Tiny Buddha

Tag: grieving

  • How Death Teaches Us to Live Fully: 7 Enlightening Lessons

    How Death Teaches Us to Live Fully: 7 Enlightening Lessons

    “We meet but briefly in life, if we touch each other with stardust, that is everything.”  ~Unknown

    We had baked chicken and mashed potatoes with gravy that evening. It was the kind of hearty meal that warms you up on a damp March night.

    As I said goodnight, I couldn’t have imagined that in just a few hours I would return to my parents’ house and everything would be changed forever.

    But so it goes. Nothing in life is permanent.

    I’ll never forget that phone call. I felt everything drain out of me and then it seemed as though everything stopped. My mind couldn’t seem to absorb that my father had died.

    I kept saying, “But we just had dinner.” “He was getting better.” And,  “Everything was okay”

    When I arrived back at my parents’ house, it was surreal.

    The quiet conversation and enjoyable meal we’d enjoyed only a few hours ago had been replaced by a chaotic, confusing scene.

    I remember flashing lights, lots of people running around, the sad scared faces of those I loved, and tears, lots of tears.

    I was a wreck at the funeral and not sure if I could speak, but as I stood at the podium, a strange peaceful feeling come over me. A sort of clarity and profound realization. A deep connection to life that I’d never felt before.

    Nothing helps you understand the fleeting beauty of life more than death. Nothing helps you understand what is important in life more than death.

    And most important are the people in our lives. The connection, the bond, the love, the nurturing, the stories, and the memories that we share.

    These are the great gifts of life, and death teaches us to grab hold of them, because we know they won’t last forever.

    I thought I knew life but I didn’t, until that day.

    Enlightening lessons death can teach you about life:

    1. The power of love

    A few months after my father died, I found myself stuck. I was angry that he died and angry that I couldn’t do more to help him. With the loving support of the people in my life, I was able to move past the anger and start to focus on the time we had together.

    The power of love saw me through those dark days.

    If you’re struggling after the death of a loved one, reach out for support and pay homage to your loss by letting your love shine. Although they are no longer with us, our loved ones live on in our hearts, our minds, and our dreams.

    Love is universal and transcendent; it knows no boundaries and reaches far beyond the physicality of this world.

    2. The power of impermanence

    Have you ever experienced a loss and felt like you were losing control? You desperately try to pull in the reigns, but you can’t.

    We all like to have a sense of control, and a certain degree is important in terms of our survival. If we don’t organize our lives, follow rules, and work within the structure of society, we’ll find ourselves in a state of chaos.

    When someone dies, you realize that life is not permanent and that nothing will last forever no matter how much control you try to exert. This is actually what makes it so profound.

    Life is like a rainbow. The light and rain form its beauty, and then it fades. The gold is the shared journey and the profound expression of our lives.

    3. The power of acceptance 

    The grieving process is difficult.

    I remember being in denial and saying things like, “I can’t believe it’s true.” I spent a lot of time being mad at the world and myself.

    I bargained by thinking, “If only I’d done this” and “I should have done that.” The void of depression took the form of, “I am so sad; I’ll never get past this.”

    And finally, I accepted that he was gone and I needed to move forward.

    During this process I resisted the reality of my loss. The stages of grief gave me time to come to grips and handle what had happened.

    Ultimately, the resistance melted and I was able to lean into life again. You can’t move forward without acceptance. 

    4. The power of transformation 

    Loss and struggle hold the seeds of transformation. I don’t think anybody wants to experience pain. I know I sure don’t.

    But as I have experienced loss and struggle in my life, I have noticed a pattern: I get stronger, and the seeds of that struggle result in growth.

    Life is a continual process of struggle, transformation, and growth. Although it may not always seem obvious, if you look at growth you can always trace it back to the struggle that preceded it.

    You may be hurting now but something good is on the horizon.

    5. The power of awareness

    It is possible to go through long periods of life without ever expanding our consciousness.

    Prior to my father’s death, my conscious awareness was limited. I was in a safe, secure bubble, casually going about my life.

    I didn’t question life and I didn’t question the choices I made. I was not fully aware; I was not on purpose. I did not have a sense that my time was limited, nor did I get that life was a gift.

    Death can initiate the process of expanding your awareness, because it challenges you to question your view of life itself and what you do with yours.

    6. The power of presence

    So much of life is consumed by the struggle to survive and compete.

    I spend most of my time trying to cover my family’s basic needs, striving to succeed, and wading through the bombardment of materialism.

