Tiny Buddha

Tag: death

  • We Have a Right to Grieve Losses Big and Small

    We Have a Right to Grieve Losses Big and Small

    Deppresive Man

    “Wisdom is nothing more than healed pain.” ~Robert Gary Lee

    It felt like I was being crushed by the weight of the world.

    “Impossible,” I thought.

    It’s impossible that people actually suffer this kind of pain and survive to tell the tale.

    When I thought about it, my stomach contracted as if I’d taken a blow to the gut. I’d gasp for breath and try to find some air through the tears and in between sobs.

    So this is what grief felt like.

    Now I understood why denial is the first stage of grief. How could you endure this kind of agony if you had to face the force of its full frontal attack?

    I felt sick and exhausted. I lay down and, although I expected never to find enough peace to sleep again, I quickly drifted off into a place where there was no more pain.

    When you think of grief, you think about a great loss.

    A death of a loved one, news of your terminal illness, and the loss of your home from the violent winds of a tornado are all acceptable events to grieve about.

    We can understand how any of the above can bring a person to their knees. We expect people to grieve over these losses.

    What we refuse to understand is the grief we feel over the smaller losses. (more…)

  • 6 Empowering Lessons Death Taught Me About Life

    6 Empowering Lessons Death Taught Me About Life

    “Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss in life is what dies inside us while we live” ~Norman Cousins

    I am not dead and I am not dying, so you may wonder why I write that death has taught me what I need to know about life.

    I lost my mother when I was fifteen. Being a teenager, thoughts of anyone close to me dying had not entered my head. My mother had a brief illness and passed away unexpectedly at age forty-seven.

    I remember that my schoolmates came to see me, and I kept thinking that they had their moms. More than being sad that I had lost my mom, I was angry that I had been placed in that position. I missed my mom a lot and just wanted her to come back and be with me.

    I started developing a fear that my father would die soon too. When I was in my early thirties, my fears came true when my dad passed away suddenly after a heart attack. He was a skilled physician, a kind man, and more importantly, a wonderful father to me.

    As if my dad’s passing away was not enough, my older sister died unexpectedly a year later. I always considered her a strong person, and I could not fathom how she could have died.

    To add insult to injury, another sister of mine passed away soon after that.

    By then, I had decided that the Universe was conspiring against me. I did not think anyone cared, and I put on an act, pretending to be happy. The truth was that I was buried under the rubble of my fearful thoughts, and constantly worried that something would go wrong.

    The next couple of years passed by with various family mishaps till one day, I lost the prestigious job I had.

    You may wonder why I classify a job loss in the same category as death, as a job is not irreplaceable. To me, at that point in my life, the job loss had the same feeling of injustice that the death of my parents and siblings so early in my life had for me.

    One of my friends suggested that I read books about having positive thoughts. I googled “positive” and started to devour self-help books. I subscribed to Tiny Buddha and spent time meditating.

    I reflected on what I read while drinking coffee in the quiet stillness of the early morning hours.

    I meditated while on the treadmill, and I realized that the answers to my questions had always been within me. I had just let the unannounced and uninvited negative thoughts I had to overshadow the shackled positive thoughts within me, yearning for a release.

    I realized that I was not singled out for anything bad, as I also had a lot of blessings to be thankful for. I had just chosen to not focus on the good in my life. I knew then that I am a survivor. I would like to share my lessons, which I hope will help you face loss of any kind that devastates you.

    1. There is a survivor in each one of us.

    If you have survived even one moment after a tragedy, you are a survivor.

    Yes, there is a sense of utter hopelessness and despair at first, soon after a loss; but every passing moment shows that you can and you will live this life you have been given.

    It proves that you are strong; it proves that you are not a quitter; and above all else, it proves that even if you never forget who or what you have lost, you will not run away from living life.

    After all, life is not about living in defeat.

    2. There is always something that is going right in a person’s life.

    Even in the midst of a tornado of unforeseen circumstances, and all the despair it brings in its wake, there is always something to appreciate in life.

    Even though I lost my parents and sisters, I still had wonderful friends in my life.

    We need to focus on the good in our life and try to be happy. Being sad and focusing on what we do not have does not change the circumstances.

    You can either make a list of what you have, or you can make a list of what you do not have. The first list will bring you peace and happiness, while the second list will bring you only sadness.

    You may have a lot of things that make you unhappy, but if you have even one thing going well, you have to focus on that. I have found that the more I consider the good in my life, the more things seem to come together for me.

    3. Do not take the people you love for granted.

    If you are lucky enough to have loved ones in your life, call them often. Visit them often. Share your life with the people who love you.

    What can be more important than the people you care about, who care about you?

    No one is guaranteed to live a hundred years, and even a hundred years can pass all too fast.

    4. Let go of expectations that events in life need to happen in a certain manner that you favor.

    Life happens, and it may or may not turn out as you hoped it would. You just have to work with what you have. A lot of times, you may be surprised to find that you end up liking what you get.

    Even if you are disappointed that you did not get what you expected, and even if you are upset that you do not have what you want, it is still possible to lead a good life if you can let go of your expectations and find reasons to be happy with what you have.

    Life becomes a lot better when you learn to accept it.

    5. It is not your fault that bad things beyond your control happen.

    Blaming yourself will take you down a long and lonely road with no end in sight. Guilt is a hard taskmaster with no mercy.

    Even the most meticulously thought out life will have unforeseen hardships disrupting the plans.

    You could not have changed the circumstances surrounding the loss. You could not have prevented it in any way.

    Sadly, death happens and life still goes on. When my mother died, it was the day before the Festival of Lights, and all my neighbors were enjoying firecrackers outside in their garden. Life went on. When my father died, life went on. When my sisters died, life carried on.

    I used to wonder where God was till I realized that God is the strength and energy that pulled me through all of these circumstances.

    6. Be open to miracles.

    As long as you are living, something wonderful could happen at any moment. Life may have lows that you never expected and that you did not foresee, but it also will have highs that you never dreamed of that will bring you joy beyond your wildest imagination.

    The Universe does not owe you anything, so be grateful for any blessings that you have. Do not let anything slip away.

    No matter what happens, try to enjoy the life you have. No one else can enjoy it for you.

  • How to Move from Grief to Relief After Losing a Loved One

    How to Move from Grief to Relief After Losing a Loved One

    Man at the cemetary

    “When a person is born we rejoice, and when they’re married we jubilate, but when they die we try to pretend nothing has happened.” ~Margaret Mead

    It was five years ago this month that my father passed away from cancer. About four months before his death, his oncologist gave him a bleak diagnosis, telling him to get his affairs in order because he could die at any time.

    Our entire family was dumbstruck. Here was a man who appeared to be strong and generally healthy.

    He was a youthful sixty-eight years old. Just months into his retirement after a long and impactful career in social work, this was my dad’s time to enjoy the pleasures of post-retirement life, not brace for a devastatingly premature death.

    Summoning every bit of optimism resident in my being, I refused to accept he would fall to cancer.

    I knew the power of a healthy diet, exercise, and other holistic modalities in extending the longevity of cancer patients. I would do whatever it took for my father to survive.

    I spent hundreds at Whole Foods in a single visit, buying up the most potent anti-cancer foods and supplements.

    I researched every type of cancer therapy under the sun.

    I encouraged my father to modify his diet, follow a juicing regimen, and consult with credible and proven holistic healers of every stripe.

    Despite my best efforts, I had hit a wall. Sure, my father expressed appreciation for my care and concern, but he held no desire to change his lifestyle or pursue any alternative therapies.

    Pursuing these things might have helped reverse his illness; or they might have done very little. What was certain is that he had resigned himself to the notion that death was upon him.

    And so for months my family and I were left to watch the vitality of a man we held so dear steadily drain away. Adding to the horror of the situation were the rounds of chemotherapy my father underwent at the recommendation of his physician, who claimed it would alleviate his suffering.

    To my untrained eye, the chemotherapy succeeded only in withering my dad’s physical vessel down to an ashen shell of what it once was.

    But I made sure to hold it together.

    I don’t believe I cried more than a few times in the months leading up to my dad’s passing. I simply didn’t allow myself to feel the cascade of negative emotions churning below the surface.

    I had to be practical, I thought, so that I could support my mother and the rest of my family during an extremely challenging time. I had to power through it.

    And steady I remained, right up until my dad took his last breath in the hospice facility on that warm spring afternoon.

    The bewildering mix of grief, pain, shock, and relief in the wake of losing a loved one who has been suffering profoundly will touch everyone differently. I wept mightily that evening. Surrounded by family and friends, I felt able to emote and let the tears flow, at least for a day. What a relief.

    My willingness to acknowledge my pain quickly changed, however. The long list of responsibilities that fell on my mother in the immediate aftermath of my father’s death were formidable.

    I made it my priority to do whatever I could to unburden her and once again, I chose to prioritize fulfilling obligations over feelings my feelings.

    I made it through the funeral, the flood of calls and the many financial, legal, and practical considerations that accompany the death of a relative. I helped pick up the pieces. But as the months wore on I continued to deny myself the opportunity to process the emotional impact of losing my dad.

    I wasn’t in denial about my father dying, I was in denial about the way I felt about it.

    Feeling for Answers

    Two years later I found myself in the office of a friend who happens to be a fellow hypnotherapist. I confided in her that, for more than a year, I had been struggling with a strange case of debilitating chronic stomach pain. She offered to help me unearth subconscious patterns that might have been contributing to the pain.

    During my session, I came to discover that the stomach issue I was experiencing was directly linked to unexpressed grief and shame around my father’s passing.

    I discovered that not only did I fail to move through the grief of the event, but part of me felt deeply guilty about letting my dad slip away when I believed I could have saved him. With my friend’s help, I was guided to release the underlying emotional discord feeding my physical ailment. The pain vanished overnight and never returned.

    It was eye-opening. Though I intellectually knew there existed a profound connection between our emotional states and physical health, it was still hard to believe that my months of acute discomfort were the manifestation of bottled up emotion. I had learned a big lesson.

    Open Up to Your Pain

    From an early age we are conditioned to ignore our negative emotions. This is especially the case when we endure difficult circumstances, such as family sickness and death. We choose to push away our feelings in order to “just get through it.”

    The trouble is that in suppressing our emotions we’re not getting through anything, but rather forcing these emotional patterns deep into the recesses of the subconscious mind. This unexpressed pain that brews below the surface is at the root of much of our anxiety and many types of illness.

    When it comes to any sort of emotional pain, it’s crucial for us to understand that negative feelings serve us. They are wonderful indicators of the truth of our being and show us what is wanted and unwanted. But we don’t have to hang on to the anger, sadness, and powerlessness forever.

    We transcend our negative emotions by being present with them. Being tuned into the truth of your feelings doesn’t mean you will be a trainwreck and incapable of dealing with the real world; it actually sets you on the path of wholeness and peace.

    We strive to put on a front so that the world sees us as kind, capable, and strong. This often means that we denying our emotional pain. It takes great courage to admit to our vulnerabilities and embrace our authentic feelings, but it is a required stop on the way to freedom and relief.

    I challenge you to pick something in your life that you’ve been holding back from feeling and choose to express your pain in a safe and conscious way. Pull down the facades and give yourself permission to not be okay. It’s time to free yourself.

  • How I Think My Friend Who Died Would Want Me to Live

    How I Think My Friend Who Died Would Want Me to Live

    Open Arms

    “Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.” ~Norman Cousins

    Have you ever been there?

    When someone you love suddenly disappears. When life, within a few seconds, turns upside down. When your biggest problems suddenly seem like nothing but drops in the ocean.

    I know I have.

    It was December 15, 2013. That was the day when everything changed, when her life came to an end, and many other lives were changed forever.

    When they first told me she was gone, I couldn’t fully grasp reality. For a second I wondered who this person was they were talking about—this person who apparently had the same name as my friend.

    Then, the reality sank in. My heart broke into a thousand pieces.

    Being one of the first to find out, I knew I had to be the carrier of the awful news. I had to tell people that someone they loved was gone. She had a lot of friends all over the world, so I made calls to Brazil, the United States, Venezuela, France, and the Netherlands.

