For the first time in my life, I love being asked what I do. I’m still finessing the language around what I say so that it makes sense to people, but the internal cringe that accompanied that question since I graduated college is gone. My answer tends to elicit one of two reactions. People either respond with some version of, Wow, how interesting, that’s great, quickly changing the subject, or they launch into a story about grief. I love those conversations. They get real, fast.

I met a woman the other day whose husband and son-in-law died of cancer and now her oldest daughter is in the final stages. She’s taken herself away to an island to die, leaving her young daughter with her new guardian. The family is in turmoil, trying to get her to come home. She talked, I listened, until she felt her emotions rise up and stopped herself, moving back to the task at hand. My heart broke for them all.

Last week I walked the Picking Up the Pieces guide over to my neighbors’ house. I want to know if it holds any value for someone whose intense grief is over twenty years old. As we sat and talked about life and death, fear and time, I saw tears in the husband’s eyes, witnessing again the truth of you never get over it.

You never get over it.

(You will never again be the person you were before.)

Why do we think we should? Because the bible of mental health diagnoses, the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM) gives 2 months for bereavement? Because most employers give 2 or 3 days? Because our rituals around death are over within weeks and if it’s not a death you’re grieving, you likely have no ritual to support you at all?

Grief is baptism by fire. It feels like more than we can stand. It tears our skin off and we walk, naked and raw, through the world. We shut down, or we hide, or we go a little crazy. We cry in the grocery store or we laugh at inappropriate moments or we get over-the-top angry when we burn our toast. If we’re lucky, through it all, we carry that seed of hope, of knowing, deep inside that tells us we will eventually be okay.

You will be okay.

(I know this.)

It is my privilege to hear these stories, to bear witness to love and loss, fear and pain. It is a gift to have my heart broken open and still get through the day whole. It is my journey to hold space for these intense experiences, these feelings that pull us under and make us gasp for breath. It is, finally, my pleasure to answer the question, What do you do?

Thank you, my sweet son, for changing my life. I miss you like crazy. I love you.

 

Since last night I’ve been clearing and releasing, clearing and releasing, wracked with sobs that feel older than this lifetime. It’s been months since I’ve cried this hard. I know better than to question it. I crumple and allow myself to fall apart. I am held – last night by my husband, today by both he and Ada. I cry until the pain in my chest is gone. I quiet my mind as it warns me to stop after a minute or two. I quiet my mind as it cries out that I am a victim. I am not done. There are more tears to be shed. But for now, there is peace.

Today I want to talk about the Picking Up the Pieces Retreat. I don’t know if you’ve read the retreat page yet but here’s what I’ve realized: my inherent strengths do not lie in writing great copy like the Kelly Diels, Alexandra Franzens and Pema Teeters of the world.

So I’m going to take a few moments and tell you why I am over-the-moon excited about this retreat.

1. The food. Perhaps not what I should lead with but really, when I’m going somewhere for 4 days and have to eat what’s put in front of me,  I want to know it’s going to be good. It’s going to be good. I’ve been drooling since Patricia gave me her menu ideas. It’s also going to be healthy, because what goes into our bodies has a direct effect on how we feel and what we think. I was one of those “yeah, yeah, I know” people whenever someone said that to me until I had to kiss sugar goodbye and realized how much more emotionally stable I am without it.  We also get to spend one evening making our food together, with Patricia guiding us and sharing some of her vast knowledge on how to eat joyfully and healthfully. Personally I love the camaraderie of cooking together so this will be a highlight for me. (Special note: the retreat center is meat-free and booze-free – you’ve been warned)

2. The workshops. Everything that we will be doing has changed my life in a profound way. I won’t go into all of them here but there are a few I can’t keep quiet about.

2a) I don’t fully understand the science behind sound healing but having been through Sat Nishan Kaur’s Spirit Songs workshop twice, I know it accesses something primal. I sobbed my way through the first one and that was before Ben died. Both times I’ve walked away feeling deeply connected to myself and as though my body and spirit were cleansed. This is not about making pretty sounds – it’s about singing from your soul.

2b) The Body Speaks is a combination of my experience as a professional dancer, my extensive training in physical theater and my knowledge of the body as a storehouse for memory and emotion. We are going to move, explore, dance and release what we no longer want and need. I’m going to teach you how to do it on your own too, because no matter how big your internal shift is at the retreat, the work will continue once you’re home. Absolutely no dance, movement or acting experience required – all you need is a body and the willingness to be present with whatever shows up.