    When I find myself getting distracted by the “stuff” in my life, I try to take a step back and focus on the warmer, more soulful parts of me that make me feel alive and present. I take time to get away from the noise and distractions, and focus on spending time with the people in my life.

    The paradox of death is that it points to what it means to be alive. Aliveness has to do with experience, connection, and full expression. What makes your feel alive and present? 

    7. The power of connection

    Have you ever stepped outside your ego and connected to something bigger than you?

    When you’re on purpose or following your calling, you are guided internally, and yet you are also connecting to something beyond you.

    This is the experience I think most of us would like to have, but we get stuck in our ego-based thinking.

    Life events like death humble us and open us up to the possibility of waking up and stepping outside our ego. This gives us a chance to connect to something bigger than ourselves and do what is truly important.

    —

    Death is powerfully enlightening, but you don’t have to wait for someone to die to change the way you live.

    Each day you have an opportunity to create a life with purpose and meaning. Commit to being fully alive and expressing your highest self.

    Life is brief. Use it to spread a little stardust.

  • Let Go and Experience Life: 8 Ways to Stop Living in Crisis Mode

    Let Go and Experience Life: 8 Ways to Stop Living in Crisis Mode

    Sun

    “I vow to let go of all worries and anxiety in order to be light and free.” ~Thich Nhat Han

    My dad had been ill, in and out of the hospital for a couple of weeks, when my mother called with news that he had been airlifted from their local hospital to a larger regional medical center. My dad suffered from Crohn’s Disease for nearly fifty years at that point and was experiencing severe abdominal pain believed to be from a perforation of his bowel.

    We would learn over the next few hours that even surgery to remove a malignant tumor was not guaranteed to save his life.

    Throughout the long night, my mom and brother, along with my partner and I, shared a grim, poorly lit room reserved for families of emergency surgery patients.

    Throughout the trauma of that first night and the days that followed, I made it my mission to normalize, plan, and cope. I called relatives and kept those closest to my dad up to date. I paid for hotel rooms for my mom and brother, neither of whom could afford to stay overnight near the hospital.

    I became a caregiving overachiever, connecting personally with the nursing staff but careful to not be too pushy.

    My visits coincided with physician rounds where I asked questions and kept detailed notes. Once back at work as a librarian, I used online medical databases to get all the journal articles I could find about my dad’s condition.

    I built a fortress of information for reassurance. For the next eighteen months, I accompanied my parents to specialist appointments and tried in every way possible to make life normal. I paid their bills when they could not and funded the expensive health insurance my father now required due to his condition.

    Desperate problem solving became normal, necessary, and my job. What I didn’t realize, though, was the permanent adjustment I was making to a “high alert” status.

    In this fear-based mode of living, I was on constant lookout for any sign of danger so I could switch into containment mode, minimizing discomfort as fast as possible.

    When my father‘s cancer recurred after a period of relatively good health, we were all devastated. He died nine months after the recurrence, withdrawn and sad, while receiving hospice care at home. I felt like I had failed to keep everyone safe.

    As I grieved in the months and years that followed, I transferred the high alert skills to my job as a project manager, priding myself on my ability to see risks well ahead of others. I thought this protected me from uncertainty and, consequently, fear and anxiety.

    In fact, it ratcheted my alert status up to an even higher level—one that ultimately proved unsustainable. After nearly a year of leading a highly visible and high stakes project, I found myself sitting on the couch one morning, paralyzed by a combination of fear, sadness, and rage. 

    I was unable to get ready for work. My big project had stalled, I was terrified of displeasing my boss, and I was angry that I couldn’t see my way clear of these problems. There was no bright line to the future.

    I learned that these crisis moments offer opportunities to practice letting others help us and learn new ways of living. Here are 8 strategies that have helped me: 

    1. Find a neutral advocate.

    Objective outside support is crucial during a crisis period. Friends and family can often recommend a life coach, therapist, or spiritual advisor with whom they have worked. If you are reluctant to talk with friends, you can use social networking tools like LinkedIn to see if someone in your network is connected to an individual who can help.

    2. Practice mindfulness.

    There’s value in focusing on our breath to quiet the turmoil in our minds. Look for a meditation or spiritual center that offers a basic class in meditation, mindfulness, or prayer. Even ten minutes each day in quiet reflection will improve your focus, resiliency, and peace of mind.

