Acupuncture for Grief Support? Yes!

 The first two weeks after my husband died was a rough road 

Photo used with permission,
Wesley Tingey, unsplash.com

I cried, cleaned, practiced yoga, yelled, journaled, read grief lit, collected condolences, went to the mortuary for the cremation ashes and talked to my new form of husband: a box. I framed photos, filled bags for a Salvation Army men's shelter, googled 'widow', wore his flannel shirt, sat in his chair and asked: 'what the heck just happened?' and 'did I rush the hospice thing?' Then I played one of his jazz CDs and had a panic attack...I did most of those things over again a few times and then...

...I had the inspiration to book an acupuncture session for grief. That's right: acupuncture is not just for allegies, arthritis, and pain. In fact, the history and uses of this component of Traditional Chinese Medicine go back to ancient times. Most communities have a number of acupuncture providers and I gained some familiarity with it when my husband used this therapy to relieve disease symptoms. Clearly, I longed for some emotional traction on this rugged track.

I was relieved that the acupuncturist was not surprised by my treatment request; Cera had deep professional experience and put me at ease in her calming suite. I was face down and needle-tingling from head to feet when a lilting instrumental rendition of "On Eagles Wings" began playing. The release of tears and tension poured out of me, softening the pain of my new reality with love, peace, and trust. 

The reboot

Dr. Chen of the Chenzen Wellness Center likens acupuncture to rebooting your computer. He explains: "When you have an acupuncture session with a holistic approach, your body has done a reset of the entire energy system. It would relax your muscles and lower the stress hormones and even slow down your breath."

Grieving people may easily have tearful moments, but the 'easy' tears are often a response to incidental frustrations or loneliness, and easy tears often leave a person feeling drained. Chen describes the cathartic nature of acupuncture as restoring a "neutral state." That is how I feel after any acupuncture: calm and neutral.

Photo by Caitlin Wynne on Unsplash

 "As suppressed emotions are merged to the surface and the heavy lid of the emotion container has melted away by the acupuncture, I have seen patients who cried for hours after acupuncture. Some said it was so satisfying to be able to express emotions openly like a kid again. The suppressed emotional stress in the body is similar to the pressure inside a volcano. After an eruption, it would return to a dormant stage. Just  try to be a 5-years old yourself, to express your feelings openly which allows you to return to an emotionally neutral state."  - Dr. Qiang Chen

Concluding the face-up portion of my treatment, Cera lifted the white sheet to remove needles; we both marveled that, at the location of the sternum needle, a small red heart of blood had been released onto the cloth. 💔

My return home did not signal a Grief Graduation---most of us know that's a silly idea; but the support was real and I felt strengthened. A couple months later, I went for a second session; because I was feeling more stable, it was comforting, calming, drama-free. Both grief and muscles improve with slow, steady attention; one day in the future you'll do something and say 'that didn't hurt like I thought it would.' 

If you are a friend to a grieving person

You may mention: "I just read about someone who got some grief support with acupuncture."  Just as you do not give unsolicited advice or make judgments about your friend's decisions, let your comment sink in or dissolve. It's your friend's grief journey and they will make their own choices, in their own time.

Thank you for caring and sharing!

To review a summary of posts and links on being widowed, click here:

Widowed 101

Comfort Objects: Rereading Memento Notes

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The Growing Through Grief series

I have a notecard tucked in a dresser drawer that warms me just by its cover. It is undated but, thinking back to when I had that box of notecards, I place the note around a time I wanted to relocate. "Make your own Adventure" it urges. Inside, my late husband wrote a special message of admiration and support, and it 'wows' me every time I read it. 

The Condolence Coach has often used the George Santayana quip 'there is nothing sweeter than to be sympathized with.'  But now I know there is nothing sweeter than to be encouraged for being who you are and for the writer's certainty that great things are still to come from you.

I stumbled upon the card while sorting through papers after my husband's death and then, it became a note of encouragement I periodically turned to. As my grief journey progressed, my need for the card lessened. But just yesterday--about 13 months after the death, I yearned for that experience of being deeply known, accepted, and cherished; I opened the drawer, and there it was, waiting to give me a handwritten hug and high five.

Comfort Objects

Growing through grief is a process of finding, using, and very gradually decreasing dependence on comfort objects which stand in for your loved one. Rest assured that anything qualifies as a comfort object and no one but you can choose it. It can be as big as a house or as tiny as a hair. I wrote on the subject of comfort objects and legacies in these posts:

Plaques and Pavers: Memorializing Love

Greatest Generation Dads

Unusual Comforts

A Life Story in 15 Songs

Recipes Soothe Our Souls

A Lasting Tribute

Readers should be very clear on these points:  

Gradually decreasing dependence on the comfort object is:

• entirely up to the grieving individual
• can occur quickly, very slowly, OR NEVER
• is one indication of growing through grief, but is not a required step

Some comfort objects are assimilated into survivors' lives. Comfort objects can be given as legacy gifts like Dad's cherished pickup truck is now driven by a grandson; a warm sweatshirt continues to dispel morning chill; Mom's apron acquires new splatters as the dog eared pages of her cookbook guide new hands to great chili or that must-have Thanksgiving side dish.

