There are so many story ideas I have written down during my journey of healing. My last post shared where I’ve been, which was recovering from a fractured femur and the surgery needed to repair it. I am so far behind in writing.
I also noticed that a lot of my grief writing has been sad. Because, well, that’s grief. I have been trying to make some meaning out of the grief.
One of the goals I am working towards now is incorporating what I have learned on my healing journey, recovering from grief and trauma, be it physical, emotional or spiritual. I have been attending workshops in an effort to combine all of my talents as well as my knowledge. I’m passionate towards helping others navigate the deep, dark waters of grief.
That said, one of the numerous things I have learned in my coursework is that grief and joy can happen simultaneously.
That is what I would like to share with you today.
It had been months – over six months, to be precise – that I had been able to visit my sacred space – the labyrinth that I shared with Sarah, just about a week before she passed away.
For the past six or seven months, I have been recovering from a serious lower back/hip injury. I truly believe it was a manifestation of the grief and trauma surrounding her death, and other major significant losses.
Love, Loss and Living and Grieving on the first Angel Day
One year ago, today, the unthinkable happened. My precious granddaughter, Sarah, passed away after a brave battle with myocarditis. Not only did her death send a ripple of shock and grief through our family, that ripple reached beyond what anyone could imagine. She touched the hearts and lives of so many people in our community, and the world at large.
One of the benefits of a warmer-than-normal fall in the Midwest is the opportunity to get out for a walk without bundling up from head-to-toe. It’s especially helpful for me, as walking is one of my go-to, self-care modalities as I process grief.
One of the pitfalls is, though, while the warmth and sunshine are appreciated, the storms that are trying to settle us into winter weather have definitely created havoc.
While many people look forward to their first cup of coffee in the morning, I truly savor my second cuppa Joe. It’s like a reward for getting up, showering, exercising and adulting. Anything to motivate me to get the day rolling.
My second cup is great because I love to sit outside and journal. Now, this all works great when the weather is nice. However, I start to panic in the fall, knowing that outside journaling is going to come to a cold and snowy end.
The three-year adoption anniversary of my little buddy, Remington, has come and gone. Unfortunately, in complete compliance with the surreal of crap that is the year 2020, our three-year-old pup passed away over the summer.
Sometimes, I just sit back and scratch my head. The question “Why?” pelts me at all hours – day or night.
I was completely shocked and devastated when Remi died. He got me out on walks on my darkest days. He made me laugh on my darkest days. He brought me pure joy on my darkest days.
How was I going to manage the grief and trauma I was already working through, when I now had to add the grief and trauma of losing him, too?
I’ve added this post to my “Love, Loss and …” series, because so far, the year 2020 has been a “big T” trauma. Our entire world is learning to live with grief and trauma on so many levels. And as I know, trauma healing begins with someone who will listen. Trauma healing also needs one to listen to one’s self and to self-reflect.
When this Facebook post hit my feed the other night, I wanted to hit “share,” add a heart emoticon, and send it into the virtual world. (link here)
Something stopped me. I felt I needed to say more, and I took a few days to realize that, yes, I needed to do more than just share. It took me a few days to gather my thoughts about this interview with Blake Hairston.
A little over six months ago, I spent the afternoon with my precious granddaughter, Sarah. A week later, she was fighting for her life. When her body gave out after an amazingly brave battle, she transitioned to heaven, leaving all of those who love her behind, living in our own Hell on earth. Our loss, Heaven’s gain.
When I took her to the labyrinth on a sunny, cool, November day, I promised her we’d come back each season, take photos, and see the changes in nature. We’d have wonderful memories and photos to look back on, and the moment I hugged her in the center of the labyrinth, I knew it was our special place.