    3. Replenish yourself.

    You might be depleted from years of constant vigilance and striving. Commit to leave at the end of your workday, at least a few days a week, even if everything isn’t done. Reconnect with parts of yourself that you haven’t seen for a while by watching a favorite movie or surrounding yourself with your favorite color.

    4. Try another perspective.

    Most people are doing their best but are primarily caught up in the storyline of their own lives. Even thirty seconds of viewing a situation from another’s point of view can diffuse your negative inner dialogue about a person or situation.

    5. Know your limits.

    When you are feeling pressured or negative, check to see if you are tired, hungry, or otherwise not feeling well. Avoid pushing through these feelings and stop your activity. Return to your situation later when you are feeling more refreshed.

    6. Make something.

    Many of us lose touch with our creative self as work and family commitments take more of our energy.  Working with our hands can effectively pull us out of a mental rut and create pride in our own abilities.  Handcrafts like sewing, knitting, embroidery, as well as woodworking, cooking, pottery making, and home improvement projects are all satisfying ways to feel purposeful.

    7. Look for like-minded folks.

    Connect with new friends and old acquaintances that are calm, self-aware, and in touch with their own unique humanity. Finding others to share interests and a good laugh provides a balance to the more stressful aspects of life.

    8. Reconnect with your love.

    Create opportunities to deepen your conversations beyond the rushed and sometimes business-like communication of daily life. Increasing conversational intimacy will strengthen intimacy throughout your relationship.

    After a long day, when you’re tired and have slipped back into old patterns and reactions, remember that these techniques are like muscles that get stronger each time you use them.

    Photo by Sagisen

  • Finding Peace and Joy When Dealing with Pain and Loss

    Finding Peace and Joy When Dealing with Pain and Loss

    I am here

    “Every problem has a gift for you in its hands.” ~Richard Bach

    There are times when nothing seems to move in the right direction. We either feel stuck or lost in chaos and confusion. Days follow nights as pages on the calendar turn into months, but you remain at the same place.

    A few years back I suffered a miscarriage in the eighth month of pregnancy. I lost my baby and my dreams of motherhood. In the deep void I experienced both physical pain and mental agony.

    At such times despite your efforts, the situation turns from bad to worse until you hit rock bottom, where you are too shocked to even be angry. You are just numb.

    It took me years to understand that life’s balance sheet is not a neat account statement. Here, losses are often gains and gains are often losses.

    At that time, I found a strange peace while doing mundane everyday activities, like cleaning or removing the stalks from the green vegetables. My hands removed grass, weeds, or long hard stalks to stack in organized groups.

    Why did I enjoy doing this activity, which was a chore? It gave my hands something to do; it helped me to finish a task while giving respite to my agonized heart, as my mind was free to wander from worry to wonder.

    My heart cried but the spinach or whatever I was cleaning was getting ready. It did not stop life but helped me to go with flow.

    It taught me the art of giving in without giving up, and it made me realize that lessons need to be experienced before learning happens.

    The meditative quality of a repeated activity is therapeutic. It leads to contemplation, which has a cathartic effect that makes you calm while setting a rhythm in the chaotic mind.

    Life unfolds at its pace, and we need to go with the flow. Attachment and detachment are the two points where we oscillate as a pendulum. Wisdom dawns at this stage. (more…)

  • Moving Beyond the Pain of Losing Someone You Love

    Moving Beyond the Pain of Losing Someone You Love

    Healing

    “Sorrow prepares you for joy. It violently sweeps everything out of your house, so that new joy can find space to enter. It shakes the yellow leaves from the bough of your heart, so that fresh green leaves can grow in their place. It pulls up the rotten roots, so that new roots hidden beneath have room to grow. Whatever sorrow shakes from your heart, far better things will take their place.”  ~Rumi

    Our son Nathan was nine years old when a car hit him. He had massive head injuries as a result of his accident. Doctors told us that he was brain dead and encouraged us to turn off his life support and donate his organs. Two days later we did just that and sadly said our last goodbye.

    How do you begin this journey? Who prepares you for this sudden change? How do you wake up the next morning knowing your child won’t be in your life anymore?

    At first we went on autopilot to survive because trying to absorb such an enormous shock was not an option. Nothing seemed real.

    Of course, we knew the truth deep down, but we had another daughter to care for, and in the beginning everyone was running around trying to make us feel better, so our grief went on hold.

    After the funeral and meals stopped coming around, we still wanted to avoid the grief, but somehow it started to face us.

    My husband and I both wanted answers to the many questions we had about Nathan’s death.