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Visit any park or museum and you will see a fundraising opportunity put to good use. Organizations offering the design and installation of memorial plaques and pavers touch hearts with a public comfort object. My friend Lauren had experience with this and encouraged me to consider it. I enjoyed creating such an item for a community park in remembrance of my late husband. The plaque inscription, Providence was his earthly compass, Love his North Star, warms not only my heart but will do the same for anyone who sees it.

Encouraging Aftercare

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Back to that note of encouragement...Because notes of encouragement are so powerful, so nourishing to the spirit of a grieving person, I would like to suggest readers consider writing them as "aftercare" to someone on the grief journey. My cousin Susan lives across the country, but she and her late mother regularly sent me cards of encouragement. Messages like you are strong, you are doing exactly what you need to do at this time, I admire you for _____, the rainbow on this card  is waiting for you are bravery boosters, and their arrival in an otherwise ad filled mailbox always put a smile on my face. 

5 Key components of a note of encouragement

1. Choose a card with an inspiring image or inscription
2. Refer to the inspiring image or inscription in your personalization
3. No timelines: life is meant to be a flow
4. Be effusive (that means be unrestrained and heartfelt)
5. Be optimistic (see the gifts and potentials even when your recipient can't)

Is there someone you could encourage today?

Thank you for caring and sharing!

Remember To Breathe

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The Growing Through Grief series

BREATH-- that free commodity which keeps us alive--is easily forgotten when we are stressed!  Rather than reaching for more breath, we reach for potato chips, ice cream, alcohol. What are you reaching for as the world of Covid continues to constrict our lives? We may tighten up with fear and uncertainty: a reaction that creeps into other aspects of living and we find ourselves asking 'who and what do I trust?'

So many of us experimented with finding a mask we could breathe through! Were you more at ease in paper or cloth? Many people chose to wear plastic face shields, and many others defiantly denounced the masking recommendations and rules. In times of powerlessness, the ego--and the survival instinct--drive us to grasp and assert power somewhere. But as we see on the news, vulnerable people often exercise very poor power choices.

Return to simple

Recently, a woman told me her doctor “prescribed” breathing exercises. There was no respiratory apparatus to buy or app to download; her instructions were simple: slowly count to 4 while inhaling, then slowly count to 4 while exhaling; repeat the cycle for ten minutes, daily. 

Breathing is an essential part of yoga. Perhaps you've heard or tried the breathing practices of pranayama or left nostril breathing, both of which have medically proven calming effects.

A few years ago, I learned a short song that delights and centers me:

Breathe in

Breathe out

That special feeling--

That's what it's all about.

When trouble comes around

there ain't no doubt:

Breathe in

Breathe out.

There are various melodies, but why not make up you own, or chant the lyrics, repeating the verse a few times. And of course, practice the breathing in the midst of vocalizing.

Return to trust

Breathing is trusting. Air is free. We do all we can to ensure someone with respiratory challenges is supplied adequate oxygen. As occurs in many patient settings, my late husband, while in hospice care, wore a nasal cannula (the small flexible tubing with two prongs that sit just inside the nostrils.) He grew more comfortable as I gradually increased the flow rate from the oxygen concentrator to a mid range, as his nurse advised. 

Take time to exercise the calming power of breath!

Thank you for caring and sharing!

Making it Through the Moment, No Matter How Tough

The Growing Through Grief Series

It is a human tendency to encapsulate or categorize time into quantities. We order our days with calendars, reminder notifications and heaps of anticipation or dread. But isn’t it true that we only experience moments?  Some of us came from climates where weather changed quickly. We’d tease: wait five minutes and it will be different.

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A blue sky now clouds over; a downpour suddenly ceases, a clear road is overcome with whiteout. The same occurs in relationships: a facial expression or comment can 'change the weather' of the moment so that we feel warmed and welcomed or anxious and awkward.

Is there a reason for this moment?

In The Magic of Awareness,  Anam Thubten, Rinpoche, invites the recognition that “this very moment cannot be any better than it is right now.” If you’ve ever been told ‘everything happens for a reason,’ then it can be helpful to take a deep breath and trust that the moment will lead to the next, best moment. Life coach Byron Katie stated, "Everything happens at exactly the right moment, neither too soon nor too late."