    Some couldn’t say anything; others cried hysterically. After each call, my heart broke a little more. Hearing the pain and sorrow in others was almost more than I could take. Everything seemed so unreal. One day she was there and the next she was gone.

    Over two years have passed since that day. Now she smiles at me from the picture on my desk. Sometimes I imagine her being here with me. If she were, what would she tell me? How would she want me to live my life? I think she would tell me something like this:

    1. Be open to new friends.

    The first time we met was in a bar in Saint-Denis, Paris. I was new to the city and barely knew anyone there. Even though she already had her life established, she never hesitated to become friends. She initiated our friendship; she made the first phone call and asked to meet again. For that, I’m very grateful to her.

    As we grow older, we tend to stop making new friends. But, that also means that we deprive ourselves of new, unexpected, and incredible experiences. So, choose to stay open and curious about new people. They might just change your life.

    2. Laugh often.

    She was a happy person. She could light up a room with her warm smile and infectious laughter. When I met her parents, I knew exactly where she had gotten that from. Even at her funeral, her father opened up by saying, “I can’t believe I’m standing at my daughter’s funeral with a smile on my face. Seeing that so many people cared for my daughter brings warmth to my heart.”

    Joy is contagious, so smile more, and laugh often. You won’t just feel better, but you’ll also touch the heart of others while you’re at it.

    3. Stop doubting yourself.

    We once had a conversation in which she questioned whether she was lovable as a person. She had no reason to doubt herself, believe me. But, unfortunately, many of us do. We question if we’re good enough, smart enough, or good looking enough.

    She was at her best when she was herself fully and completely—including the flaws, quirks, and imperfections. We should trust that the same applies to us all. Trust that there were no mistakes when we were created. Trust that our differences are what make us unique and irreplaceable.

    4. Choose to see the positive.

    When we were going through uncertain times at work, and nobody knew if they would keep their job, she was the only one who laughed and joked about it. When someone would ask, “So, any news?” she’d always say with a smile, “Still here!” Even though circumstances were difficult, she chose to see the positive. And her positive attitude grew into a positive result, as she was among the group of people who would keep their jobs.

    Being positive when things aren’t going our way isn’t easy—it’s easier to complain and be negative. But, what we focus on tends to grow. So, instead of fighting what isn’t working, focus on what is working and on that which we want to grow. Simply put, give power to faith instead of fear.

    5. Don’t judge.

    She wasn’t someone who judged. Instead, she chose to accept everyone for who they were. She never allowed looks, clothes, or opinions to stand in the way of connecting to someone. Instead, she knew she had something to learn from everyone. So, rather than being critical to differences, she chose to be curious about them.

    We never know what someone has gone through or is going through; therefore, we’re not in a position to judge. Judgment creates separation between people, while curiosity builds bridges. Choose to stay curious.

    6. Love fully.

    She knew the power of love. She knew how it could build someone up or destroy them completely. No matter if it was a love partner or friend, she always chose to love fully. She did so by giving her undivided attention, sincerely wanting the best for everyone, and by being generous with compliments, time, and support.

    When I think of her, I think about the love she gave me and the love I have for her. Because, in the end, all that matters is the love we hold and share.

    7. Don’t waste time.

    Before her death, I used to live as if I would live forever. I talked about dreams, but I never acted on them. I always found excuses as to why it wasn’t the right time, or fretted about how things wouldn’t work out. But then her life ended at twenty-six.

    And if she were here today, I think she would tell me the following:

    “Don’t wait and prepare yourself for the life you truly desire. Start living it right now. Make the most of life while you still can. Make sure every minute of your time here counts.”

    Because it does count.

  • Gifts from a Terrible Disease: A Message for Anyone Who’s Slowly Losing a Loved One

    Gifts from a Terrible Disease: A Message for Anyone Who’s Slowly Losing a Loved One

    Friends Hugging

    “Challenges are gifts that force us to search for a new center of gravity. Don’t fight them. Just find a new way to stand.” ~Oprah Winfrey

    Alzheimer’s crept into our lives about five years ago. It’s like a vine growing alongside a house, slowly taking over the space that was once free. But in this case, the vine is slowly creeping over my mum’s brain.

    There are so many horrific statistics attached to this disease: Worldwide, nearly forty-four million people currently have Alzheimer’s or a related dementia; one in nine Americans over sixty-five has Alzheimer’s disease; unless a cure is found, more than sixteen million Americans will have the disease by 2050.

    The numbers are so scary I can hardly wrap my head around them. But to be perfectly honest with you, right here, right now, I don’t care about all these statistics. The one thing I do care about is the fact that this is happening to my mum.

    The disease has brought her physical pain, fear, and confusion. In fact, it has brought all of us that.

    Watching my mum disappear into this disease is heart wrenching. Watching my dad having to cope with losing the love of his life, the woman he has been married to for fifty years, makes me sad beyond belief.

    It is a cruel disease. We are all devastated.
It hasn’t been easy for me to process what is happening. In fact, there are days where I know I haven’t processed it at all. I carry around a sadness that is hard to describe; all I can say is that it is a sadness that comes from deep within my soul.

    In contrast, on the good days, I actually consider myself as “lucky.” Despite her dipping in and out of lucidity, she is still there for me, at least for now. And so I am learning to hold on to the precious moments when we do connect, and that has taught me a whole lot about life.

    So far, the progression of the disease has been slow. Slow enough that I have had the chance over the last five years to tell her how I feel. I have had the chance to say goodbye slowly and to make sure she knows I love her every step of the way. Some people don’t get that chance and have to deal with death from one moment to the next. So yes, I am lucky in a way.

    But for me, it’s bigger than that. This time with her has given me the courage to say the things I need to say to those around me, without bottling them up or hiding from them. Because there is only now for her. Later isn’t an option.

    It has helped me voice the sometimes-difficult things that need to be said at work and in my private life.

    It has taught me to express my love for my loved ones. Because cliché as this sounds, life really is too short. And that is a gift I have received from this terrible disease.

    It has also showed me how to live in the moment. My mum’s moments are short, and most often forgotten. When she asks me the same question over and over again, I try not to get frustrated. I repeat myself over and over again like I was saying it for the first time. I am simply living in her moment. And that is a gift I have received from this terrible disease.

    I have also come to realize how much my energy has an effect on her. When words fail, which is happening more and more, it’s the energy between us that connects us. A hug, a touch, or a squeeze of a hand can say so much more than words. That magical hug is enough—for her, for me. 



    With that realization comes a new perspective on how my energy has an effect on others. When I am present, and I mean truly present, I feel my relationships and experiences blossom—from the simple act of buying bread at my local bakery (actually taking the time to breath in the smell of fresh bread rather than just doing something else on the shopping list), to the deep, meaningful moments with my friends. And that is a gift I have received from this terrible disease.

    We all grieve in different ways. Each family member and each friend is seeking solace and comfort in whichever way helps. I have stumbled through this as best as I can, trying to find my own way. But, how do you accept slowly losing a person you love to a disease?

    I don’t have any miracle answers—I wish I did.

    There is advice and support out there, plenty of it. I have found that some of the advice is helpful, while some of it is simply stupid; I would laugh if it weren’t so raw. There is, however, one piece of advice—more of a thought, actually—that I recently received from a good friend.

    It has helped me to look at the situation differently, and on some days, has given me a sense of peace.

    I think that is why I am writing this article—to pass on this advice, on the off chance that someone who is losing a loved one to Alzheimer’s, or any other devastating disease for that matter, may be comforted by it, just as I have been.

    This advice has given me the opportunity to look at this situation through different lenses, depending on how I am feeling on any particular day.

    The beauty of this thought is that it has offered me the space to try to accept the situation bit by bit. It has also helped me to look at life differently; I guess they call that “re-framing.” And on other days, it has helped me to think that my mum actually has her own plan.

    The thought is this: that my mum has found another house to move into. It’s not that she is unhappy where she is, but she has just found another home to live in somewhere else. She is slowly moving all of her stuff there—one plate, one knife, and one book at a time.

    At the moment, she is living in both houses. At some point soon she will have moved out completely.

    I don’t know will happen to her when she does move out. I just hope with all my heart that she is as happy where she goes as she has been with us. And because she can’t take her memories with her, it’s up to me to tell her now, again and again: I love you. I love you. I love you.

    And you know what? I have complete faith that she will take our love with her to her new house.

    I am not religious, but I have found faith.

    Faith—that is a gift I have received from this terrible disease.

    Hugging image via Shutterstock

  • How to Help a Friend Through Grief

    How to Help a Friend Through Grief

    Comforting Friend

    “Grief is like the ocean; it comes on waves ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim.” ~Vicki Harrison

    I’m no stranger to grief. When I was twenty-three I lost my mum, and then eight years later I lost my second daughter, Grace, when she was only one day old.

    Soon after Grace died, my husband and I saw a grief counselor. He said something about other people’s reactions to grief that turned out to be one of the truest statements anyone has ever made to me.

    He said, “There will be at least one friend you never hear from again because they don’t know what to say. At least one person will tell you not to worry because you can have another baby. And there will be one shining star—someone who you didn’t consider to be that close a friend—who will be there for you more forcefully and consistently than anyone else.”

    All three of his predictions came true.

    If you have a friend who is grieving, I know you will want to be their shining star. Grief is awkward and difficult; it’s something we tend to shy away from if we can help it. If you have never experienced grief, you may be at a loss to know what to say or do.

    You Don’t Need to Say the Right Thing

    In fact, you don’t need to say anything at all. You just need to be there.

    It may not feel like much, but your physical presence alone is a comfort—a hug, a hand to squeeze, a presence in the room. These are all important crutches when someone is navigating grief. Remember that you can’t fix this; all you can do is open your arms and open your heart.

    There were a few friends I never heard from again after I lost Grace, as the counselor predicted. It seemed so unfair to lose friends at the same time as losing my baby. I wish they had known that I didn’t expect them to say anything profound or heal my pain, but I did expect them to stick around.

    Try to Steer Clear of Platitudes

    The discomfort and awkwardness outsiders often feel toward grief has given rise to many platitudes over the years. Personally, I would steer clear from saying, “Everything happens for a reason,” or, “It is God’s will.” Even someone with the strongest faith will find that hard to swallow.

    Many platitudes are focused on trying to make the griever focus on the future and move on. While the intent is admirable, I just didn’t want to hear that time is a healer and how all would be fine. My grief is a burden I carry with me every day, and while it is true that I have learned to bear the weight of it (most of the time), I will never “get over it.”

    Try to consider your friend’s beliefs and values before offering words that you feel may be of comfort. Someone said to me, “Grace and your mum are up there watching over you,” which is a statement that just doesn’t match my beliefs, however much I wish it did.

    Instead, I felt slightly annoyed and then guilty for feeling annoyed, because I knew how well-intentioned my friend’s statement was.

    Remember Anniversaries

    Try to remember anniversaries such as the birthday of the person who died and the anniversary of the date of their death. Sending a card or even just a text on the day will let your friend know that you are remembering too.

    I have a friend who always writes Grace’s name on our Christmas card. This means so much to me at a time of year when Grace’s absence from our family is even more keenly felt.

    Celebrate Together

    Celebrating the life of the person your friend has lost can be as simple as reminiscing and talking about them. You could ask to look at photos and other mementos with your friend or help put together a life book.

    Don’t be afraid to mention the person they lost. You may think it kinder to steer clear of the subject, but trust me; your friend will want to talk. Memories are all that remain after a loss, and talking about the person who died really does help to keep them alive.

    If your friend is fundraising in memory of their loved one, you could offer to help. My husband and I carried out a lot of fundraising after Grace died, and it wouldn’t have been possible without the wonderful friends who helped out at and supported our events.

    Always Remember

    Deep loss causes lasting changes—I know I’m not the same person I used to be. Your friend may seem fine one day and angry or depressed the next. It’s all part of grief’s rhythm, which is eternal and has no logic or pattern.

