Yesterday morning I woke to pictures of my cousin’s new baby boy in my inbox. I smiled. He’s beautiful. Grief sat squarely on my chest.

I ignored it. I thought about everything I needed to get done. I began to suffer.

My husband recognized the look in my eye, the set of my jaw, and the shortness of my replies. He suggested a solution. Sometimes that goes well, sometimes not. Today it was perfect. The dark cloud began to lighten but I wasn’t ready to cry.

I took time for myself. I asked for direction. I opened a book.

Can you imagine how it would feel if your heart were open, if everywhere you went, you trusted, were relaxed, and knew that the universe was friendly? How would your life flow if you believed that your inner guidance was gentle and kind, and that people were sending you love wherever you went, and that you yourself broadcast a beam of love like a circle around you to everyone? How would your life change if whenever someone said something to you, no matter how it came out, you could recognize the love or need for love behind it? — from Living With Joy by Sanaya Roman

I sat for a moment and thought about love. I relaxed. I remembered that everything will be okay, even when it feels like it won’t. I got to work. I cried.

*****

Today is a big day for me. Let me tell you why.

Picking Up the Pieces: thoughts on grief and growth is available for download. If you’re grieving, or know someone who is, consider this my gentle nudge to read it. It’s free, it’s beautiful and it just might change your life.

I’m also announcing the Picking Up the Pieces Retreat – 3 days and 4 nights that’ll knock your socks off. If you wear socks. This one’s not free but it will be beautiful and it’s definitely going to change your life.

Lastly, I am moving this blog to a self-hosted site. This is way out of my comfort zone and I’m hoping it goes smoothly. Please be patient with me if you encounter any difficulties. If you’re receiving this via email, let me say thank you (!) and let you know that you’ll want to sign up at the new site in order to keep receiving blog posts. But I’m still figuring that out, so I’ll let you know when it’s ready.

Here’s to life – let’s really live it.

Over the last 11 months, I have found myself reaching out to women I know who are further along in their mourning process. It doesn’t matter if our losses are similar, because grief is specific to each of us. As I negotiate this life, the guiding hands of those who have gone before hold me when I am stumbling. One wise friend told me she now sees people as a kind of Venn diagram: In section A are those who have had a devastating loss; section B contains those who haven’t (yet); and the overlap, section C holds those who haven’t but are willing to venture into a deeper understanding of what it must feel like.

When grief first knocks at our door, there are great outpourings of love and support. Gradually it fades away and we are left to our own devices, to our own processes, to our own sadness. We belong to group A in that diagram and it slowly becomes clear where everyone else stands.

My husband has his own moments of mourning our son, though they are less frequent and less obvious than mine. This makes sense. He is able to hold me when I cry, as hard as it is for him, because he has learned that this is how I process the pain. Though it is not his way, he understand that it is mine.

My daughter wants her mama to smile, to laugh, to play with her. She watches me closely. She speaks of her brother – less often now – but she is a child. It will only be later, as she grows, that she will begin to understand what this experience means and how it will shape her life.

My parents have their own moments of sadness, though we don’t speak of them often. My in-laws too, hold their eleventh grandchild in their hearts. We give and receive the support we can, loving and forgiving each other for our strengths and weaknesses.

It is with friends that I have seen the biggest changes. Most of those who know loss or are willing to taste it are able to hold space in their lives for me and my ups and downs. Those on the B side want things to return to some semblance of the way they used to be. They have no idea the energy it takes to recover, to stand on two feet after being knocked flat. It seems they want me to do what I did, be who I was and I cannot. I’ve tried.

I do not wish to be that person anymore. I like the new me, though she is not always graceful, has plenty of rough edges and falls apart on a regular basis. I like the way I’ve grown and many of the changes that have come. Most importantly, I accept the new me, in a way I’ve never accepted myself before. This, in turn, allows me to let go of judgments that have held me captive for a long time. It is like shedding a weighted skin. I am raw, born anew, learning to walk again.

Yesterday was 11 months from the date of Ben’s death. Most of the day felt like any other in this new life. I had a moment in the morning where I looked at the clock on the microwave and flashed back to the operating room, to the nurse’s voice telling me there were no signs of life. I stood still, feeling time move around me like a warm wind until the memory left and I found myself once again in my kitchen, a mug of decaf coffee in my hand.

We had a visit with friends we haven’t seen in years. The girls became mermaids, long hair flowing as they covered their legs with seaweed, mussel shells and mud. The mamas talked, catching up, remembering the feel of each others’ presence. The sun shone, breaking through June’s thick clouds. We played a game, made a mess, and ate the lunch Steve prepared. Late last night I sat down, alone, and spoke to Ben. He answers me in different ways – words on a page, thoughts that come as though a voice other than mine is speaking them, occasionally I hear the lyrics to a song.

Today grief has had me in a stranglehold since the moment I awoke, short on sleep and patience. I closed my eyes and fought for peace, clawing my way toward the light I could see on the other side of the enveloping dark. All morning I’ve been some variation of annoyed, irritated, or angry. Slowly the realization dawned. It takes me longer admit it to myself, even though I know the signs. Even I, who have given myself permission to grieve this loss fully, struggle with the pressure to get over it. Even I, who knows how precious its gifts are, sometimes want to dull the pain. But she is wise, my grief. She knocks at the door to my heart until it opens, allowing the release to come, allowing tears and words to flow.

I am imperfect in this process. I have learned how to set myself up for success, as I would my child, and still, I fall down. In the kitchen for a moment, two sentences from 2011’s Words to Remember caught my eye: Stay connected to now. Find the joy. I am feeling the grip of old thoughts and habits today, cold hands pulling me down into the deep. When I bring myself back to the present moment I see those hands for what they are – the desperate grasp of an ego that has spent years being the ring-master of my life. I know, now, that I am greater, and more powerful, than that. Instead of fighting the dark, I can simply turn my face toward the light. I can find excitement in the knowledge that I have the opportunity to figure it out, this life, by living it to the best of my ability. For now, in this moment, I can believe that:

I am worthy

I am enough

I am trust

I am love

I am exactly where I need to be.

All is well

Even when it seems like it isn’t,

and I’m going to be alright.

I’ve been feeling my own absence lately. This space that used to be for daily expression has taken a back seat to bigger projects. But my heart is here and there are many stories I have yet to tell. In the meantime…

I am thrilled to say you can find me today over at Kristin Noelle’s gorgeous blog, Trust Tending, answering a question about depression. My friend Pamela wrote about this special place on the web beautifully.  Kristin’s blog “is the best class you have ever taken, the biggest exhale you’ve breathed out, and an entirely new perspective on your own familiar life.”

Browse through Kristin’s archives and you’ll find yourself chuckling, nodding your head in recognition, breathing more deeply and getting lost in her wonderful sketches. It has quickly become one of my favorite places to spend a few stolen moments on the web. Give yourself the gift of trying one of her rituals, join the conversation or visit her shop. It’s all food for the soul.

Sending you love…