This is not fluff or hogwash. Having faced myriad 'take a deep breath' life situations, I know the signs of crisis or coping. As a young woman, I quickly reacted with strong, sometimes debilitating emotions. In my post, H.A.L.T: Avoiding Self Care Red Flags, the support of a caring person helped anchor me to the present. In more recent years, my mindfulness practices (yoga, meditation, affirmative prayer) led me to ask that important question: Is there a reason for this moment?

Used with permission,
Melinda Rogers

Often, we are simply standing in 'someone else's weather,' -- minor kerfluffles or the dramatic storms of their life and/or death. My friend Charlotte notes that, from moment to moment, we either teach or learn. If the reason or purpose is not readily apparent, wait on the revelation of insight. Keep your heart open, and it will come.

Health challenges

When changes in health occur -- from catching an inconvenient cold, getting a positive Covid-19 test, or the spiral into chronic or terminal illness -- it is extremely hard to stay centered in the moment. And it takes tremendous support or spiritual grounding to accept the condition with peace, welcoming its insights and growth. Still, it is worth trying and of course, the key is to make it through the moment.

Steps to help someone make it through the moment

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• Understand that your presence and acceptance of someone's struggle is a huge part of the help. This is an important concept in any form of vigiling or support because without words, it communicates 'you are not alone.'
• Tips for credibility of presence: silence and place your cell phone somewhere it won't be disturbing or tempting. If you must keep track of time, state that up front and set an appliance timer (like the stove) so you don't keep checking. Turn off the TV. Respectfully declutter your visiting area by removing a meal tray, stacking mail elsewhere, straighten a blanket, fluff a pillow, clear or straighten miscellany from nearby surfaces, and bring one pretty decorative item into view.
• My friend, Melinda, reminds me that staying in the moment can be as simple as quality time with friends, family, pets, and doing activities such as crafting or cooking.
• Believe that acceptance of the moment will be helpful. Always be loving and gentle. View the moment with the same awe or wonderment as if you were observing an unusual work of art. Simply accepting it is more important than understanding all of the whys for this life situation or condition. 
• It can be said that life is a tapestry of situations or conditions. It is an energetic mystery but when I resist a situation, I prolong it and my stress or pain; when I accept it, resolution or relief come quickly.

• Sacred poetry blogger-philosopher Ivan M. Granger mused in a recent Thought for the Day post: 

Come to that confrontation with yourself, on all sides. Come unarmed. The secret: Embrace everything you find.

• In the company of your friend facing the challenge, listen, and empathize with your presence and caring expression or a light touch but avoid launching into a complex discussion of the story.
• Ask a series of questions that require in-the-moment responses. Examples are:
• Do you feel warm or cold? Would you like me to adjust the room temperature, loosen your clothing or put a throw on your lap? 
• Where is there discomfort now? What form of relief can we try? 
• What thoughts are you having now? Can you name something good about this moment? What are you grateful for right now?
• Describe a challenge that you are having right now? Say something to it !
• How does this room we're in comfort or annoy you? What are your favorite things in this room? What can we adjust to make it more pleasing?
• What or who can you forgive or ask forgiveness for right now? Do you need to forgive a part of your body?
• What are you teaching in this a moment?
• As a companion, you may be able to suggest something that you are being 'taught' by your friend/loved one's experience. 
• What are you learning in this moment?
• If this was a perfect day, what would it be like?
• What part of this day is perfect?
• Tell me about someone who is still benefiting from a help you once gave?
• Finally, one of the most powerful centering practices is to view or hold one small thing--preferably something from nature-a rock, a twig, a shell- and study it with sight, touch, smell. Think of its creation, its experiences; this focus can produce awe, joy, and peace.

Presence has power and powerlessness

Have you noticed this duality? Look closely at the smallest thing you have power over, as well as the things you surrender to. This is part of the human experience. Awareness and surrender to the circumstance can be a freeing choice. Exploring these two topics through reading and contemplation will enlighten--truly brighten your path. Share the insight gently, as life invites you.

Thank you for caring...and sharing!

Cricket After Cricket: Life Goes On

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The Growing Through Grief series

With remarkable frequency, I find crickets in my house. Rather than a cause for alarm that my door seals are leaking (they're not,) I see these visitors as messengers of life, and then carefully escort them outside. Life goes on. 

For anyone who has mourned the death of a loved one or experienced a painful life change, there is a dominant question: will life go on? And if I accept that as fact--even while clueless--the next question is: what will a new life look like? For most, the acute state of emptiness and even purposelessness will change to a gentle forbearance after two or three months. Then, as new patterns develop:  brewing a smaller pot of coffee, rising earlier to walk the dog, halving recipes or opting for convenience food and paper plates, what a new life looks like begins to emerge. As the visiting crickets suggest, life goes on.