    Vicki Harrison’s quote above really sums up what it is like to live after loss. So don’t take it personally if your friend seems distant or has no wish to socialize at times. He or she is just learning to swim.

    I can bear the load at times; other times I simply can’t. One of the consequences of my loss is that I have unintentionally become more introverted. Some days I just need to stay in a safe bubble with my little family, because letting the rest of the world in is too difficult.

    It’s easy to remember the profound effect grief has on your friend shortly after the loss, but much tougher to keep this in mind months, years, and decades after. I don’t believe that time is a healer; instead, it seems to be an adapter. With much difficulty, I am learning to adapt to life without my loved ones.

    The rawness may be dulled with time, but the emotions and sorrow are not. I know it can’t be easy for the friend of a griever, but if you can remember and be there for the long term, you will be the shining star your friend so desperately needs.

    Friendship vector via Shutterstock

  • There’s No Expiration Date on Grief (So Don’t Rush Your Pain)

    There’s No Expiration Date on Grief (So Don’t Rush Your Pain)

    Woman Sitting Alone

    “They say time heals all wounds, but that presumes the source of the grief is finite.” ~Cassandra Clare

    I lost my father to a heart attack when I was sixteen. I went to school on the morning of April 14, 2008 having a dad and went home that night not having one. I soon found myself dealing with an unfamiliar cocktail of emotions, pain so overwhelming that I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

    Every time I thought I was pulling myself together, I’d notice his belt buckle sitting on the dresser, or a pair of his socks on the floor, and suddenly the haphazard stitches I’d been sewing myself up with would tear open with heart-wrenching sobs.

    I lost the ability to make simple decisions like what takeout restaurant to order from or what to watch on TV. Nothing made sense that week.

    Dad had been my best friend, though not in the sense that he tried to act my age or allowed me to get away with things. On the contrary, my father was quite strict, always pushing me to be a better person.

    He was my best friend in that I could go to him with any worry and receive honest, unbiased advice. He forced me to see the good in myself instead of dwelling on the negative. I could cry in front of him knowing that he didn’t feel awkward or want to avoid me like dad characters on TV sitcoms.

    On the day of his death I had to accept that I could rely on no one but myself. That in and of itself seemed challenging, but now I had the added burden of everyone else depending on me. I was the shoulder that my mother and younger sister cried on.

    As the oldest child I became second in command under Mom. She relied on me for help with planning funeral details and making sure papers were in order. I didn’t mind the new role because it was empowering, as though by helping Mom I was giving back to Dad for everything he’d done for me.

    My greatest character flaw has always been focusing on the future instead of remaining grounded in the present. Not surprisingly, my father’s death and my long-term response to grief were no different.

    I cried for the entire week after he died. I cried along with everyone else at the funeral. Surely that’s all that grieving was supposed to be, right?

    When the funeral was over and the house was devoid of mourners, I picked my life up from where I was before his death.

    I avoided living in the “now” because the present was too painful, yet simultaneously tried to convince the rest of the world that I was a strong woman dealing with her pain. I stayed focused on getting into college and doing all of the things I knew my father would have wanted for me.

    This worked well until my senior year of college. I was on the Dean’s List, I had just gotten accepted into graduate school, and graduation was right around the corner.

    Then my boyfriend proposed.

    Except, I never expected that he would propose with my mother’s engagement ring, the same ring my father bought and proposed with. There was now a reminder of my father glimmering on my finger every day that I couldn’t ignore.

    Despite it being one of the happiest moments of my life, my engagement caused all of the sadness I’d buried to start bubbling up to the surface with such vigor that it felt like the day of his death all over again. I couldn’t run home and tell Dad the happy news. He wasn’t going to be able to walk me down the aisle.

    I realized how much I had been lying to myself. I hadn’t finished grieving because I hadn’t started grieving in the first place. I had been so focused on taking on the role of adult of the house that I didn’t give myself the chance to feel angry, resentful, or depressed, or to find the acceptance I really needed in order to move on.

    During the funeral people approached me to say that things would become easier in time. In truth, I don’t think this is ever the case. I have decided that grief never ends; we just find different ways of working with it in our lives.

    At twenty-four, I pretend to be a stoic and emotionless professional woman, but discussing my father with people still melts me like butter. I think about him and write about him more now than I did seven years ago, and that’s okay. There are no time limits for grief other than the ones we force on ourselves.

    If I could talk to my sixteen-year-old self, I’d tell her she shouldn’t feel guilty for her sadness. She’s entitled to grieve however she wants, for however long she wants. More importantly, I’d tell her that it’s important to take the time to sort out those feelings instead of hiding from them or putting other people first.

    I admit that certain memories of Dad still trigger a twinge of heartache. I will always feel emptiness in my life without him here. But I am aware of how much of him still lives with me—in my smile, my hobbies, and in the shared memories of people in my life who had the honor of knowing him.

    The key to grieving is not to try to stop it as quickly as possible. Grief cannot be shut off at will, despite how long I spent trying to convince myself otherwise. What matters is that we acknowledge that we are in pain and try to find the goodness in our life despite it.

    I used to look down at my engagement ring and feel numbed by sadness, both for the past and for the things that can never be. But with a new mindfulness I can look at my ring, this gift from my father, and know for certain that I’m allowed to move on and find the same happiness that my parents had.

    My father’s never going to disappear from my life; he’s just talking in ways that require careful listening.

    Woman sitting alone image via Shutterstock

  • How to Recover and Find Strength after Losing a Parent

    How to Recover and Find Strength after Losing a Parent

    “When we meet real tragedy in life, we can react in two ways – either by losing hope and falling into self-destructive habits or by using the challenge to find our inner strength.” ~Dalai Lama

    There was a period in life I called “the golden era.” Not in hindsight but at the actual time.

    I named it such because I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

    Everyone I loved was alive and well. I had a good job, a home, and a loving companion. All the things everyone longs for.

    Little did I know, this “golden era” would end too soon.

    One day, out of the blue, Mum asked if I had noticed a change in Dad’s behavior. She described how he could no longer write his signature and would often become distant.

    After some tests, we discovered that my father had a brain tumor.

    That instantly spelled the end of the golden era and the beginning of a rather painful period.

    Watching someone who was strong become weak and bedridden, suffer seizures, and eventually drift away eats away at you.

    It’s difficult to describe the tumultuous wave of feelings that come and overwhelm you. There’s the fear of coping with loss and feeling powerless because you can’t cure the illness and avoid the inevitable.

    Losing a parent can feel like losing part of yourself. If they’ve always been there, helping and supporting you, it’s hard to imagine coping without them.

    Getting through such a bleak period, however, proved one thing:

    We are stronger than we think.

    Somewhere inside us is a resilience we never thought possible.

    Use the following steps to uncover your inner strength, overcome grief, and learn to smile again.

    1. Forgive yourself.

    When a parent dies, guilt can become a burden because of past arguments you now regret or maybe because you think you didn’t do enough to help them.

    You should realize no parent-child relationship is ever perfect. Disputes, mistakes, and shortcomings occur on both sides and are all in the past. You were still loved even if you were seldom told.

    By recognizing the past as something that is finished and unchangeable, you can begin to free yourself from guilt and reflect on the good times instead. The good times are what they would want you to remember.

    2. Face your feelings.

    Feelings of loss or anger can grow stronger if left unchecked, especially if you’ve never known death so close.

    Exploring ways to cope with these feelings myself led to meditation. Mindfulness meditation is one way to help understand the flow of these feelings.

    Imagine sitting on a river bank and watching the boats sail by. Similarly, by watching your thoughts, you’ll see how your grief has influenced your emotions. This “watching” of thoughts creates an awareness of their impact on how you feel that, in turn, reduces the pendulum effect of emotions. By anticipating emotions, you begin to reduce their power.

    3. Keep talking.

    The sudden reality of not being able to chat to your Mum or Dad again can be hard to accept.

    For a time after losing Dad, I still chatted to him. I asked what he thought of something, but of course I didn’t expect an answer. It was a way of getting the words out that were already in me to say.

    Don’t hide from the fact that your parent is gone. Visit the grave, and chat to them in thoughts. Whatever makes you feel comfortable. Not only does it keep their memory alive, but it’s also a release for your feelings.

    4. Look after you.

    Grief can take its toll in many ways. Loss of sleep, reduced appetite, and damaged immune system are not uncommon. The remedy is to protect your health and fitness.

    Like the pre-flight safety instructions to put on your oxygen mask before helping others, protect your health first to ensure you can heal and help others do the same.

    You only need to take small steps. Get walking with a friend, eat natural, unprocessed food, and stay hydrated. When your body feels strong, it will lift your mood and help you cope.

    5. Take time out.

    During the immediate aftermath, you’ll have an overwhelming to-do list. From making funeral arrangements to addressing legal matters. All physically and mentally exhausting.

    It’s vital for your physical and mental health to rest. If you take a vacation to recuperate when things have settled, you’ll be able to return refreshed to help your family over the longer term. Never feel guilty for taking time off.

    6. Avoid comparisons.

    During grief, we can become self-conscious of how we’re perceived by others. There is no right or wrong way to grieve, so don’t judge your reaction to loss. You don’t need to look or behave a certain way.

    A colleague returned to work recently the day after their father’s funeral, which attracted comment, whereas I took several weeks off.

    Don’t worry about how it looks to others or what they might think. This is your personal journey and yours alone, so never fear judgment. Do what’s right for you.

    7. Be patient.

    Missing a parent is natural, and if you were very close, you’ll need time to adjust.

    Time heals the acuteness of pain, but you may continue to miss your parent. After five years, I still miss Dad very much. Hardly a week goes by that I don’t think of him, but it used to be hardly a day.

    Don’t wish time away in the hope you can speed up the healing process. Recovery will happen at its own natural pace.

    8. Support your family.

    The passing of a parent can send a shockwave across the whole family. We might become withdrawn in our own grief and not realize others are sharing in the loss.

    So offer your hand in support to other family members. You will avoid feeling isolated if you focus on the needs of others and help other loved ones to cope.

    As a loving team, you will be able to count on each other at different times to get through the toughest periods together.

    9. Enjoy precious memories.

    There was a time I couldn’t think of Dad without a tear. When I returned to work, I had to make a determined effort not to swell up when colleagues offered condolences.

    But I discovered that I could still enjoy my Dad’s “company” by recalling the good times we shared. The laughs, the trips, and the DIY jobs that seemed to take forever.

    Don’t avoid reliving your precious moments in your mind’s eye. A time will come when you smile or laugh to yourself just as you did at the time. So let your parent live on in your thoughts, and enjoy seeing them there any time you wish.

    10. Accept the new you.

    As we get older, our opinions and outlook on life can change. The passing of a parent is one of those experiences that will change you. I became more tolerant because life’s trivia was put in context.

    Worry about missing deadlines, being late for an event, or having a new gadget malfunction. Events that annoy us day to day pale into insignificance.

    This change is not for the better or worse; it’s simply a change. Grief increases awareness that all things change, so prioritize what’s really important.

    Value and enjoy every waking moment, and let the new you grab each precious day with passion.

    Unlock a New Chapter

    Society often writes off the death of a parent as the natural order of events, but those who’ve experienced it know how life-changing it is.

    You feel hurt and loss because you have a heart but that heart is stronger than you ever imagined.

    With the steps above, the same heart can grow in confidence, beat with new hope, and become healthier than ever before. You can still enjoy life, and you should.

    Life is there to be cherished.

    It’s what your parent would have wanted. Live your life in the knowledge they’d be happy for you.

  • You Can Make a Difference: 7 Ways to Create a Powerful Legacy

    You Can Make a Difference: 7 Ways to Create a Powerful Legacy

    Man Silhouette

    “Don’t be afraid of death; be afraid of an unlived life. You don’t have to live forever; you just have to live.” ~Natalie Babbitt

    Recently I was searching for information online about a friend of mine who I lost touch with about a decade ago.

    Pam and I went to psychology graduate school together in the early nineties and stayed in touch for a few years after that. But in those pre-Facebook days it was easy to lose touch with people, and Pam and I eventually drifted apart.