    We started to doubt what we had learned at the hospital and our own decision to turn off his life support. We began to come out of our shock and started piecing together exactly how this happened.

    Our anger at the driver started to come out as well; we wanted her to be punished like we were. We asked if she could be charged and held accountable for her actions.

    With all this emotion and energy flying around, we weren’t sure who we were anymore, and we were channelling our energy in all the wrong directions.

    I started to play the “what if” game in my thoughts each day. Once you let it in, it can consume you. I was not so much exhausted with the process of grief, but more about how busy my mind had become with everything but that. (more…)

  • Death and Grieving: Breathing Through the Feeling of Loss

    Death and Grieving: Breathing Through the Feeling of Loss

    “Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.” ~Dr. Seuss

    The color brown has special significance to me; it’s the color of the robes that my teacher, Thich Nhat Hanh and the monastics wear. It’s the color of my children’s eyes. It’s the color of the soil I like to dig in and plant things. It’s the color of my dog, Jake’s, paws and eyes and eyebrows

    My husband came home today with a chocolaty brown gift bag. I could practically smell chocolate just looking at it. I find the color brown to be so comforting, so…grounding—and sometimes so delicious.

    He brought the bag home from the veterinarian’s office; and when I realized what it was, the contraction I felt in my chest was met with equal measures of ease and calm. This can only be credited to my practice.

    I know that inside this bag there is a little box. And if I open the lid, I will see the entire cosmos—earth, water, air, fire, space, and consciousness.

    I will see clouds and flowers; rain and mountains; mud and a lotus. I will see tears of joy and of sorrow, because I will be looking at the remains of a beloved friend, Jake.

    Breathing in, I know I am breathing in. Breathing out, I know I am breathing out.

    These words have helped me stay with myself during a time when my four-legged friend was suffering, and when we knew it was an act of mercy to expedite his continuation.

    Breathing in, my breath grows deep. Breathing out, my breath goes slowly.

    I’m learning about freedom, about joy, about embracing my feelings like a mother embraces a crying baby. So at the veterinarian’s office, I came back to my breathing and held our friend, Jake, and breathed with him as the conditions for his manifestation in his old and sick body ceased; as the veterinarian injected the grapefruit-pink liquid that would liberate him.

    Breathing in, I calm my body. Breathing out, I care for my body.

    We said goodbye to Jake, to his beautiful brown eyes and eyebrows, his black, white and brown legs, his black body. He was a beautiful Border collie mix.

    Sitting in the car in front of the veterinarian’s office crying, a haunting and irresistible sound came out of my purse, which was tucked away on the floor of the car. It was my iPhone playing the song, Ong Namo, sung by Snatam Kaur.

    Oddly, I hadn’t listened to this song on my iPhone for months. (more…)

  • Letting Go When It’s Time to Dream a New Dream

    Letting Go When It’s Time to Dream a New Dream

    “We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the life that is waiting for us.” ~Joseph Campbell

    Growing up in a family of medical professionals, I received an abundance of opportunities with the understanding that my “job” was school. There was immense pressure to bring home straight A’s. I internalized this pressure and spent hours in my room memorizing texts and studying for classes.

    In my mind medicine was the only acceptable career for me. Family, friends, and teachers routinely asked if I wanted to go to medical school, and my grandmother would smile when she saw me studying and say, “Study hard and you’ll be a doctor, just like your father.”

    I felt that everyone was expecting big things from me, and I wasn’t sure what those things were, how to make them happen, or if I even wanted them.

    In the fall of 2007, I was beginning my undergraduate career as a biopsychology and pre-med major at the local university when I became sick with a progressive neurodegenerative disease. I put life on hold as I bounced from doctor to doctor and underwent test after test, which produced few answers.

    In a period of three years, I lost my balance, my mobility, my hearing, and much of my independence.

    The grieving process that accompanied these losses was intense and surreal. I was convinced that finally having a diagnosis would make it easier, but I discovered that labeling an experience does not change its reality.

    Medical science had nothing to offer me, in terms of treatment or a cure for my form of mitochondrial disease, but I found myself moving through grief with a false sense of fluidity and a feigned sense of humor.

    I thought that if I pretended things were okay, I would not have to face the seriousness of my illness or the underlying grief. (more…)

  • 6 Ways to Decrease Your Suffering

    6 Ways to Decrease Your Suffering

    “The world is full of suffering. It is also full of overcoming it.” ~Helen Keller

    You’ve probably heard the saying “Pain is inevitable; suffering is optional.”