"Cricket symbolism is a sign of exceptional luck. Furthermore, this spirit animal says that the things that you have been working toward and dreaming about are now possible." Source

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Moving beyond forbearance, however, is an important indicator of adjustment. When I found myself beginning to define my future with wants, hopes, and dreams, I stopped asking others "where do I belong?" and began asking myself what do I need? I asked, what do I like to do? and then rephrased it as: what do I really, really want to do? I realized I was tying my shoelaces with a new intention:  being and becoming who I truly wanted to be.

There is a wonderful poem which supported me line by line, as I moved through grief, day by day. It reminded me that yes--life goes on, and unimaginably good things can unfold if I am open to them!

Thou hast made me endless

 (from Gitanjali by Rabindranath Tagore)

Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure.

This frail vessel thou emptiest again and again,

 and fillest it ever with fresh life.

This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales,

 and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.

At the immortal touch of thy hands

 my little heart loses its limits in joy

 and gives birth to utterance ineffable.

Thy infinite gifts come to me

 only on these very small hands of mine. 

Ages pass, and still thou pourest, 

and still there is room to fill.

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This post is lovingly dedicated to RRR

Thank you for caring and sharing!

Read more about grief adjustment, and supporting someone adjusting after a loss:

Be Brave With Your Life

Grief Recovery: Grinding Up the Old Road, Paving the New

Gifts for Someone Grieving: Priceless Privacy and Peace

Climbing Out of Deep Space: through and beyond grief

H.A.L.T: Avoiding Self Care Red Flags

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The Growing Through Grief series

As a young woman driving cross country homeward after a breakup, I'd touch base with my dad, in the evenings. There were no mobile phones, so I'd call him from the motel room telephone. It was a grim, lonely trip but one of the most important things my dad told me was to eat. "Don't skip meals, Deb; keep your strength up."

The 'strength' that comes from regular, complete nutrition cannot be overstated. In the infographic, 10 Reasons Doctors Talk About The Need For Good Nutrition & Diets, four of the ten points emphasize improved wellbeing, mood, focus and energy. When nutrition is shoddy or spotty, your personal house of cards can quickly spiral into depression, confusion, inertia and health complications. 

Despite the stress, it is important to push past all tendencies to avoid food ("I don't feel like eating" or "I've always had a small appetite"). Postponing meals and snacks ("I'm too busy to eat.") must also be counteracted. Many grieving people experience weight shifts, up or down; monitor this and consult your doctor if it goes beyond a 5-10 pound change.

Keep your battery charged

In general, coping with any stress--pandemic isolation, job or financial pressures, relationship challenges, and grief-- requires remarkable inner strength, physical stamina, and a fully charged “mental battery.” Self help writers long ago coined an acronym to assess one’s mental battery strength:  HALT. It stands for Hungry. Angry. Lonely. Tired. and feeling any one of those is a red flag needing immediate care. I am spending more time talking about nutrition (the H of HALT) because it can support and regulate so many functions of the body, brain, and mood.

H.A.L.T.

Hungry. 

Strong emotions can drive out an appetite and stress affects easy digestion, so I
would suggest sitting quietly for five to ten minutes before eating. Calm yourself by stroking your pet, listening to soft music, walking in your yard, breathing mindfully. Your brain needs fuel and choosing ‘high octane’ nutritious foods over sugary or packaged snacks is vital. Make every food choice count: high quality protein, complex carbs, fresh dark green veggies. AVOID alcohol and sugar.  Another tip for low appetite is to eat a small portion morning, midday, and late afternoon. ‘Bedtime snack’ is not a dirty word, either.

Angry.  

Anger can be a natural response to dramatic change and pain. Every cell of our being wants to react to it or run from it. You know your triggers, so choose exposure carefully. Then, know how to calm down:  call a friend or counselor, open a good book, say a prayer, find something to laugh about, listen to music, hug your pet, and my favorite: go outside for some fresh air.

Lonely.  

With CDC guidelines relaxed or cancelled as the U.S. pandemic and vaccinations stabilize, emerging from isolation is a process. For many, the experience was emotionally or financially devastating. Grieving also triggers powerful moments of loneliness. The set of HALT red flags includes loneliness because it is not just a state of mind or a poorly managed mood. It can seriously affect mental and physical health! Reach out: make phone calls to friends, family, your hospice social worker or clergy. Arrange a visit with someone. If you feel your options are narrow, just go out to a store for a break in the ache of feeling alone. 

Tired.  

A lot of things can make us tired: poor sleep, meds, stress and emotional spikes. Grief--especially the early period (which may vary by individual)--can upend your circadian rhythms, trigger fears, worries and obsessive thoughts, which seem to spike in the dark! Rest: where, when, and how you can, and shutting your eyes on the couch or recliner counts. Ask your health care provider for suggestions.