2c) After Ben died, I felt like my outside no longer matched who I was on the inside. I had the added challenge of 50+ pounds to lose but I think most grieving people go through a time where they see a stranger when they look in the mirror. I knew I wanted to bring a personal stylist in for the retreat, but I wanted one who worked from the inside out, who could take a look at a woman and see into her soul. Catherine Cassidy came highly recommended and when I saw she was Christine Kane‘s personal stylist I knew I was on the right track. I recently had a chance to work with her on my wardrobe and was blown away by what I came away with in an hour and a half. Unassuming and kind, Catherine took my personal style and made it better – more polished, more interesting, more me. This one’s going to be FUN.

2d) One of the healing modalities I have found most helpful since Ben’s death is essential oils. Again, I don’t understand the why behind it, but that’s why Elizabeth Reynolds, founder of Crown Chakra Cafe, is coming to work with us. I’ve been using her Chakra healing set for the last 4 months and the effects have been both subtle and magical. I can only describe it as both a knitting together and an opening up of my soul. I feel stronger, better able to handle life’s buffeting winds while also feeling more in tune with my intuition, and more compassionate toward myself and others. Elizabeth will be sharing her knowledge and her oils with us – I am thrilled to be able to share her with you.

3. Daily Kundalini Yoga. This practice has changed my life. It grounds me. It’s the best high I’ve ever had.* It makes the world look brighter. It kicks my butt. Enough said.

4. Reiki. If you’ve never experienced a Reiki healing you are in for a treat. It’s deceptively gentle and profoundly relaxing. It works on many levels – mental, emotional, physical, and spiritual, independently of any other faith or belief system you may have. I was convinced of its power in the last weeks of my pregnancy with Ben. My friend and Reiki Master would come to the house and within a day and a half of her treating me, my bleeding would stop. She was a busy mom so I didn’t ask her to come more often than once a week and the bleeding would start again a few days after it stopped. I still believe (though I no longer feel pain around it) that if I’d had Reiki more often, Ben might have lived.

There is more I want to tell you. I’m practically bouncing up and down in my seat. I’ll leave it for now with one request – if you’re feeling drawn to come and the only thing stopping you is finances, please email me and let’s talk. (Head over to the Retreat page for more details and cost)

* When Yogi Bhajan first brought Kundalini Yoga to the US from India in 1969, his first devotees were young hippies who discovered they could experience higher consciousness without drugs.

Sunday night we returned from 9 days with my folks in Ithaca, NY. I had grand plans for our time there. Knowing how much fun my daughter and mother have together I figured I’d have plenty of time to write, create and make the phone calls I’d been putting off. I didn’t factor in the time difference and the child who didn’t fall asleep before 10pm, or the internet that only broadcast through half the house, or the fact that my cell phone didn’t get consistent service that far out of town. In my planning, I forgot that I would be with my parents, who I’m lucky if I see twice a year. I forgot that my brother would be there for 3 nights and I don’t know when I’ll see him again. I didn’t think about the projects my father would have lined up, knowing he had strong men to help, and that whoever wasn’t immersed in play, felling trees or emptying ancient water heaters would need to make lunch and prep dinner.

I gave myself the first weekend to relax but as the days progressed without any visible sign of me whittling away at my to-do list, the internal pressure began to build. My expectations far outweighed my ability to get ‘er done and that nasty voice of fear and lack  began to snicker on my shoulder. So I got something done. I took care of myself. I surrendered to what was.

I also got a date night with my husband. I took photos as Steve and Ada recreated her ballet class on the front lawn, soaking wet. I sat and watched chickadees flit between branch and feeder, and listened to my daughter echo their call. We celebrated Ada’s 4th birthday and took her canoeing for the first time. I ate meals with my parents, I talked with my brother, I hung laundry to dry and ran to take it down in the rain.

Grief taught me to surrender – to the moment, to the feelings, to the not-knowing. It was a beautiful lesson and one that is easy to forget as I move through time and space, away from the day Ben died and toward my vision of the future. The illusion of control has re-entered into my life and along with it, the idea that there is one right way to do things, one standard to measure myself against, whether it fits me or not. I recognize this as an old mental construct, a pattern from the days when I believed myself to be undeserving and sadly lacking. I can now choose to hang on to the misery, or let it go. There will come a day when my parents are no longer alive, my daughter is grown and my days will be my own. Until that time I will continue to practice surrender, trusting that I am where I need to be, that life is good and that turning towards love is always the right choice.