    Curious about what my friend was up to, I typed her name into Google. Imagine my shock when I found her obituary. It turns out that she had died three years ago from colon cancer at the still young age of forty-four.

    Even though Pam and I lost touch a long time ago, learning about her death hit me hard. Months later, I’m still shocked that she’s no longer with us.

    Pam’s death was also a wake-up call for me. As a gift to future generations, I want to use my life to create a powerful legacy and to make a positive contribution to the world. Yet, up to this point in my life, I haven’t taken intentional actions that will create the type of legacy that I want.

    And while I hope to live for at least another forty years, the date of my death is outside of my control. Like my friend, I could die at any time.

    But no matter how many or how few years I have left, I absolutely have the ability to positively impact the world and touch lives far into the future. And so do you!

    The truth is that we create legacies with every single action that we take. The question we need to ask is whether or not were taking intentional actions to create the type of legacy that we want to create.

    After much reflection, I came up with the following seven ideas for how I plan on building a powerful legacy with my life. I hope that they inspire you to do the same and without needing the wake-up call that I received.

    1. Decide what legacy you want to create.

    In order to create a powerful legacy with your life, you need to decide what contribution you want to make to the world. I suggest spending some time journaling and reflecting on the following questions:

    • If you knew with certainty that you only had five more years to live, how would you spend those years, and why?
    • What message do you want to send with your life to the world and to those who matter most to you?
    • Imagine that you are attending your own funeral. What would you want your family and friends to say about you and how you lived your life?

    2. Start creating your legacy today.

    We all have a limited time on this planet. And yet, we often live our lives as if our time was unlimited, putting things off, thinking that we’ll always have more time. I’m sure my friend Pam was expecting to live a lot more than forty-four years.

    Yet the truth is that none of us knows how long we’ll live. If you want to create a powerful legacy with your life, then you need to stop wasting time and start creating it today.

    Look over your answers to the questions from Point 1. Based on your answers to those questions, identify three to five specific goals you can set for creating the legacy that you want. Then, for each goal, figure out the first step you can take and start taking it today!

    3. Simplify your life and focus on the essentials.

    Another friend of mine, who died a few years ago, created a powerful legacy by simplifying his life and focusing on the essentials. John centered his life around three main things—building powerful connections with others, creating beautiful art, and cultivating his own spiritual growth.

    I would guess that most of John’s life energy was devoted to these three activities. John didn’t let himself get distracted by trivial or meaningless pursuits.

    Learn from my friend John. Figure out the two to four things that are most important to you and put the bulk of your energy into those activities while letting go of the rest.

    4. Treat everyone you meet with kindness. 

    A powerful legacy can often be created with the simplest actions. Simple acts of kindness have been known to change lives in powerful ways.

    And a simple act of kindness can inspire acts of kindness by others—which means that every time you touch someone’s heart with your kindness, you create positive ripples, ripples that will last for a long, long time.

    You can even create a kindness ritual. For example, sparked by my friend’s death, I’ve decided to contact one friend a week, and send them a short note letting them know what they mean to me.

    5. Serve to the best of your ability.

    None of us can do it all and none of us is perfect. And yet we often use those as excuses to do nothing. We do nothing because we can’t do everything or we do nothing because we can’t do what we want perfectly.

    My suggestion is to just serve to the best of your ability. Do your part to make the world a better place, and stop worrying about the fact that you can’t do everything or that you can’t do it perfectly. The truth is that we can all do something to serve and doing that something creates a much more powerful legacy than doing nothing.

    6. Do the next right thing. 

    Maybe you don’t know what kind of legacy you want to create with your life. I completely understand that. We live in a complicated, overwhelming world in which our attention is pulled in a thousand different directions.

    If that’s how you’re feeling, then I suggest that you focus on doing the next right thing every time you’re faced with a choice or decision. Every time you do the right thing—however you define it—you create a powerful chain of actions which leads directly to a powerful legacy.

    7. Remind yourself that you have limited time. 

    In certain Buddhist traditions, people are taught to imagine a little bird on their shoulder and to ask that bird every day if today is their last day.

    Repeatedly using this technique or similar ones reminds us to make good use of our time and that we need to work toward creating our legacy every single day.

    — 

    A few days ago, a friend told me in an email that she didn’t think she had a legacy. The truth though is that we all create legacies with our lives.

    The question isn’t whether or not we’re creating a legacy. The question is whether or not we’re actively creating the legacy that we want to. Incorporate some of the suggestions above, begin leading your life deliberately, and I have no doubt that you’ll create a powerful legacy that will last for generations.

    Man silhouette via Shutterstock

  • How to Live a Fulfilling Life: 10 Powerful Lessons from Loss

    How to Live a Fulfilling Life: 10 Powerful Lessons from Loss

    Man in Rays of Sun

    “Make ‘Let go of control’ your mantra today.” ~Tiny Buddha’s 365 Tiny Love Challenges #177

    When the phone call came I was thousands of miles from home. My father was suddenly ill, admitted to the hospital. I was a medical doctor by then, and I felt a foreboding.

    My mind went back to my childhood.

    Imagine being a little child in a dark room. Every small noise evokes images of vicious monsters lurking in the night. They draw nearer.

    You cry out, “Daddy!” And cry out once more. Then your hero comes to the rescue.

    Your father shuffles in half-asleep, picks you up, and pats you to sleep. All terrors dispelled, you feel invincible in your father’s arms. That’s one of my earliest memories.

    That feeling of utter safety and joy in my father’s arms was deeply imprinted in me. I said to my wife, “I don’t want to lose him!” He wasn’t very old, my mother had just retired, and they intended to travel the world together.

    Only months earlier I had taken our daughter to visit him. His first grandchild had thrilled him beyond description. He gazed at her adoringly as she fell asleep, bought a parrot in a cage to amuse her, clowned around to keep her laughing, and generally behaved as if he was high on love.

    Now we had a brand new baby, a son. My father had not seen him. “As soon as Daddy’s well again, I’ll come back with our son,” I thought.

    I rushed from the airport to my father’s hospital bed. He seemed to have aged by decades in the few months since our last visit! A variety of tubes went into and out of him, his eyes were shut.

    “Daddy, it’s me,” I said. His arms, pinned down by tubes, tried to reach up for a hug. The tangle of tubes made a hug impossible.

    Over the next few days I watched with growing frustration as he sank. All my instincts as a son and a doctor were to save him by any means. I demanded to speak to his very able doctors, and urged them to try a novel, desperate procedure.

    It was too late; his internal organs started shutting down. As the sun set over the sea outside the window, I held his hand and chanted to him softly, “Sleep in peace, old warrior, my darling.” He died some hours later.

    The fact of his death didn’t sink in immediately. I was still smiling at his funeral, comforting and reassuring the mourners.

    The next morning I woke up in my old bedroom and went automatically toward the bathroom where Dad would usually be shaving. He wasn’t there. I couldn’t exchange the usual “Good morning.” That’s when it hit me.

    I broke down, blabbing like a baby. His brother, my uncle, hugged me close. It was the start of a slow grieving process, which opened my eyes to a few things about life.

    1. You can’t control some of the most important things, so stop pretending. Be less impatient and more carefree.

    As Nietzsche wrote, “Through the certain prospect of death a precious, fragrant drop of frivolity might be mixed with every life.” Or, as Belloc wrote, “There’s nothing worth the wear of winning but laughter and the love of friends.”

    Make some room each day to nourish celebration, no matter how dire your circumstances. You’re breathing; treat that as a gift. Inhabit each moment more fully instead of being constantly preoccupied with the past or future.

    2. Don’t postpone happiness.

    It’s okay to make plans for when you’re 100, but don’t forget to reach for fulfillment this year, this month, this week, and today. You aren’t just preparing for life; this day and this moment are all you might have.

    As the economist Keynes wrote, “In the long run we’re all dead.” Make sure you live before you die.

    3. Don’t be afraid to reach for your dreams, even if you might fail.

    No matter what you do or don’t, the eventual outcome of your life is certain: death. Death can be sudden and unexpected.

    If you can’t predict when you’ll die, there’s little point in fearing small failures. Just aim for the most fulfilling life you can imagine, and take one meaningful step after another in that direction. You’ll surprise yourself with how much you achieve, and how meaningful the journey is.

    Sometimes you’ll win and sometimes you’ll lose, but join the games that fit you. Only potentially catastrophic risks need put you off.

    When the dice roll against you, remember death. It will help you make molehills out of mountains. That’s how you’ll stand like a rock in the storms of life.

    4. Fill your minutes with fulfillment and the years will take care of themselves.

    Time slips away like the sand in an hourglass. The hourglass of your life, however, can collapse without warning.

    Live intentionally; choose what work, play, and celebration receive your precious time. Even if you have a boss, find ways to be the pilot of your own life. Don’t be afraid to move on from soul-destroying situations as you reach for more fulfillment.

    Don’t neglect to allocate your time intentionally on a weekly and even daily basis. Align work, chores, play, relaxation, and celebration with your most cherished values.

    5. Measure your success by criteria that go beyond money.

    There’s only so much you can eat and drink, and only so much bed-space you can occupy. Don’t let the pursuit of money blind you to the wider ingredients of a deeply fulfilling life.

    As Steve Jobs said, “Being the richest man in the cemetery doesn’t matter to me. Going to bed at night saying we’ve done something wonderful… that’s what matters to me.”

    6. Make the most of the sheer, primal joy of family.

    One of the best gifts I gave my father was the joy of holding his first grandchild. I have a picture of them together, from our short visit. It’s one of my most treasured possessions.

    It’s amazing: two individuals come together and make a baby, then that baby often goes on to make a baby of the next generation. When someone says you have your father’s eyes or your mother’s nose, they are usually seeing a physical part of your parents in you.

    If you’ve started a family, don’t treat it as an interruption in your “real” life. Recognize, respect, and nurture it as a deep and priceless part of your being.

    7. Don’t let grudges simmer.

    Death takes away the opportunity to clear the air and make things right with someone. Do it now.

    I was blessed with a beautiful relationship with my father, which easily bore the weight of our faults and shortcomings. However, his death prompted me to put things right with other loved ones.

    If you were to exchange circumstances and history with someone else, you might behave even worse than they do. Be more understanding toward the real or imagined faults of others. Even your parents are mere human beings deserving of your understanding and forgiveness.

    8. Build hoops of love that can reach beyond the grave.

    My father is with me everywhere now. I should have a hole in my heart where he was, but it’s partly filled by the wonderful love that flourished between us and which I still feel vividly.

    The grief of loss is still real, but the profound love which underlies the grief is like an everlasting balm.

    9. Don’t underestimate the power of touch.

    As I broke down the morning after the funeral, my uncle’s hug was more comforting and healing than any words could be.

    People with depression will tell you how powerfully comforting the gentle touch of a loved one can be. A hug can reach the parts that mere words can’t reach.

    10. Live as if nobody’s watching.

    When you’re dead, the expectations of others will be irrelevant to you. Don’t squander your life suppressing your own potential in order to chase the approval of others.

    Keep growing in your understanding of the gifts and treasures within you, which deserve and require nurturing. Keep growing toward your best self, and recognize that you are a unique gift to the world. Don’t blindly copy the lives of others, or you might die before you’ve had a chance to live your own life.

    Death often brings indescribable grief and pain to the bereaved. But it’s also a great teacher.

    Whenever you remember death, treat it as a pointer to a better life. Create a life in which each moment expresses your cherished values. Then death, however sudden and unexpected, won’t be able to snatch fulfillment away from you.

    Man in rays of sun image via Shutterstock

  • Grieving a Loss That Feels Like a Death

    Grieving a Loss That Feels Like a Death

    “Grief is like the ocean; it comes on waves ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim.” ~Vicki Harrison

    Most grief books are written to help you mourn the death of a loved one and learn how to deal with their absence in this world.

    Death is probably the most challenging thing a human can face. It breaks us down. It brings us to our knees. Some people are so significant in our lives that the mere thought of living without them feels incredibly overwhelming and incapacitating.