The role of a caring friend

If you are the friend of someone struggling with a loss, gently ask from time to time about the HALT aspects of self care. Bringing nutritious prepared food or taking the grieving person out for a meal can be very helpful. Offering your quiet companionship or assistance in the home may allow the person to relax and nap. Make the call, send the text: being present and open to simply listen is a huge support. 

Thank you for caring!

Be Brave With Your Life

 The Growing Through Grief series

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Be Brave With Your Life. This expression is embossed on the cover of the journal I purchased  over a year ago. Frankly, at the time, I didn't care for the gloomy, foggy cover image; I just wanted a new notebook. Now, I understand it. 

From day to day, we navigate--seeing only as far into the unknown, unfolding day, as each next moment allows. When you have faced a very close loss--spouse, partner, child, parent-- and the numbness wears off to reveal the new skin of acceptance, the next step is yours.

If the next steps are seen as gloomy and forbidding, your next chapter of life will be exactly that, and it will be a miserable existence. The option is to 'Be Brave With Your Life'. 

Being brave is an act of trust, hope, and faith in good. Put simply, it is optimism. And so I now turn my words to you, who are on the sidelines of a person who is moving forward after a loss. Please read this carefully!

Advice for those of you on the sidelines of someone's loss:

1. Do not give advice. If you are asked for guidance or a suggestion on a specific matter, share knowledge but don't assume you've been invited in as a life coach.
2. Do not become a cop, judge, or legislator on the nature and timing of new choices. What you believe is the right way/right time to 'get on with life'-- whether in the form of relocation, activities, or relationships-- is only your opinion. Do not poison someone's bravery with your 'well-meaning concerns.' The journey forward may have some disappointments or detours, but that is true for everyone!
3.  DO encourage. When you are told of some new thing in the person's life, respond with a hug or supportive words such as: "be good to yourself," "be happy, " "I'm happy for you," "go for it," "have fun" ... And then, bite your tongue if a "well-meaning concern" bubbles up and you are dying to share it. 

My most cherished friends support me in exactly these ways. They do not own or use 'poison arrows.' Love, care, interest, and support are the precious breezes they send my way. These bolster my bravery!

Thank you for caring!

To grow in your sensitivity to others' losses, please browse this blog, often!

This post is dedicated to Terry.

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Grief Recovery: Grinding Up the Old Road, Paving the New

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The Growing Through Grief series

A great force at work

There’s a tremendous rumbling outside my home, as beasts of steel move slowly on their low-slung circular tracks. The fiercest of them claws unrelentingly at the roadway, churning up the old macadam. Scooped onto a skyward conveyor, the rough debris are launched into the cavity of a giant white dump truck.

Slim, sunglassed workers in bright yellow safety vests and hard hats live out childhood Tonka Toy dreams, sauntering beside the beasts. A secret bliss beats in their hearts, aglow with the knowledge that no mother waits at home to scold them over the filthy pants they will arrive in. They are the grinders, obliterating all previous roads. Out of sight, the debris-laden lorry will travel to a location in need of its material. For new roads are being constructed, and a foundation of ‘what was,’ suits a new way to come. 

You are the foundation of your new path

People--and roads--are an amalgam of everything known and experienced. And yet, it is crucial to respect the dynamics of change because change--like the grinders’ force--will leave nothing untouched. Daily, there is an expansion of the known and experienced. Layer on top of layer, our lives are paved with rigors and roses, relationships and realizations. What may seem like habit or routine will, if examined under a microscope, be infinitesimally different and new, each day.

Recognizing these facts, I know that the cacophony outside will abate and I will return to my patio, cool drink in hand. I know that a new road will be built outside my door and likewise, inside my heart and mind. It is happening now, with each keystroke.

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Moving forward is what matters most; I spread words left to right on this digital page and as needed, backspace my way to better expression. Left to right, auto-return, left to right again. 

I thank the grinders who are helping me let go of old roads because there is so much more to discover on a new one.

Thankyou for caring and sharing!

In the Bewilds: Trekking Grief's Wilderness

The Growing Through Grief series

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Let me be clear: this is a trek with all the challenges of a Himalayan expedition: low oxygen, sapping exertion, sudden storms, and shivering alone in your tent. This wilderness of experience and eviscerating emotion--what I've dubbed the Bewilds, is both an uncontrolled ride down rapids and a process of choices. Open to it all, I find myself awed by the day's catalogue of wonders: a caring email, phone message, or invitation, a kindred soul walking her dog, another pair of hands for an unfamiliar task.

