE; *chocolate; *my work team; *sonic diet cherry limeade; *memories; *my girls and Jared.

What are you grateful for?

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Being open about my grief has been healing (I still have a long way to go). Our culture is uncomfortable with the idea of taking time to actively mourn. We are not comfortable talking about death. If we stuff our feelings down and do not talk about them, write about them, or find some way to push them out, they fester like an untended wound. In my small corner of the world, I want to encourage people to take all of the time they need to mourn, to talk about their person, to share how they feel. I want to be there to listen to them and their stories. I want to be part of a movement to normalize mourning rather than avoiding it.

Do you believe in signs? When my mother in law died, we found pennies everywhere. We found them in the most unusual places. She made both girls needlepoint Christmas stockings. The first Christmas after she died, we got the stockings out and believe it or not, they both had a penny in them. I read a book called A Redbird Christmas and since then I’ve always thought of Redbirds as a visit from a loved one. We have consistently had a Redbird in our yard this year. I am always looking for signs from Richard. I believe there have been many. These signs bring me peace. Today I said out loud, Richard send me a big sign today. While driving to a meeting, I missed my turn and the next road I came to was Burch Ave. I’ve never seen this road and did not know it existed. For those who don’t know, Richard’s middle name is Burch. I am thankful for these signs and will continue to ask for and find comfort in them.

1. Richard is not lost.

2. Saying your loved one’s name and telling their story is important.

3. Death does not end the relationship.

4. Practicing staying in the moment is important. Fretting over the past or worrying about the future is too overwhelming.

5. Being intentional about choosing peace is healing.

6. Grief is not my enemy; it is my teacher.

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Dearest loved one,

I know you think I have died, but I’m not gone. Death is just a four-letter word—although you might want to double check my math on that one.

Do you remember how in high-school science class your teacher talked about the first law of thermodynamics? Yeah, me neither.

So let me refresh your memory. Your teacher told you that energy could neither be created nor destroyed, but only transformed. Well, I get it now.

Nothing dies, not really. And that’s not religion, that’s science talking. In fact death doesn’t technically exist—at least not the way you think. Only change exists. Only transformation exists. Particles get disorganized, then reorganized, then re-re-reorganized.

But death? Nope.

Take flowers. They wither and become mulch, which then becomes topsoil, which then becomes minerals, which then becomes pH and soil salinity. Then, these elements reassemble themselves to become the building blocks for new flowers. On and on it goes.

Or how about water? Water forms clouds, clouds make rain, rain gathers in rivers and lakes only to be used in swimming pools, iced tea, kitchen sinks, and vodka gimlets. Water then evaporates to become more clouds.

Now I ask you. Does that sound like dying?

Or maybe you can think about it like this. Long ago, when trains still ran through small towns, children would often run to the depots and watch the trains come and go. Do you remember those days? Children would marvel at the mighty engines with their clouds of steam and sounds of diesel and steel.

Then, it happened like this: Passengers would climb aboard. The train’s doors would close. The coach would disappear over the horizon. All those people vanished in a mere instant.

But were they gone? No way. They were just unseen. Death is like that.

I am no longer seen. You cannot touch me, but I am here beside you. I am still your dad, although I cannot embrace you. I am still your mom, even though I cannot kiss you. I will always be your sister, your brother, your child, your best friend, your spouse, your lover, although I cannot hold your hand or whisper in your ear.

All I can do is look upon your marvelous face and smile at you from behind this eternal glass. You might not be aware of me, but make no mistake, I’m still around, kid.

Nobody ever tells you before you die that there is no “up there” and “down here.” Most folks live believing that their deceased loved ones are far away. Some envision a heavenly place so remote that it seems more like Fiji or Timbuktu. But it’s not like that. And I see that now.

Heaven isn’t a geographic location. It’s not on a map, there are no coordinates. Therefore, heaven is neither bound by rules of time, nor measurements of space. Thus, your manmade concept of distance doesn’t hold water in this new realm.

Don’t you see? If distance doesn’t exist, then there is no distance between us. Meaning: I’m right here, reading this over your shoulder. There’s a reason our ancestors called it the “hereafter.” Because it’s right here.

I’m not lightyears away. I’m not on a sky island surrounded by cloud coverage and the booming voice of Charleton Heston. I am seated beside you. I can smell your shampoo. I can count your freckles. And I love you so very much.

I know you miss me. Believe me, I know. I see you grieve when you think nobody is around. I have watched you weep into your hands while sitting in traffic. I’ve seen you cry yourself to sleep.

Sometimes when you sob, I want to reach through the fabric of your reality to hold you like I once did, to make it better.

But again, that isn’t how it works. You and I are separated by a thin piece of silk which neither the strongest man could tear, nor the sharpest tool could pierce. Nothing can cross this membrane that divides us except art, music, poetry and love. But I promise it won’t be like this for long.

In the meantime, don’t stop remembering me. Don’t put away my photos. Tell stories about me. If you ever begin to wonder where I am, if you ever feel lost, if you ever need evidence of me, just look around you.

I am the humidity in your curly hair on a wet day. The morning dew on your kitchen windows at sunrise. The laughter around your supper table. I am the text on this screen.

You cannot grasp me. You cannot contain me. And you wouldn’t want to, either. Because I am free in this new place. And believe it or not, I am finally perfect. I am happy. I am healthy. I am whole. And I am with you always, even until the end of time.

But I am not dead. Not even a little.

“The sun shines and warms and lights us and we have no curiosity why this is so; but we ask the reason for evil, of pain, and hunger, and mosquitoes, and silly people.” -Ralph Waldo Emerson