    Losing someone we love is hard. Accepting loss is extremely challenging. So how do we cope with yearning and adapt to the emptiness following a divorce or huge breakup without feeling like a loser or the psycho who cant let go?

    It’s an unfair misconception to think that those who have a hard time letting go or are taking longer than usual time to move on are somewhat weak.

    Psychology agrees that when a major relationship or marriage ends, the person who was left may feel grief as painfully as someone who lost a loved one to death. Sometimes the pain can even be stronger.

    Divorces and breakups can sometimes be worse than death, because the person who died to us is very much alive, haunting our every thought.

    I remember how lost I felt right after Mr. Big broke things off with me for the 87th time. I remember packing my car with all my belongings and driving from San Francisco back to Los Angeles with our eight-month-old son in the car crying the entire six hour drive.

    I felt as if he had died. My whole world collapsed. I was terrified that I wouldn’t be able to support our son.

    I wondered how he would turn out without his father in his life. Would he feel unloved? Would he wonder why his father cut him off his life? Would he blame himself or think he wasn’t good enough for his dad?

    So many questions rushed through my mind while I drove through the vast freeway back home.

    I felt humiliated. I felt alone. I felt a variety of feelings and emotions. But the one that I always remember is the feeling of loss. I had lost everything I ever thought I would eventually have. The family, the life and most importantly: the man. The man I had loved for five years had died.

    His body was still there but his soul was gone. Everything I ever thought of him was gone. His words were gone. His spiritual presence was gone.

    There is a lot more to life than a physical body. Millions of people have experienced the death of their loved ones without ever having to plan their funeral.

    When I arrived home it was time to pick up the pieces and move on. At least that’s what everyone around me was telling me.

    They expected me to shake everything off and move on with my life as if my son’s father didn’t exist. As if our story didn’t happen. But accepting the death of someone in our lives is a process.

    I kept going back and forth between missing him and hating him for leaving. At times the mixed emotions felt like I was literally sinking into insanity. One moment I would cry and the next I would yell.

    Nobody told me that grief does that to people, and because I didn’t know what I was feeling was normal, I felt even more alone.

    I had never heard of the five stages of grief until I went to see a therapist, because the pain was so unbearable. It’s then I learned that a person goes through denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance after the death (or loss) of a loved one.

    Unlike what I originally believed, there is no specific order to these feelings. You may feel as if you are on an emotional rollercoaster as you are jumping from stage to stage. Its important to know that this emotional ride is normal, and if you get the proper help you will get off of it alive and stronger.

    I know what it feels like to not want to get out of bed. I know what it feels like to not want to take a shower, or brush my teeth or even eat.

    I know what is like to lose twenty pounds in six weeks, to lose friends and to lose your dignity begging someone to take you back. I know the feeling that the world has ended and you were left behind alone and miserable.

    I have been there, so believe me when I say that there is hope.

    There is, in fact, a light in the end of the depression tunnel. But the only way to get to that light is to walk through it. There is no way of getting around the process, and the earlier you begin the journey of mourning and healing, the sooner you will reach peace.

    The journey is long, but there is no race and no competition. It’s a journey with yourself. There will be days when you will feel stronger than ever and some days will bring you back to your knees.

    Just remember: The rollercoaster is the journey. So even when you are down, feeling as if you’ve made no progress, remember that progress is being made every day you choose to be alive.

    Progress is being made every day you choose to not call the one who left you.

    Progress is being made every day you choose to take another breath.

    You are alive. You are strong. You will survive.

  • Life Goes on After Loss: Tiny Steps To Work Through Grief

    Life Goes on After Loss: Tiny Steps To Work Through Grief

    Woman Alone by the Sea

    “I realized, it is not the time that heals, but what we do within that time that creates positive change.” ~Diane Dettman

    Two weeks ago I found out that a friend passed away. He died eight days after my birthday at the age of twenty-six, and that fact has been hard to swallow, as I didn’t know that my time of celebration would also be a time of grief.

    The details surrounding my friend’s death are unknown; all I know is that it happened suddenly, and it was a huge shock to me and other friends that knew him. He was my first high school crush. As a fourteen-year-old girl at the time, it was a big deal to me. I really cared about him.

    My friend had sent me a Facebook message in March of 2014 stating that we should get together, as he wanted to see how I was doing. I was touched at how caring he was and wanted to know what was going on in his life, so I said yes.

    We talked for hours that day, and I brought him up to speed on what had been going on in my life. When the get together ended the last thing he said to me was, “I wish you the best, and if you need anything let me know.”

    He walked out the door, and that was the last time I saw him.

    When I first got the news of my friend’s passing I didn’t know what to think, what to feel, what to say. I just sat there staring at my computer screen, hoping it was a bad joke. It didn’t feel real at first, and when it did sink in the floodgates that held my tears back for a while opened. It was like a punch in the gut.

    Days after I heard the news I just didn’t know what to do with myself. I let myself go for a while. I lied down on my bed in the fetal position staring at nothing. At some points I was dry-eyed, and then I would start to cry, wailing almost.

    I heard a sound pass through my lips that I never heard before. It was the sound of heartbreak. I wondered: “How does life continue after this?”

    I got frustrated that I didn’t know how to answer that question, and a week later it hit me.

    Life does continue, and it gets better with time.

    My grief comes in waves, and this experience has been teaching me how to surf those waves as gently and as lovingly possible. If you’re also grieving a loss, this might help.

    Acknowledge your feelings.

    It was scary and painful to acknowledge every emotion that came with my grief. I felt angry, sad, and went through a depression. I wanted to crawl into a hole somewhere because I was so overwhelmed by my pain.

    I felt like I was losing who I was a little. I had to find a healthy way to address my feelings and slowly start picking up the pieces of my life and putting them back together into a stronger version of me. Once I became honest with myself and acknowledged my emotions, a weight released off my heart.

    Being honest with myself and others also helped me rebuild connections with friends who are sharing this grief with me.

    While I still deal with the same feelings, it is slowly getting better.

    If you are going through a difficult time, know that it’s okay to acknowledge your feelings. If you don’t feel comfortable talking it out, grab a journal and quietly be honest with yourself.

    Know that it’s okay not to feel 100% right away.

    As days pass I still don’t feel 100%, but that’s okay. Slowly, I have started to do the things I enjoy. Starting small is key to rebuilding your life and getting back on track. The other day I went for a walk to clear my head, and even though it was only for a few minutes, it helped.

    Take care of your physical body. It’s just as important as taking care of your emotional well-being.

    I lost my appetite for a while. I didn’t want to eat or do anything productive. Then I realized I was hurting myself, so I slowly began to eat a little more and began taking care of my body again.

    I had a teacher who once said, “You look good, you feel good.” She was right. Once I began to take care of myself again, I started to feel a change in my mood. I needed to take care of myself so that I could be there for those that need me.

    Be patient with yourself and others.

    Oftentimes we have loved ones who don’t understand our grief, especially if they are not going through it with us. Other times we have people who share our grief but go through it differently. In both of these instances it’s best to remain patient. Be patient with yourself as you grieve and be patient with those around you.

    It also helps to tell your support system what you need. Being clear about what you need helps you get the best support possible. For example, I told my friends that I needed company so I wouldn’t feel alone with my sadness, a shoulder to cry on, and a warm hug.

    Realize it’s okay to be human.

    The grieving process is a time of growth, and it’s okay to feel like you’re moving backward every now and again. It just means you’re human, and that you are working through your emotions.

    —

    I’ve realized that life does continue, and loss gives us lessons if we’re open to them. Something good can come from the pain. The lessons may not come to us right away, but when they do our whole perspective changes.

    Going through this grief has taught me to be a kinder and better friend and to enjoy each and every day to the fullest. My goal is to leave a lasting impression in everything that I do.

    This article is my love letter to those that have lost someone dear to them. If that’s you, know that you are not alone.

    Woman by the sea silhouette via Shutterstock

  • Now Is the Time to Appreciate Each Other and Enjoy Life

    Now Is the Time to Appreciate Each Other and Enjoy Life

    Friends Making Heart Symbol

    “If your forever was ending tomorrow, would this be how you’d want to have spent it? Listen, the truth is, nothing is guaranteed. You know that more than anybody. So don’t be afraid. Be alive.” ~Sarah Dessen

    It was beginning to get dark. Lightning streaked across the cloudy sky above the ocean. The full force of the wind took the breath out of me as my eyes squinted from the heavy rainfall.

    Waves rolled in to crash down in front of me, as if the ocean was screaming at me.

    “Turn around, human. Go home!”

    “Maybe I should,” I thought. “What am I doing out here in this extreme winter weather?”

    But my intention returned. The news I had received that day continued to stir at the back of my mind. And so, I moved forward.

    The water was ice cold as the waves smashed against my legs. I moved forward.

    Just as I thought I could bear no more, I submerged myself underwater. The sounds and sensations shifted as I merged with the ocean for a brief moment. And then I resurfaced to brave the magnificent storm.

    In this moment, I felt so alive!

    I had awoken to the reality of life—that there is only one thing that holds us to this world. A heartbeat.

    Earlier that day I had received news that my friend, Nick, had tragically and unexpectedly passed away. His heartbeat no longer held him to this world.

    How fragile we truly are. Yet living this truth is where we truly fail.

    My ocean swim in extreme winter weather was a way to remember that I had a heartbeat; that I was alive. It was a reminder that all those I know and care about are mortal, fragile, and finite.

    Why had I ignored this truth? Why had I lived my life to this point in safe denial?

    Reflecting back on this experience, I have come to realize that when we lose someone, it temporarily shifts our internal compass of reality.

    It points us home, toward what some people call our “higher self,” “inner wisdom,” or put simply, our raw humanity.

    These lessons we learn from loss are valuable reminders for our own personal growth. They serve as road signs that lead the way back to our own humanity, which we so easily lose touch with in today’s society.

    In finding my own way back to humanity on that stormy night at the beach, my first road sign pointed toward letting go of judgments.

    Too often we form negative judgments about people based on their mistakes and choices we don’t agree with, and in doing so can’t see the best in them. What a selfish person! What a rude person! How could he do that!

    We create generalizations that cut us off from the people around us. We zoom in on these judgmental labels and before we know it, it’s too late to appreciate the people in our lives.

    I knew my friend who passed as a casual acquaintance for six years. Sometimes I thought he partied too hard. There were times where he even got into trouble with the law.

    Yet, there were so many things I could have appreciated more by simply looking beyond my judgments. 

    He was friendly and known by so many. He had a great sense of humor and was extremely fun to be around.

    His energy and zest for life were contagious. Although he had never been employed, I really admired his courage to live a satisfying life in his own way without worrying what others thought. But I never told him while he was alive because I was too busy judging his choices. And now I’ll never have the chance.

    Which judgments are getting in the way of connecting with people in your life? What would you appreciate about them if you knew your time with them was limited?

    My second road sign back to humanity pointed toward appreciating the present moment. Too often we sleepwalk through life, lost in our own minds with endless thinking. Many times we’re not even present in what we’re doing.

    If you’ve ever taken a shower and realized that you can’t remember whether you have already washed your hair, you will know what I am talking about.

    Perhaps you’ve taken a walk on the beach on a sunny afternoon, but spent the whole time gazing at the ground lost in thoughts about the day.

    The present moment? Before you know it, it’s gone.

    Appreciating the present moment is as simple as noticing the sensations and experiences around you.

    My spontaneous ocean swim allowed me to feel the heavy rainfall on my skin, the sheer force of the wind and waves against my body, and the exhilaration of submerging myself into the ice-cold water.

    What are the things that make you feel alive? What prevents you from fully enjoying those things, and what can you do to start experiencing them more mindfully?

    Oscar Wilde, a nineteenth century Irish writer, remarked that “To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.”

    I encourage you to go beyond simply existing. Appreciate the present moment and completely savor the experience. Because that’s what we are all here for, right?

    In sharing my lessons from loss, I hoped that you too will remember that there is only one thing that holds us to this world: a heartbeat.

    Let this truth guide you in your actions every day, and be mindful of life lessons that serve as reminders.

