Listen! A Gift Received, A Gift Given

Everyone and every thing exists to be acknowledged, seen, and heard.

"The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes."  ~Marcel Proust

I would add to Proust's words, we must 'have new ears', too.

Thus, on an early Spring walk, while crossing a busy boulevard, I was saddened to see a large roadrunner had been killed by a vehicle. It's form was intact, a deflated silhouette. I moved quickly on to avoid a similar fate. Later that afternoon, while sitting on my patio, an unusual visitor lit onto a nearby chimney top. It was a roadrunner, smaller, perhaps a female.

Greater Roadrunner
Photo used with permission: kenneturner.com

This is a bird that "prefers sprinting to flying", electing flight primarily to enter and exit its elevated nest or escape a predator. My rooftop sighting was very unusual. As I watched, the bird began calling-- a "sharp barking" that broadcast out in the direction of the lethal boulevard. While the Cornell Ornithology Lab notes this call is used near the nest site, I suddenly knew that it was calling to its missing mate. Roadrunners mate for life--a span of 7 to 8 years. The calling and visual scanning went on for a few minutes. How do creatures know when their mate or clan member is gone for good? They must just carry on with the tasks of living.

Being present

Perhaps some readers are howling about my anthropomorphising (giving human qualities to non-humans,) and I won't go into my beliefs, here and now. My heart was touched and, for the purpose of this blog post, I want to illustrate how important it is to be a listener.

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“Listening is about being present, not just about being quiet,”reminds journalist Krista Tippett. As the listener, I was suffused with sympathy for the roadrunner calling from the roof. As you encounter another person's tragedy or sadness, be present, listen.

Start a healing conversation

In my post, Was it a Peaceful Death? Opening the Door to Healing Conversation, I coached the value of not shying away from an encounter with a grieving person. I encouraged questions such as:

• I was sorry to hear about _____. 
• How are you today? 
• Was it a peaceful death? 
• What memory of him/her are you holding close right now?
• What memory makes you smile? 

I am not suggesting you conduct an interview! One question can open up an opportunity to listen. Are you sensing that another question is useful at this moment? My intuition launched the story of these birds. You can explore the power of listening to your gut feelings here: The Physics of Intuitive Compassion: Albert Einstein had it right!

If listening to one response is enough, simply say: 

Thank you for telling me; take care of yourself.

There is always something to hear...someone, some thing grateful to be heard

Listen!

The gravel verge bears a walker:

I hear chewing of shredded wheat.

Listen!

Birds call from dawn to sundown:

tedious mourning dove blues, 

cactus wren's grinding starter,

darting quail high notes: Uh-huh-Uh-huh,

Hey-you! alert - the thrasher arrives.

Listen!

Our homes hum tones tiny to tremendous; 

stretched and still in darkness,

I seek their source, finding some

in the pestling of brain, bones, molars.

Listen!

Attending too, to unfulfilled utterances:

hesitations, head dips, hand flutters,

the staccato of unsettled eyes and breath:

these voiceless notes of soul speak

of love or loss or the deep water strokes

of living without answers. 

Listen!

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Listen! (c)2020 Deborah Chappa

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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.

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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. 

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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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How to be a Friend during Terminal Illness

Do you know someone with a terminal illness?

I do; a few people, in fact. That reality can quickly change a relationship. The instinct to reach out socially is weighed with these questions:

• What should I say?
• What if they're resting?
• And really: What should I say?

So, before you read too far along in this post, please take a brief detour to one of my most widely read posts: 

Ask the Coach: What to Write to a Friend with Terminal Illness

Alive in a New Way

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The most important themes of this post are to overcome your fears and recognize that, until someone dies, they are alive. It's not useful to wonder 'how long they have left to live', so focus on now, today.
Validate their reality by encouraging your friend or loved one to 'tell it like it is'. They are on a radical journey, travelling to that mysterious portal called 'death.'  Start with...

• How are you today?
• How does that compare to yesterday?

As you adapt to the setting and the energy level of the person(s) you are visiting, you may wish to know more about this traveler before you...

• Can you share one surprising thing about your journey with this illness?
• Where does your mind go when you want a favorite memory?
• Is there anything you wish you could do, right now, that I might be able to help accomplish? This could be anything from a Bucket List item, to reaching a book on a high shelf or picking up an everything-on-it bagel at the deli. You might find yourselves having fun with this!

Recognizing Courage

Often, it takes courage to live. Always, it takes courage to die. Kay, a woman with the neurodegenerative disease, ALS, inspires so many people with her courage.

ALS or INSPIRATION: What Makes Kay's Star Shine?  In person and in her blog, Kay continually advocated for awareness, truth, and love. Call it the divine trilogy-- it is the perfect formula for Knowing.

Don't leave your visit without recognizing the courage of the traveler! This is an unparalleled moment to learn a truth, so ask...

• Where does your courage come from?

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Hold all the responses in your heart. Later, visit this conversation in your thoughts, and smile with gratitude.

THE COACH SAYS: For additional suggestions on visiting and supporting the dying, read  Final Conversations: Helping the dying transition from this world
Thinking of a special gift? Read about comfort objects, here!

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