I love the concept of the message in this picture. We continue to tell stories about Richard. We laugh at funny things he did or said on a regular basis. I just read the book: Confessions of a Funeral Director. The author writes about death-positive or death-negative narratives. Western culture lives with a death-negative culture. As a culture, we are discouraged from talking about our deceased loved ones. But death is a fact of living and life. I’m not saying it’s easy or that i like it. It’s hard and I would rather he be living. But that is not my reality. So I will continue to to bring him along, to share his stories, to say his name.

www.facebook.com/100046988926897/posts/504368674472759/

“And the day came

when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” ~ Anaïs Nin

Regardless of your beliefs … this is the season of resurrection, rebirth, and renewal.

Saying YES is a choice. At first it may seem like an impossible choice … but you can do it.

You must lean in.

Timidly.

Fearfully.

Gently.

Lean in.

Let your mantra be YES.

As often as possible

stop and say yes.

Even if it’s just a whisper.

Say yes.

To you.

To the person you love that died.

To love.

To possibility.

To healing.

To life itself.

Say YES.

Let YES be your mantra.

💛💛💛

My first book

Permission to Mourn

is available on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Permission-Mourn-New-Way-Grief/dp/1600475655/ref=cm_cr_arp_d_product_top?ie=UTF8

I think about this at times. I think about it from two perspectives: his and mine.

What do I think he wants for me? I am 100% sure that he wants me to be happy; that he wants me to be okay! How do I know this? Because that is what I would want for him if I had died first. I would want him to be kind to himself, to be “here” for our girls, to be happy! I strive to do these things each day. Even now, after almost 18 months, it seems unreal that this is my new life. But each day, I am grateful for so much. I bring him along with he on my daily journey. I strive to be happy and if happy is out of reach in the moment, I strive to be okay.

www.facebook.com/100046988926897/posts/495912421985051/

Well-meaning people tell us that

“Happiness is a choice.”

We see beautiful images

accompanying the words

“Choose Joy”

inviting us

challenging us

almost demanding that we

feel something other than what we are feeling.

Really feeling.

So we fake it

at times

to make them happy.

When someone we love

dearly

dies

it is okay to be sad.

It is okay to be “not happy.”

It is okay to wonder if you will ever

ever

ever feel joy again.

It’s all okay.

Give yourself permission

to feel

all the feelings and emotions

that bubble up.

Remind yourself over and over and over

that each feeling has a beginning

a middle

and an end.

Remind yourself that you are not your feelings.

They are currents of energy running through your body.

It is okay to be sad.

Someone you love

dearly has died.

Giving yourself permission to be sad

ensures that you will not always be sad.

If you feel it

the sadness will not stay forever.

Be oh so gentle with yourself.

💛💛💛

I read this today and felt compelled to share here. I have met and become friends with many grieving mothers and fathers over the past 17 months.

I sit on the bench with you! I have no words of wisdom but I will not turn away from your pain and suffering.

For Grieving Mothers
by Dr. Joanne Cacciatore
I am a mother. I am a bereaved mother. My child died, and this is my reluctant path. It is not a path of my choice, but it is a path I must walk mindfully and with intention. It is a journey through the darkest night of my soul and it will take time to wind through the places that scare me.
Every cell in my body aches and longs to be with my beloved child. On days when grief is loud, I may be impatient, distracted, frustrated, and unfocused. I may get angry more easily, or I may seem hopeless. I will shed many, many, many tears. I won’t smile as often as my old self. Smiling hurts now. Most everything hurts some days, even breathing.
But please, just sit beside me.
Say nothing.
Do not offer a cure.
Or a pill, or a word, or a potion.
Witness my suffering and don’t turn away from me.
Please be gentle with me.
And I will try to be gentle with me too.
I will not ever “get over” my child’s death so please don’t urge me down that path.
Even on days when grief is quiescent, when it isn’t standing loudly in the foreground, even on days when I am even able to smile again, the pain is just beneath the surface.
There are days when I still feel paralyzed. My chest feels the sinking weight of my child’s absence and, sometimes, I feel as if I will explode from the grief.
Losing my child affects me in so many ways: as a woman, a mother, a human being. It affects every aspect of me: spiritually, physically, mentally, and emotionally. There are days when I barely recognize myself in the mirror anymore.
Grief is as personal to me as my fingerprint. Don’t tell me how I should or shouldn’t be grieving or that I should or shouldn’t “feel better by now.” Don’t tell me what’s right or wrong. I’m doing it my way, in my time. If I am to survive this, I must do what is best for me.
My understanding of life will change and a different meaning of life will slowly evolve. What I knew to be true or absolute or real or fair about the world has been challenged so I’m finding my way, moment-to-moment in this new place. Things that once seemed important to me are barely thoughts any longer. I notice life’s suffering more- hungry children, the homeless and the destitute, a mother’s harsh voice toward her young child- or an elderly person struggling with the door. There are so many things about the world which I now struggle to understand: Why do children die? There are some questions, I’ve learned, which are simply unanswerable.
So please don’t tell me that “ God has a plan ” for me. This, my friend, is between me and my God. Those platitudes slip far too easily from the mouths of those who tuck their own child into a safe, warm bed at night: Can you begin to imagine your own child, flesh of your flesh, lying lifeless in a casket, when “goodbye” means you’ll never see them on this Earth again? Grieving mothers- and fathers- and grandparents- and siblings won’t wake up one day with everything ’okay’ and life back to normal. I have a new normal now.
As time passes, I may gain gifts, and treasures, and insights but anything gained was too high a cost when compared to what was lost. Perhaps, one day, when I am very, very old, I will say that time has truly helped to heal my broken heart. But always remember that not a second of any minute of any hour of any day passes when I am not aware of the presence of my child’s absence, no matter how many years lurk over my shoulder, don’t forget that I have another one, another child, whose absence, like the sky, is spread over everything as C.S. Lewis said.
My child may have died; but my love – and my motherhood – never will.