    The moments we have are small grains of sand in an infinitely trickling universe; take time each day to enjoy the present moment before it trickles away.

    The people in our lives are drops in an endless ocean that forever ebbs and flows; take time each day to appreciate them before the waves carry them away.

    Friends making heart symbol image via Shutterstock

  • 10 Deathbed Regrets You Can Avoid by Making Changes Now

    10 Deathbed Regrets You Can Avoid by Making Changes Now

    Woman with Umbrella

    “While I thought that I was learning how to live, I have been learning how to die.” ~Leonardo Da Vinci

    It’s terrifying, isn’t it?

    There you are—days, hours, maybe minutes remain in your life. You lie there helpless, searching for the strength to say your last goodbyes.

    You look back on your life. All the things you wish you’d done differently.

    As you continue to reminisce an overwhelming emotion comes rushing in, an emotion many are familiar with.

    Regret.

    You set the standards high for yourself. But now that it’s all said and done, more was always said than done.

    There’s no greater fear than leaving this world with our most important goals unfinished. Yet, with never ending hopes and dreams are we destined to live an incomplete life of mediocrity?

    Perhaps it doesn’t have to be that way.

    A New Perspective & Why You Should Burn Your Bucket List

    It’s human nature to desire more. No matter how much we accomplish, we’re wired to create new objectives to pursue.

    For most of my upbringing, I was obsessed with bucket lists. Mine had over 100 things I wanted to do. Anytime I managed to cross one off the list, I’d add ten more.

    The process was never ending and doomed for failure.

    During this time my grandfather passed away. It happened so fast I never got to say goodbye. It was my first experience of how quickly life comes and goes.

    I started thinking about when my time would come. Would it matter what my bucket list looked like on my deathbed?

    So I threw it out. Instead of thinking of what I wanted to do with my life, I started focusing on things I didn’t want to say about myself when it was time for me to go.

    That I was greedy, angry, or rude. That I didn’t care about others, or even myself.

    Death is scary. We can’t change that. But we have a chance to live fully right now—and we can do that by ensuring we don’t have to say these things at the end.

    1. I didn’t take care of my body.

    Your time will come much faster if you don’t take care of yourself.

    Smoking, excessive drinking, compulsive eating, sitting for too long—all these add up over time. Continuing bad habits encourages rapid aging and brings you closer to your final days.

    You can buy another car, a new house, and find another job, but you only get one body.

    If you want an abundance of breathtaking moments, you need a body that’s ready for the long haul.

    2. I let anger get the best of me.

    Anger is a natural emotion. We all experience it, and at times it’s perfectly justifiable. But we do ourselves a disservice if we let anger control us and sabotage our relationships.

    One of the best ways to address anger is to empathize with others and to understand why they did what they did.

    Being proactive and reflecting on the times you’re angry helps you to get to the root of what’s bothering you, allowing you to move on and go back to being happy.

    3. I spent my entire life in my comfort zone.

    There’s no bigger waste of your time than doing the same thing over and over waiting for something exciting to happen.

    Nothing exciting will happen if you don’t get out there and make something happen.

    Escaping the confinement of comfort is a struggle for anyone at first.

    But when you’re looking at your life as a whole, you’ll be proud if you don’t have to say the most unease you felt was choosing what to watch on Netflix to waste the night away.

    4. I spent too much time around toxic people.

    There comes a time when you must face the reality that not everyone you spend your time with is actually benefitting your well-being.

    People change, family members bring you down, and certain people just aren’t fun to be around.

    If you want to make the most of your time, it’s essential you minimize your time with people who drain you emotionally, disrespect you, or otherwise treat your poorly.

    If you think it’s rude to dismiss someone, look at it this way: When you stop spending time with people who aren’t positive additions to your life, you open yourself up to relationships with people who will uplift and support you.

    5. I didn’t stay in touch with family and friends.

    The other end of the spectrum is the people we love.

    Humans are biologically social creatures. We’re meant to be around others, especially the ones we care about most. There’s no sense in fighting the nature of humans because you’re too busy at the office.

    If this doesn’t seem pressing to you now, know that it may one day feel that way, when they’re gone and you realize you didn’t show them how much you loved them.

    6. I didn’t give as much as I took.

    It’s easy to forget that nothing tangible comes with us after we die.

    Once we’re gone, that’s it. Whatever you have gets left behind. So why do we spend valuable years of our lives taking rather than giving?

    Money is always the first to come to mind. I’m not suggesting we give it all away, but I’ve never met someone who was proud to say that all they did with their life was pad their bank account.

    Life is about giving and sharing experiences. The more you give, the happier you’ll be.

    7. I thought I knew everything.

    People often assume that after graduating from high school or college, they know everything.

    But the truth is when you stop learning, you stop growing.

    Since the beginning of our existence humans have been explorers, venturing to the corners of the world and into space to discover more about life.

    Constant learning allows us to discover new things about ourselves and the world, and our experiences teach us things that could never be taught in a classroom.

    Looking at the bigger picture, we don’t know anything. And that’s exactly what makes life so exciting.

    8. I never made any mistakes.

    It seems counterintuitive to wish for failure, but our mistakes are what allow us to grow.

    The point isn’t to make as many mistakes as possible, but to learn from our mistakes.

    Every great revelation, invention, or revolution started with hundreds of mistakes before it, until one miracle made it all worth it.

    It’s not so much mistakes that matter, but having the courage to make them.

    9. I hated my job.

    Accepting the nine to five and secure paycheck. Two weeks vacation for fifty weeks of slavery. Accumulating debt on house loans, car payments, and credit cards. Add on the responsibility of supporting your family, and it may seem you’ll be trapped forever.

    If you don’t enjoy your job now, that’s okay; many feel the same. But if by the time you lay on your deathbed you still hate it and never left, that’s a problem.

    You won’t want to look back and say you took the easy route and played it safe, accepting that you were never supposed to do anything meaningful with your life.

    Leaving a job is scary, especially when raising a family. It doesn’t mean you should quit today, but implementing an exit plan toward a career you actually do enjoy will relieve yourself from years of misery.

    10. I spent my entire life trying to be someone else.

    It’s become the norm to follow the crowd, adapt to the trends, and accept what everyone else is doing and join in.

    By doing this you never encounter the person you really are because you’ve been camouflaged by the identity of society.

    Taking time to understand yourself is life changing. It allows you to gather a clear picture of what you want to accomplish during your short time on Earth.

    You learn the things you love about yourself and things you might want to change. And most important, you understand what makes you unique and how your uniqueness can help you leave the world a better place than you found it.

    One Last Thing

    In the end, you’ll likely reflect on the things you didn’t do. As I said before, it’s human nature.

    But avoiding certain things, such as not taking care of myself and living in my comfort zone, has brought more happiness to my life than a bucket list ever could.

    It doesn’t matter if you swim with sharks, travel to every country, and take the first ride of space tourism; what matters is how you live your life, how well you take care of yourself, and how well you take care of others.

    This is your life, and you only get one. There’s no right or wrong way to live it.

    What matters is that you do.

    Woman with umbrella image via Shutterstock

  • Let Loss Remind You to Live

    Let Loss Remind You to Live

    Man on a Pier

    “Pain can change you, but that doesn’t mean it has to be a bad change. Take that pain and turn it into wisdom.” ~Unknown

    Experiencing a death of someone, no matter how close you were to them, is a shock to the system.

    One moment you’re just drinking your morning cup of Joe and then suddenly, you’ve collided with the uncertainty of existence.

    Daily, we do everything we can to numb ourselves from our own fragility, but sudden death reminds us all that impermanence is still there under the surface, throbbing.

    The other day, I logged onto Facebook and received a message from an old coworker. He asked me how I was and we exchanged the usual pleasantries, until, he dropped a bomb.

    “You should know, Armando was killed in a car accident last week.”

    Armando and I were not extremely close, but we were friends during the eight months I worked at a café with him.

    We got to know each other when I began opening with him on Sunday mornings, me arranging box after box of fresh pastries in the case, him preparing the hollandaise sauces and turning on the ovens.

    Sunday mornings were always slow, so Armando and I got a lot of time to chat and goof off.

    We made a game out of calling each other the wrong names, which Armando especially loved. “Eighty-six croissant, Karla,” he’d yell from the kitchen, and I’d shoot him a, “right-o, Archie,” that would have him doubled over in laughter.

    Armando made the monotony of our workdays colorful and fun, and I was always so thankful when he was on my shift.

    Fast-forward to the day I found out he was gone. My impulse was to lump his death in with the rest of the bad news we are bombarded with every day. After all, I thought, we hadn’t been friends for long.

    I was ready to downplay his impact on my life, to distract myself from the email about his memorial, to numb myself from the pain of loss. Really, I didn’t think I had the right to be upset about the death of someone I barely knew.

    Except, there was still a knot in my gut that these thoughts weren’t helping to unwind. Armando brought joy and laughter into my life during a time when I was worn out from working three jobs and feeling lonely in a new city.

    His light-heartedness often shocked me out of my bad moods, and no, I hadn’t known him well, but I could still be heartbroken the world had lost his light.

    Then suddenly I was driving in my car, the same invention that killed Armando.

    I wound through the streets of Berkeley, past the café we worked at together and the BART station and the library, and I let myself think about Armando. The special strawberry salad he used to make me and a coworker on our breaks, the times I got red-cheeked from catching him and his girlfriend kissing in the storeroom, the night of the wild Christmas party when we all went out and sang karaoke.

    I thought about how he told me he wanted to move back to Mexico City, how much he loved it there. I let myself remember that he was more than a percentage or trending story, but a beating heart. I let myself cry for him.

    Then I reminded myself: it’s okay to let yourself be affected by things.

    Acknowledging tragedy puts our own fragile existences into question, and it forces us to face that we could’ve been the one who died suddenly.

    That is a scary realization, but I say let it scare you. Let it put a fire under you. Let your limited time on this planet propel you toward your dreams with incalculable fervor.

    Perhaps most importantly, let it make you grateful for the people around you who bring joy and laughter and love into your world, however fleeting.

    Man on a pier image via Shutterstock

  • If It’s Hard to Say Goodbye, Your Life’s Been Truly Blessed

    If It’s Hard to Say Goodbye, Your Life’s Been Truly Blessed

    “You can’t start the next chapter of your life if you keep re-reading the last one.” ~Unknown

    On the evening of my high school graduation it hit me—the familiar faces and places I’d grown so accustomed to over the last twelve years would soon be changing.

    The anxiety of that reality had started to creep into my psyche weeks ago, when I was being fitted for my cap and gown. Standing there looking in the mirror, I remember thinking to myself, “How did I get here?”

    Somehow I had gone from a seven-year-old schoolboy to an eighteen-year-old teenager, and I wasn’t quite sure where my youth had gone.

    Sitting at the ceremony, one thought continued to occupy my mind.

    I knew at the conclusion of our graduation party early the next morning, I would be closing a chapter in my life—one filled with exploration, development, struggles, and growth.

    For so many of my fellow classmates, we had been together since kindergarten. We journeyed together, watching each other grow through the innocence of childhood, to the prejudices that develop as young adults.

    We went from adorable five year olds without a care in the world, to the awkwardness of puberty and the struggles to live up to societal stereotypes.

    In a way they were like family—comfortable like an old sweater; grounding me when I needed a reminder that I belonged to something greater than myself.

    It was a bittersweet moment in my life.

    While I understood that life didn’t end after graduation, and opportunities were certainly before me, it also meant leaving the safety and security I’d come to rely on over the last twelve years.

    As I tossed my cap high into the air I realized it would soon be time to say goodbye.

    —

    When my aunt called me that summer morning, I wasn’t completely surprised by the news that my grandmother had passed away.

    My wife and I had just visited her the night before, and each of us felt as though her silent stares were her way of telling us goodbye.

    My relationship with her was invaluable—a profound part of my existence from a rambunctious child to a young married adult. She was a constant source of joy, love, and support, one I came not only to rely on, but also cherish.

    A few years prior, she gave me a photo album she began compiling on the day I was born. A photo album dedicated to my life, featuring photographs, recital programs, and other mementos she religiously collected and safely stored behind a clear sheet of plastic film.