    For many years, I didn’t understand how pain and suffering were different from each other. They seemed inextricably wrapped up together, and I took it for granted that one was the inevitable consequence of the other.

    However, as I have grown to understand my own capacity to create happiness, I noticed something interesting about the nature of my suffering.

    As I reflect back on painful episodes in my life, I can recall losing people who were dear to me. I remember abrupt changes in jobs, housing, and other opportunities that I believed were the basis of my happiness.

    In each of those experiences the immediate visceral pain was searing, like a hot knife cutting through my heart. Then afterwards came grief, an emotional response to loss that arose quite naturally.

    But closely on the heels of physical pain and emotional grief comes something else, something that I create in my own mind even though it feels quite real. That something else is “suffering.”

    As a friend of mine once said, this is like putting butter on top of whipped cream. Suffering is the “extra” that our mind adds to an already painful situation.

    It is at this very point, when your mind starts to fiddle with the pain and grief, that you have the possibility of doing things differently.

    If you’re in the midst of great pain right now, it might help to know that the old saying really is true: While the pain can’t be avoided—it’s the price of being a human with a heart—there are ways we can reduce this kind of self-generated suffering. (more…)

  • Facing the Fear of Death and Really Living Now

    Facing the Fear of Death and Really Living Now

    “He who doesn’t fear death only dies once.” ~Giovanni Falcone

    “None of us get out of here alive…” My sweet friend spoke those words, a few months before she lost her battle with Stage IV Brain Cancer at the tender age of 33.

    She had a sense of humor, always, and even in the midst of her intense radiation treatments, was able to make light of a fact that is so obviously true—yet is so inherently avoided by Western culture.

    Standing by my friend during her battle with cancer was the very first time in my life that I experienced death up close and personal.

    I had lost my grandfather as a teenager, but as an adult, his was the closest I’d come to death. The loss of any life is heartbreaking, though it seems that there is a form of closure that naturally occurs when you know that someone has had lived a long and fulfilling life.

    When a young person dies it is tragic, this is the reality. We can slice and dice our ideas of the after life and paint whatever picture we choose, but the bottom line is, a life lost so young impacts many, and the grief stretches far.

    As I watched her life slowly fade over time, I began to find myself experiencing restless nights, often thinking about how lonesome it must have felt being in her position. Upon her death, reality only set in further, and shook me to my core.

    I started to ask myself: Why was this happening to her? Does death have to be a scary and lonely experience? Could I ever be fearless of death?

    I would repeat these in my head in various forms, and the more I would ponder, the more that fear would rear its ugly head. It would present itself in many ways, mostly scenarios that could possibly happen in my own life—losing a child or losing my husband, for example.

    These are scenarios that many of us live with on a daily basis, even without the trigger of the death of a loved one.

    I watched my thoughts unfold and I realized that I needed to put a stop to the madness. If you’re reading this blog, your level of self-awareness is likely high enough to be able to do the same—to recognize when something is spiraling out of your control. (more…)

  • 9 Lessons on Loss, Forgiveness, and Healing

    9 Lessons on Loss, Forgiveness, and Healing

    “Forgiveness does not change the past, but it does enlarge the future.” ~Paul Boese

    I’m trying to meditate but I find myself overcome by sadness; I’m still grieving after all this time.

    I’ve gone through phases of forgiveness recently that have shown me how to acknowledge the painful relationship I had with my mother, the anger and resentment we shared, and the loss of each other that we both went through the older we grew. Maybe it’s not as bad as that, but it feels like it.

    My reflections have brought me closer to the woman who I never took the time to understand because we were both so volatile and weighed down with our problems; I’d shuddered when my family would say “You’re just like Mum,” but now I smile because I see how true it is.

    I yearn for a stable life, just like her; I live with chronic illness, mental and physical, just like her; I escape into creativity, just like her.

    We differ too.

    I’ve decided to do something about my anger. I’ve taken steps to open my heart. I’ve learned to forgive and be forgiven. One thing I’ve not done yet is grieve. I lost my Mum.

    I lost her gradually through my life in that I didn’t ever feel like we were mother and daughter, more two people living together who spent every day treading carefully, trying to avoid eye contact and arguments.

    And then four years ago she died. She’d been sick for a long time and I knew it was coming. I’d prepared myself from a very young age for that cold January afternoon, for when I’d hear the news that she was dead. I was at once free and cut loose.

    I lost the person who, if I had only opened myself up, would have protected me to all ends, even if she didn’t understand what I was going through. (more…)