In so-named books, Alan D. Wolfelt, PhD refers to 'the wilderness of grief' as life changing. Francis Weller, MFT suggests 'the wild edge of sorrow' is an invitation to sacred ground. Just as I approached my husband's dying as a sacred journey, I am committed to trying to grieve with a higher consciousness, a patient awareness.

The formidable and even frightening solo trek becomes a mindful mile if I pause to pull essentials from my pack. Surprising reliefs are found in deep and easy breaths, the reviving self care of rations, rest, and light reading. Like an LED flashlight, a companion's visit brings calming clarity; and the littlest accomplishment soothes weariness as if pulling on soft socks. 

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In Grieving,The Sacred Art, Hope in the Land of Loss, Lisa Irish notes,

 "Loss can be mourned even as positive changes become evident."  

Numerous philosophers have explored the hair's width of space between endings and beginnings. So, trekking the Bewilds is not without tears ... or anticipation. 

Hoping to feel 'like your old self' is like reaching for your comfort food. I inwardly cringed when a 5-year widow admitted to still having painful, tearful moments. My peers help me to grasp that grieving is not like post surgical rehab. We have been 'transformed' and live a 'new normal.'

This post is simply a moment in my trek into my new normal. I know that I will continue to change and grow-- and even backup, when necessary. Every griever is a solo trekker and should be respected as such. 

The Condolence Coach continues to suggest that before giving practical advice or spiritual direction to a person in mourning, you ask them if they want it. You could say things like: This may not apply to you, but when I was grieving my dad...  or You'll know when you feel ready to... or I'm glad I have a special spot to go say hello... 

Thank you for caring!

Freddie the Cat: A Story of Creating Your Way through Grief

The Growing Through Grief series

Using Grief as a Creative Prompt

It takes courage to turn to one's art during the early days of grief and yet, it is a deeply special way to process the pain, drama, and shock of loss. Whether your creative outlet is paint, pen, or another form, it is a voice and its expression has value. Countless memoirs are sparked by death; who hasn’t read Marley & Me or Tuesdays with Morrie ?
Russian landscape artist Maxim Vorobyov, painted ‘Oak Fractured by Lightning’ (1842) to express the shock and pain of his wife’s death. 

'Oak Fractured by Lightning', Maxim Vorobyov

I gained this perspective after pet loss, but doubled-down on the challenge by drafting my mother’s obituary, and months later, posting My Turn to Grieve. In my post Condolence to Teens, I suggested giving the grieving girl or boy a journal because like an iceberg, ‘what’s on the surface is a fraction of what’s important to a teenager.’ The subtle suggestion to write or rant becomes a pathway to personal discovery and healing.

This month, my writing friend, Kat, shared her beautiful tribute to Freddie. The health decline of a pet can be a slow, subtle thing, the cues of which accumulate in owners' observations of body and behavior. Still, the time-to-let-go always arrives like a bolt of lightning! I thanked Kat for setting her pen to the pain and she replied: 

“Deborah, I did not want to write his story and had to force myself to do so.  But once I started I began to feel much better.”

FREDDIE

By Kat Hakanson  July 17, 2020 

Freddie, Fireplace Cat
Used with permission, Kat Hakanson

Our cat Freddie died this week.  He was 16 and leaves behind the heartbroken humans that he graciously shared his life with.  There is a big empty space left behind.

Freddie came to us in March of 2004.  We had lost our dear cat, Mr. Peach, the day after Christmas in 2003.  Mourning his loss, we found a breeder of Cornish Rex in Goodyear, AZ and, as luck would have it, she had a male cat born the past November who needed a forever home.

Living in Colorado at the time, we made the trip down to Arizona that March to pick up our newest family member. He was a beautiful orange tabby with an incredibly thick marcel wave. He was our fifth Cornish Rex.  Someone once told me that Rex cats look like corduroy, an apt description.  We called him Freddie, but his actual given name was Mister Rogers of Stonebridge in honor of the famed establisher of the children’s TV series who had always been a favorite of our entire family. We returned to Colorado and Freddie met his fellow resident cat, Norman, who was a meek and gentle little guy. It did not take Freddie long to rule and dominate our household and Norman too. Sweet Norman loved him just the same. 

Being 4 months old when we brought him home, he was really still a kitten. He was robust and active, could leap up to the highest furniture tops and we marveled at his athletic ability. His feet were huge and that gave us an indication of what a big boy he would grow to be. Sometimes when he was jumping, he would leap sideways. In his teething stage, he chewed a few holes in the bottom of my brand-new wooden blinds. It still makes me smile when I think of it, but I was horrified at the time! Years later, when the moving day came to leave Colorado, I noticed the chew marks on that bottom shade board and wondered what the new owners would think of them.