    Flipping through the pages after her passing, I felt as though a part of my heart had died along with her.  

    I never questioned her love for me; it was incredibly evident each and every time I was in her presence. And while that was a comforting reminder, the loss was intense.

    Throughout the memorial service, I was surprised by my complete composure on what was an incredibly sad occasion. But as the church organ began to play and they wheeled her coffin down the center aisle, tears began flowing uncontrollably.

    It was a bittersweet moment in my life.

    While I knew deep down she was tired of being a prisoner to her physical ailments, accepting that I would never see her again in this earthly life was difficult to acknowledge.

    As I wiped the tears from my eyes and headed to the cemetery, I realized it would soon be time to say goodbye.

    —

    With the last box loaded on to the moving truck, our house appeared just as it did when we first moved in—empty.

    As we meandered from one room to the next greeted by the sound of a faint echo, my wife and I tried our best to hold back the tears to no avail.

    We remembered how we first felt as young homeowners.

    There was an air of excitement and a feeling of accomplishment swirling around the empty rooms of our new home.

    It was there we would host family and friends on cherished holidays or for simple Sunday dinners; where we’d tackle DIY projects together, going from frustrating to entertaining by its completion; where our bodies would grow twelve years older, and our hearts infinitely stronger still.

    It had become a place of solace from the harsh world outside our front door. Filled with warmth and overflowing with unforgettable memories, which now seemed to replay in our minds like a documentary chronicling our time there.

    It was a bittersweet moment in my life.

    While moving our lives across the country provided us with new opportunities both personally and professionally, it also meant leaving a house that had become our home for over a decade.

    As the two of us made our way down the stairs of our side hall colonial for the very last time, I realized it would soon be time to say goodbye.

    —

    I think we all can agree that saying goodbye is never easy.

    And while the word “goodbye” has garnered a rather negative emotional connotation in society, there is another way, a more positive way to perceive it.

    Author A.A. Milne, who is perhaps best known for his books about a teddy bear named Winnie-the-Pooh, once wrote:

    “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”

    While saying goodbye does mean accepting that a part of our life is now over, it also provides us with a chance to realize just how blessed our lives have been.

    To look back and reflect on the journeys we’ve shared with some wonderful people, while being exposed to amazing and invaluable experiences we often take for granted.

    Regardless of how long someone has been a part of our lives, whether it’s five minutes, five years, or five decades, their impact will always remain with us—even after we utter that simple, yet hard to say two-syllable word.

    My stories above are but a small snapshot of the many times during my personal journey when I’ve struggled to utter the word “goodbye.” Regardless of the circumstances, saying goodbye means change, and change rarely comes along with immediate acceptance.

    The finality associated with saying goodbye is challenging. Yet it’s an empowering word, enabling us to achieve closure and ultimately move on with our lives.

    The quote below, from Walt Disney, has continually provided me comfort on days when I’m feeling sad and lonely and need a little reminder of the blessings I’ve been bestowed, which no one can ever take away.

    “Goodbye may seem forever. Farewell is like the end, but in my heart is the memory and there you will always be.”

  • Be Fully Present with Your Loved Ones While You Have the Chance

    Be Fully Present with Your Loved Ones While You Have the Chance

    Friends Holding Hands

    “Before someone’s tomorrow has been taken away, cherish those you love, appreciate them today.” ~Michelle C. Ustaszeski

    One day after being on a spiritual path for many years, I stood in my art studio, happy to be creating a new painting. Content in my life, I was married to a great guy and raising two young boys that brought me so much joy.

    My life was perfect. Well, not exactly, but I definitely had moments of thinking it was, and this happened to be one of those moments.

    I had come a long way. Gone were the constant “what if’s” and the fear that I was going to get that phone call that someone got hurt, or worse. I could now put things into a larger framework. I was no longer stuck in my own jail with my fear and self-limiting thoughts. I had risen above all of that.

    Dusk no longer brought me down, even Sunday nights were fine. I used to get melancholy every Sunday evening. I had figured out that I was the problem. I learned to allow more good into my life, and had many revelations that changed my energy into a more positive one. I reinvented myself.

    A few years prior, my dad had a heart attack, and he vowed to take better care of himself so he would be here for many more years with his family. The doctor gave him twelve years with his new valves, and we like to think all our prayers gave him five more.

    Those five extra years were truly a gift, as he and my mom moved to Henderson and spent time with my brother and sisters who lived nearby with their families. My twin sister and I would drive from Los Angeles at least once a month with our families, and he enjoyed his grandchildren and loved that we all saw each other as often as we did.

    He especially loved Christmas. Every Christmas Eve we would make our traditional fish and pasta dinner. I always looked forward to spending the day together shopping for the food and then preparing it for that very special evening.

    Hands down the most important day of the year was Christmas Eve, and when the whole family came together, it was magical.

    My Dad had a pretty tough exterior. His nickname was Muggy, and boy did he live up to it. He was a handsome man with Italian dark skin and beautiful green eyes, a flash of white teeth, when he threw you that half smile. He was a pretty tough guy with a quick to anger demeanor.

    I was one of four girls that were all of dating age, and he made any boys who would come to pick us up really uneasy. I always felt uncomfortable introducing them, as there would be some sort of Godfather music playing in my mind through the awkward moments till I could flee the house to freedom and breathe again.

    A friend of mine referred to him as Al Capone and I had to give him that, as I would watch him drive down the street, his fedora tilted the way he always wore it, a cigarette dangling off his lower lip.

    I, however, was not intimidated by him, because I knew the real man, the interior that was kind and gentle and as soft as a teddy bear.

    As I became a young adult, and went out on my own, our relationship stayed strong.

    My father was one of my best friends. He was on speed-dial, and my go-to person when I needed someone to talk to. He was there for me financially when things weren’t that great. He was my rock and my safety net and I would share everything with him, the good news and the bad.

    He would yell for my mom to pick up the other line if it was important (and then get annoyed that he couldn’t hear me, because she talked over him). He would ask me are you gonna make me laugh, or are you gonna make me cry? I guess I was always calling to either complain or share a funny story.

    My father called me every morning, and no matter what I was doing I picked up and spoke to him. I cherished our morning talks and worried about one day losing him.

    A horrible divorce from my first husband led me to a new life path that would take me on a journey that, well, I’m still on.

    I read The Language of Letting Go, by Melody Beattie, then I read every spiritual book I could get my hands on. A New Earth by Eckhart Tolle, and The Power of Now blew me away, as it was all I needed to finally escape my dark fears about death and the worry about my dad.

    When I married again, my dad was there to support me along with my beautiful mom, and they were there for the birth of both of my sons.

    So, back to the moment in the art studio…

    After hanging up from my morning call from my dad, I reflected on the idea that with all I read, and all that I now understand, I would be okay if something happened to him. That my spiritual journey had guided me to this very moment in time.

    I repeated the sentence in my head: I would be okay if something happened to him.

    As I stood there in that sunlit room, I could hear the words ringing in my head, ringing with the power of truth that this truly was the gift.

    The gift of emotional and spiritual maturity to handle what was soon to be my dad’s last Christmas with us.

    A few weeks later, on Christmas night, after we all had dinner together. My dad wasn’t feeling well and went home earlier than usual.

    That’s the night we got the phone call, the call that I spent my whole adult life worrying about. My last Christmas with Dad, my last morning call from my best friend.

    The loss of my father was beyond words for me, but if we can live in each moment, we can stay strong and realize that we are okay when loved ones leave this earth.

    I was gifted precious years with him and enjoyed every phone call, every visit, and celebrated all of the time I shared with him.

    Of course I grieved, and I still miss him every day, but what I realized was that we do have the strength needed to carry on with our happy lives. That we were blessed to have them while they were here and that we are better for having known them, for their memories live forever in our hearts.

    We never know when we will lose someone so dear to us; it’s easier to accept the inevitability of loss when we can look back without regrets. Be fully present with your loved ones while you have the chance. Not everyone gets the gift of five more years, even if you pray for them.

    Happy people image via Shutterstock

  • You Have a Choice: Your Future Can Be Better Than Your Past

    You Have a Choice: Your Future Can Be Better Than Your Past

    “Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift.” ~Mary Oliver

    On the January 17, 2000, I was in a car crash. I was living in France at the time. I don’t remember much about the crash. I know that we all walked out of the car relatively unscathed. Shocked, scared, and confused, yes. Injured, no.

    I remember thinking that I should probably call my mum and dad back in England. Tell them what happened. What I didn’t know in that moment was that back in the UK, I didn’t have a mum to call anymore.

    That same afternoon, on the 17th January 2000, was also the day my mum had decided to take her own life.

    I found out about my mum’s death standing in the reception of the hotel we had walked into after the crash.

    “Liz, she’s gone.”

    That’s all I heard at the other end of the phone. It’s all I had to hear. I knew. It was my sister’s voice. She’d managed to track me down in the hotel.

    It’s weird because I remember thinking in that moment, “Okay, my mum has just died and I now have to tell some people I don’t know that my mum has died, and I don’t want to put them out or get them all upset, so I’ll just be matter of fact and straight up and not cry.”

    Matter of fact. Straight up. I won’t cry. And that’s how I chose to deal with the aftermath of my mum’s death.

    While everyone fell apart around me, or grieved, I was the one who was totally okay. I was so together and dealing with it quietly, like I was totally fine.

    I remember one day, standing at the checkout of a supermarket, I stood next to my dad as he fell apart while we were packing cans of baked beans into the carrier bag.

    I looked at him, the giant pillar of a man I had always known—wracked with the most intense grief for his wife—and thought, “I am alone in this. I’ve got to be strong because no-one else will be.”

    I returned to France three weeks after my mum’s death. I couldn’t wait. I spoke to no one of her death. People knew, of course, but death is weird, isn’t it? It shuts people down. Especially suicide.

    “How did your mum die?”

    “She killed herself.”

    Oh. No more questions.

    Back in France, I got drunk a lot. I was the first person at the party and the last one to leave. If there was something stupid to do, I was there, the life and soul, but if anyone got too close I’d push them away.

    I was the master pretender. The chameleon. Always fun and happy and having the best time, yet on the inside it was ugly and dark and I was wracked with grief that was so painful, the only way I could cope with it was to numb it out. To not allow myself to feel anything.

    I started developing strange behaviors about seven years after my mum died. The grief that had been locked in the box in my head for so long finally exploded, and it manifested itself not by crying and grieving, but in horrific anxiety and OCD and really weird thoughts that freaked me out.

    I also started to wonder what it would be like to not be alive anymore. To not have to walk around and be the girl whose mum killed herself and deal with all the crap that came along with it.

    I remember walking past a huge wall one day and wondering what it would be like to climb to the top and jump off it. I wondered whether the impact would kill me.

    It was in that moment, staring up at that wall, that I actually felt something for the first time. And that feeling was relief. Relief that I had a choice. A choice of whether I lived or died. A choice in my future.

    As numb and as twisted as I felt right there in that moment, I remember smiling. Because it was up to me what happened next. I chose to walk away from that wall. To start living again even if I didn’t know what that meant exactly at the time.

    I decided to not let my mum’s death, which had dogged me for some many years, become a reason to end my life too.

    And I don’t just mean end my life by suicide, but to end my life emotionally, to shut down, to numb out, to allow what happened to become my story—the story of someone who shirked away from her own life because her mum killed herself and the world now owed her something for taking her away.

    But guess what? The world didn’t owe me anything, and the world doesn’t owe you anything either.

    We are all victims of something that has happened in our lives. We ruminate and torture ourselves with things that were said or not said, and about what happened or didn’t happen or things that haven’t even happened yet.

    We react to things like a tightly coiled spring, red raw from experiences and situations that lie well in the past. And yet most of us allow our past to build our future.

    It’s the reason why you can’t commit to men, because your dad walked out when you were five, or you don’t make friends easily because of that one moment in the playground, aged eleven, when the popular girls made fun of your glasses.

    It’s the reason you go to work to a job you hate every day, because you decided early on in life that you weren’t good enough and that you’d just settle for less than.

    It’s the reason we make so much meaning out of things. You receive a text message and they don’t end it with a kiss, or someone signs off their email with “regards,” and your immediate thought is, “What did I do?”

    You see your boss walking toward you in the corridor at work and you say hello to him, but he keeps his head down and doesn’t respond. “Oh my god, why did he not say hello? Maybe I’m one of the ones who’ll be made redundant?”

    We attach so much meaning to everything, don’t we? And yet here’s the thing. There’s what happened and our story about what happened, and assuming the two things to be the same is the source of much pain and unnecessary self-suffering.

    Some people just don’t like leaving kisses at the end of text messages, and your boss just found out his wife has cancer and didn’t notice you walking toward him in the corridor, and Barry in accounts doesn’t think that “regards” at the end of an email sounds rude because Barry is more interested in getting the email written and sent so he can leave at 5pm, and fifteen years ago my mum died.

    You’re not five anymore. You’re not eleven and I am not the eighteen-year-old girl whose mum blew out the candle without saying goodbye.

    You have a choice. Today, right here, right now, you have a choice in how you’re going to show up, not just while you’re reading this, but right here in your life.

    You only have one life. And yet you always have lots of choices. About how you respond to what has happened to you in your life and what you do with it as a result.

    We can become wrapped up in darkness and negativity, blaming everyone and everything, or we can take from what has happened and learn something about ourselves.

    My favorite poet, Mary Oliver, wrote in her Thirst collection, “Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift.”

    And now, writing this, fifteen years after my mum’s death, I feel grateful, not that she died, but that amidst the heartache and the grief and the intense loss, I found out who I was.

    And I did so because I made a choice. To show up. To live the life that I wanted to. To take responsibility. To rewrite my story. To not just be the girl whose mum killed herself. But to be the woman who chose to decide that my future is bigger and better than my past.

    And I invite you to do the same.

    Change image via Shutterstock

  • Awakening to Life and Love After a Devastating Loss

    Awakening to Life and Love After a Devastating Loss

    “The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.” ~Ernest Hemingway  

    For years I cursed spring.

    During that time my heart woke to the bitterness of life. In the harsh frost of winter my anguish and the season were one, a climate where I felt safe, cocooned in a blanket of grief, a camouflage that ensconced me from the world outside.

    Like grief, winter brings the bitter cold to our life, and those withered months drenched in sorrow tasted natural.

    In the time I lingered frozen in my shroud of despair, spring had arrived, with feathered creatures whistling joyous songs while the leaves danced up our driveway. The warmth of the sun was a charlatan, exasperating my pain while seducing me like a stranger to a foreign place.

    Welcoming the signs of spring felt like a betrayal of my grief. For years I remained suspended, cursing the seasons, as if they had something to do with my anguish. Spring represented an unwanted gift, and this rebirth offended me. How could life continue when I stood so raw?

    Marooned in a well of grief, I felt alone in a world surrounded by people, a place where I was unable to articulate the wound that clutched at my soul.

    My attention oscillated with an assault of questions, an endless loop of uncertainty that blemished my heart.

    Feeling guilty for being alive when he was gone, for waking each day, even the shame I felt running out of tears depleted me, until nothing but darkness remained. Each day another upheaval when I woke peacefully until the ambiguity dissipated and exposed me to the pain again.

    Meeting with other bereaved families and sharing our lives brought the courage I needed to begin functioning again. Slowly a thaw occurred and the bitter cold that once surrounded my heart began to warm.

    The heartache that previously consumed me now unfolded into a treasure of memories and the gifts they bring with the passage of time. Gratitude can nourish us when our heart feels empty. Though learning through loss is difficult, it remains powerful.

    Embracing this enlightenment and the growth it provided filled me with love and compassion. Through years of grief, love, and self-examination, I began to find myself authentically whole again, and like the new buds of spring, my heart began to open.

    Eventually spring’s return blossomed within me and I looked forward to the new beginnings it would bring—perhaps because of the cold, seemingly endless winter, or the accumulation of snow all around us?

    But when I happened upon an old journal from twenty years ago, the place where all this grief began, the year our five-year-old son died, the fog began to lift.

    Finding a quiet room I sat down and began slowly turning the pages, revisiting the season of loss I had endured. Tenderly I stroked the pages acknowledging that despairing period of my life.

    As I read, I recalled the brave woman I was, surviving the loss of my child, and I could not help but honor her and the battle she had forged to survive.

    For days I continued reading the journal entries, discovering stories that swelled my heart and welled my eyes with tears. Yellowed pages filled with letters and poetry, notes and emotions bringing the words to life again, reminding me of how far I had come.

    Entries I had written cursing the seasons stung at my vision, until suddenly aware of the anger I once held with spring, for it was not the season that hurt; the pain that gripped me was witnessing life moving on without me.

    It took me years of unraveling to find myself again, and there are still days when I hear his sweet voice in the quiet of my day and know that he is still with me. Learning to step beyond the loss and share the love I had for my son in positive ways became one of my greatest blessings.

    Gratefulness is plentiful when we look beyond ourselves and see the beauty that exists in life all around us.

    Ryan’s story became a story of love, one of giving to others the way this small child gave to us. Caring for strangers with random acts of kindness began filling the emptiness that once consumed me.

    The power connected to giving is immeasurable, and that influence sustained me. Beginning with small acts that kept me anonymous was the tipping point I needed to shift directions.

    Paying at a drive-through where I remained nameless energized me, and instead of the melancholy I had previously felt, a new kind of optimism emerged.

    Solace can be found in that quiet place of grace when you release a kind deed into the universe and let the laws of nature embrace it.

    Over twenty years later I was running a race on Ryan’s birthday and aspired to do something special.

    Although I was unclear on how I would present it, I went prepared, picking up two $10 gift cards from a local store. This time I needed to step out of my anonymous comfort zone and be present.

    After asking permission, I handed the two gift cards to two young siblings there to run the race. The delight alone was a gratification to witness, but this act gave more.

    After sharing Ryan’s story, they all thanked me and I returned to my own daughter, both of us beaming.

    Within a few minutes the children bashfully approached me, thanking me again and sharing how special they felt. Smiling, I looked up at their mom who stood watching with tears running down her face.

    Allowing Ryan to live on in positive ways is a gift I have given away countless times without regret. Connecting ourselves with others makes the world a more loving place.

    Although we try and live with a strategy in mind, planning how many children we want or the house we need, within all of this, there is no immunity from loss.

    When we realize that material things are fleeting collections of wants and will not sustain us in tragedy, we begin to embrace the little moments of life.

    Giving of ourselves is the most valuable offering we can present, shaping the world in a perfect light. A beautiful sunrise, a child’s laughter, even the smile we bring the elderly neighbor when we stop to visit will be the pause that will anchor us if our ship begins to sink.

  • Don’t Wait Until the End to Wake Up to Your Life

    Don’t Wait Until the End to Wake Up to Your Life

    Man in a Cave

    “Don’t be afraid of death; be afraid of an unlived life. You don’t have to live forever; you just have to live.” ~Natalie Babbitt

    My friend died recently.

    I saw him just a few hours before he died too. He stopped by my office as he had done numerous times before to say hello. I’d seen him go through various challenges and come out better. His life was great, and the future looked bright. And I was happy for him because he had worked so hard to get to this place.

    My friend died that night in a freak accident.

    I was stunned. Why him? Why now when he had so much to live for?

    As I was dealing with the sadness and shock of this sudden loss, I remembered the gift of life and the precious few moments we had with each other.

    I hope these reminders will help you treasure each moment with yourself and with others:

    1. Slow down.

    Most of us live our lives like someone who always drives on the freeway. We get to our destinations faster, but when we avoid the slower country roads, we miss out on the beauty of the land and the people.

    We get so caught up in our busy schedules and our to-do lists that we lose out on the ordinary moments that we often disregard as meaningless or unproductive.

    When my friend died, the realization that I would never experience his impromptu visits again hit me hard. I just assumed I would see him the next day, as I had done countless times before.

    I now understood how precious the moments we did have were. I understood that beauty is in each moment of my own life—that I don’t have to wait for the peak moments to feel alive, happy, or loved. I can slow down and enjoy all the blessings of being alive right now.

    2. Learn to talk about death.

    Our society doesn’t face the reality of death too well. We live like we will never die. We fail to plan and prepare. We put off the important things until it’s too late.

    Why? It’s scary to talk about, and it’s emotionally taxing to think about.

    I remember being intensely afraid of death as a child. I’d been to a few funerals, and the sight of dead bodies was something that haunted me. Sometimes I still struggle with thinking and talking about death until it hits close to home.

    The sudden death of my friend reminded me of why talking about death with your loved ones is so important. If I died today, will my family be taken care of? Will my spouse know my funeral and burial wishes?

    Talking about death allows us to make plans for the inevitable event so that those closest to us can know what to do when we die. They will be going through enough heartache, so helping them to feel prepared will ease their burden.

    3. Embrace uncertainty.

    Like death itself, we are often petrified to embrace uncertainty. That’s understandable. One of our basic human needs is to feel a sense of control in our lives. Taken too far, the desire for absolute certainty can be harmful.

    As a recovering perfectionist, I know about overreacting if plans don’t go exactly as expected. I would become irritable or lose focus. My sense of well-being was often diminished by relatively minor detours from my plans.

    But I’ve learned over the years that the most amazing thing about uncertainty is how we can be blindsided by joy. If we avoid uncertainty, we deprive ourselves of all of the wonderful possibilities that can come from the unexpected.

    And while the unexpected is also bound to bring pain, it’s from that pain that we find nuggets of wisdom to help us grow emotionally and spiritually.

    Though death itself is the one ultimate certainty, when and how it comes is unknown. Just like my beloved friend, I will die—on a day, time, and manner not of my choosing.

    Embracing this ultimate uncertainty frees me emotionally to live in the present where I am more likely to be happier and fulfilled.

    How do you embrace uncertainty? Start by looking for joy in the most unexpected places. Look for it when you’re afraid, upset, discouraged, or sad. And recall the times when you were surprised by joy. The more you do this, the less you’ll fear the uncertain because you’ll know that joy is always within reach.

    4. Live with purpose and meaning.

    Why do you do what you do? Is it to please others or because you find meaning in it?

    Because we push death to the fringes as a society, we are often out of touch with our own mortality. With each passing second, we grow ever closer to the day we will die. We put off our own dreams and desires to some unknown future date that may never come.

    Bronnie Ware, a palliative care nurse, recorded the top five regrets of the dying. At the top of the list was this regret:

    “I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.”

    The death of my friend prompted me to think: What would be my number one regret if I were dying today? Would I have the above regret? Would you?

    If you’re struggling to create meaning in your life, start by thinking about the kind of person you want to be. Finding meaning is more about being than doing. The latter helps, but your being follows you, regardless of what you are doing.

    5. Be generous with your love.

    During their funerals, we always talk about how much these people affected us during life. Why can’t we tell them when they are alive?

    I often think back to the last day I saw my friend. What would I have done or said differently had I known I would never see him again? A part of me felt unresolved. I wished I had a chance to simply offer a few words of appreciation.

    When we lose someone, we’ll frequently have unresolved feelings—regrets about the unsaid, the harsh words we wish we could take back, or the things we wished we could have done to ease their pain.

    But don’t let this stop you from telling the important people in your life how much you love them. Small acts of kindness and selfless giving are also essential ways of expressing love.

    Visible and concrete expressions of love will be a soothing balm when faced with loss.

    Wake Up To Your Life

    Let’s be honest. The vast majority of us are driving on the freeway of life. We’ve fallen asleep behind the wheel, lulled by the seemingly endless highway that stretches in a straight line to the horizon.

    No matter how long the highway may seem from where we are, it will eventually come to an end. Don’t wait until the end to wake up to your life.

    Roll down the windows, get off the highway, and take the unbeaten path.

    Be present to the gift of your life in this very moment.

    Be courageous by being true to yourself.

    And be grateful for the ways death teaches us to live.

    Man in a cave image via Shutterstock