Window Cats
Used with permission, Kat Hakanson

He loved to watch birds from big windows and the window seat. None of our cats were ever allowed outside so our screened porch became his special place to enjoy the outdoors. Lap time was a favored activity and in his later years he would be extremely put out if there was not a lap available when he desired one. A sunny window was his best friend and he would move throughout the house all day long just looking for that best sun spot. He allowed his humans to share his king size bed. Freddie was a talker and had a lot to say. At times it felt as if he were lecturing us. There was always a greeting when we would come home. Almost until the day he died, he enjoyed playing with his toys in kitten like fashion.

Freddie & Ginger, Cuddle Cats
Used with permission, Kat Hakanson

Norman died in 2009 and we then welcomed a tiny female cat to our family.  She was Rex number six.  We named her Ginger (Fred and Ginger)!

She was a feisty little girl and Freddie could not really dominate her as he did Norman. Life in our household became more interesting. Games and chasing became everyday behavior. 

When he was 15, we noticed he was getting very thin. He had lost two pounds since his last checkup one year prior. The Vet did bloodwork but everything looked fine. He was still eating, was active and always into mischief.

With the pandemic, his next yearly visit was delayed.  There were problems with using the litter pan now. When he saw the Vet last week, he had dropped to 6.5 pounds as compared to the healthy 11 pounds he weighed when in his prime. He never ate again after that last Vet visit and we could see him failing quickly every day. Suddenly, he now appeared to be in pain and we knew it was time to let him go. Lymphoma and kidney failure were suspected. We were shocked at his final, rapid decline. It was with overwhelming sadness when we said goodbye. We will miss him forever. ###

Mother's Memorial Morning Sky
D. Chappa

Grief work that works

The story of 'Mister Rogers of Stonebridge' is now a family treasure. If you are grieving, turn to your art. Don’t worry about an audience--more than ever, this art is for you! If you are a friend to a grieving person, consider creating your own artistic tribute, or offer a gift such as a journal or art supplies, or plant a creative prompt with the question:

How would your feelings show up through…

your camera...your pen...your paintbrush...your guitar?

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My Turn to Grieve

The Growing Through Grief series

I am known to many as the one who is easy with matters of dying and death. I can discuss ways to make the end of life sacred, the paperwork of death, funeral options and military honors. I do this with the conversational tone you would use to discuss the price of organic veggies, local car repair shops, or summer travel plans. For over ten years, I’ve been known as the Condolence Coach by a world of readers, but I am long overdue for a new post, and here’s why.

Last fall, when my mother entered hospice, my zeal to discuss death’s details and grief journeys, withered. In truth, it cowered in the corner, shunning all but the most necessary social contact. Sharing the life-altering news became my daily ‘small talk.’ A dog walking neighbor might comment on last night’s wind and I replied: “my mother is in hospice.” Meeting another shopper at the grocer’s card rack, I offered, “my mother is in hospice but I think she’ll make her 90th birthday.” To my relief, people were kind.

Perhaps it’s not accurate to say I lost my 'zeal,' when the real loss was ‘innocence.’ While my experience and knowledge as a hospice volunteer and funeral professional deepened insight and compassion, it was always ‘someone else’s loved one.’ Detachment preserved the innocence of my heart. Now, this was my heartache.

Sadness Selfie

Across the country, heavily sedated with the standard hospice cocktail of morphine and lorazepam, Mother wasn’t taking birthday phone calls. I quelled the panic of her slipping away by reaching out psychically. I imagined her approval and laughter as I played dress-up with the pink paisley poncho she had sewn for me fifty years ago.

Author Image

Digging through my jewelry box, I ringed its neckline with lapel pins she’d given: quirky cat, pine cone, straw dolls, and artsy swirl. Like the young bride seeking her mirrored reflection on the morning after deflowering, I sought mine and took a selfie, seeking to preserve the transforming mystery of my profound sadness. 

Until I was called to serve at my mother’s deathbed, my vigil occurred thousands of miles to the west with intense meditations, journaling, tears, and talks with my husband. I began to trust the truth of a message I’d texted when she was still able to communicate: 

“You are a fabulous woman:  

and will always be so, with or without a body.”

Photo used with permission,
Jim Hunter, Fairbanks, AK

Sacred Grieving

I began reading Grieving- the Sacred Art, Hope in the Land of Loss by Lisa Irish. Long believing death is not a medical event but a sacred one, I embraced the idea of sacred grief. Initially stunned by what Irish calls “a swirl of painful and overwhelming emotions,” I felt validated by her words, accepting that my moments of disorientation were sacramental emotions. Irish promised that if I did not identify grief as ‘the problem’ it would become ‘the solution’ and offer me hidden gifts. 

The first gift was an opportunity to vigil at my mother’s bedside. Though I was not new to this process, the intimate ministry of care for someone I adored was as riveting as it was taxing. ‘Profound’ remains one of the few useful words for this time.

Photo used with permission,
Jim Hunter, Fairbanks, AK

In the months since my mother’s death, I have received more of grief’s gifts: peace, wisdom, and gratitude. Glimpses of siblings’ grief have proven that we all walk personal paths through loss. My long held advocacy of the value of condolence notes, was affirmed. After I shared the news of my mother’s death--along with the narrative obituary I’d composed, the arrival of sympathy cards and supportive emails became an invaluable balm. I shared most of them with my family, thus multiplying their comforting impact. As the Condolence Coach, I reversed my rigid opposition to electronic condolence; for expediency and privacy, it has a place.

Sacred grieving deepened my spirituality. I celebrate my mother’s legacy of preferences and mannerisms. I believe her soul remains within reach through love. I find that memories should be curated-- as enduring or disposable. I strive to avoid regrets-- those shoulda, coulda, woulda’s-- which only sour the sweet gift of recollections.

Am I done grieving? Deadlines and calendar pages have no place in this sacred experience. I have--and will have--days of longing for my mother. 

Author photo

In 2014, I reblogged Elaine Stillwell's article, An Emergency Kit For a Bad Day . She stressed the importance of self-care, and the value of being prepared for the unexpected "black days" that can arise after a loss. My emergency kit also includes outdoor exercise, meditation moments, gratitude for a birdsong greeting, the surprise of a heart rock in the trail, and volunteering in my community. These are the stepping stones for my inner peace, one day at a time.

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There's a Bear in the Closet: finding your safe spaces

(Photo Credit: Missoula County Sheriff's Office / Facebook)

The Growing Through Grief series

Lions and Tigers and Bears--oh my!

I couldn't resist clicking on the Geek.com story accompanying this photo. A black bear entered a residence in Missoula County, Montana, relocked the door and, after some mischief, sought out this high closet shelf for a snooze. After owners called 911, the bruin was safely removed by Montana Fish, Wildlife and Parks Department. 

Beyond the fact that yet another wacky animal scene resides online, my interest is deeply personal! Many years ago, "Little Debbie" would find herself in the landscape of a scary dream, and seek out a high closet shelf for safe hiding. Bears, tigers, snakes, harsh footsteps of the bogeyman clomping up the basement stairs-- all required a good hiding place. Everyone knows that successful hiding is mostly mental-- if you feel safe, you are. Think of the dog who noses his head under a blanket and falls asleep:  he felt safe so he was.

Where do you feel safe?

Grieving people need time off and time away. The duration of time outs is up to each person. After the demands of caregiving and deathbed vigiling, some space, privacy and safety are due.  Elaine Stillwell writing in Grief Digest advised grieving people to anticipate difficult days in her essay Grief Tools: An Emergency Kit for a Bad Day:

"As hard as we try to keep our heads above water in grief, there are some days that sneak up on us and catch us totally off guard, spiraling us backwards to what seems like day one. It just doesn't seem fair to fall down when we thought we were doing so well or were giving it our best effort. So, do yourself a favor and plan ahead. Be ready for that black day that knocks you over in your grief. "   Elaine Stillwell

Supporting the need for safety

Photo used with permission:
Jim Hunter, Fairbanks, AK

The greatest gift you can give a grieving person is accepting them exactly where they are at the moment, and valuing their need for self care and safe space. Giving unsolicited advice or issuing a timeline to normalcy is stressful. I understand that these "supports" are grounded in care but they are hard to process. Grief can be similar to a lingering virus: one day you feel okay, the next you are a wreck. In my post What's the Big Hurry? Stop pushing the bereaved I counsel caring patience.

Patience doesn't mean distance. It's been medically proven that feeling cared for is healing. This is what friends can focus on: a one-day-at-a-time delivery of care. Use gestures and words that say:  I've got your back. 

Supportive Gestures may include food gifts in nonreturnable containers; a new mug with some teabags or cocoa pouches; chores such as pulling trash containers to and from the curb, trimming shrubs and weeds, mowing a lawn or shoveling snow.

Supportive Words should be shared in the way most common to your relationship: over the fence or over a cup of coffee, by text or email. Stay in the present; be affirming; listen.

• How are you today?
• Your maple tree is showing off-- those colors are bolder than last year.
• When I hear the word 'hero', I think of you; [name of deceased] couldn't have had a better [wife/husband.]
• Can I drive you [or the kids] anywhere today?

Photo used with permission: 

Jim Hunter, Fairbanks, AK

Wellness and wholeness are not yours to deliver. It can be a long journey to the new horizon; it's best to count only the moments.

Read more about managing stress:
Coping with Covid-19 Stress: Finding Pleasure and Peace in Slow

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