Daffodils in bloom. Prince’s Street Garden, Edinburgh, Scotland, April 2019 where some of my mother’s ashes were left on my sojourn. photo by anne richardson
Slipping Into the Well of Grief
Spring is making an early appearance in the Pacific NW and I suppose I am happy about that. The daffodils are starting to bloom and daffodils of all ilk were my mother’s and are one of my favorite flowers. Our winter has been wet, but no bitter cold snaps and snow has remained in the mountains where I prefer it. I’ve relished the long, dark nights and even the endless days of January rain didn’t bother me while many of my friends shared feelings of being sucked into a gray cloud the size of the state of Oregon. So, I guess I’m happy spring is less than four weeks away.
Except I’m not ready. I want to stay in the cocoon of dark a while longer. And I’m feeling resistant to delving into the “why.” But delve I will for I know, as David Whyte’s poem, “The Well of Grief,” says with such grace: “Those who will not slip beneath/the still surface on the well of grief//turning down to its black water/to the place that we can not breathe//will never know/the source from which we drink/the secret water cold and clear//nor find in the darkness/the small gold coins/thrown by those who wished for something else.” From past experience I know the coins are under the muck and that deep dives always, and I do mean always, nourish my soul. There is treasure waiting for me, and I hope as you read this, for you too.
Grieving Intangible Loss
This time last year I was in the planning stages for my sojourn. At that point it was an eight-week journey to my homeland (week nine was a late add-on.) Hours were spent in discernment. Meditation. Reading. Connecting. Listening. And training. I was physically training to walk across England for 13-days. Over 190 miles. Grieving was in there too. The first year anniversary of my mother’s death passed February 15, 2019. The sojourn was in part to honor her.
I was excited by all that was unfolding. All that was calling to me. As spring began to unfurl, I felt I too was unfurling. This year does not have that life pivoting event on the horizon. Instead, all that transpired and transformed me last spring is sitting within, gestating. Not something navigable via planes, trains, buses, and ferries. And one long trek across northern England. I am missing the tangible, the start date. This metaphorical gestation has no “due date.” Yes, this period of time is spent in discernment. Meditation. Reading. Connecting. Listening. But it looks more like an ultrasound than a map. A murky image with an outline of what is possible floating around within me.
Last year’s preparation was very tangible.
En route to Scotland. Leg one of my tangible sojourn. April 2019. photo by anne richardson
With Change Comes Loss…and Grief
It is an odd sort of loss, this turn of the calendar back on where I was a year ago. My spiritual director recently offered me this piece of wisdom (and I’m paraphrasing:) “The only comparisons we should make are to ourselves from one point in our lives to another.” (She offered this in part because I am one who will look at how you are doing on the outside and compare my inside self to you. Sound familiar?) Am I taking better self-care of myself now than I was one, two, five, ten years ago? Am I setting healthy goals based on what my body needs? Are my spiritual practices meaningful or are they stale and based on ways I have always done things? When I look at my growth in just about every area of my life between late winter of last year to this, there has been a lot of movement. And with change, growth, transformation, comes loss. And with loss comes the opportunity to grieve. Yes, my wise mentor Grief reminds me of that…again. And so there it is. I’m grieving.
My journal pages from prompts offered at a recent three day workshop. This first write was about my mother.
Grief-aversaries
The second “death-aversary” of my mother arrived last Saturday, the first day of a three-day writing workshop. I was surprised I didn’t feel more sadness, though I did write about daffodils, her life, and dying during the first session. However, the day before I was exhausted and had limited energy to engage. I found it frustrating to let all the “to dos” fall by the wayside until I reminded myself that the body knew it needed to fall inward. It also reminded me that grieving doesn’t have to “look” any one way. That this year didn’t need to be about tears or a drawn out ritual like last year. A bouquet of daffodils to share with my writing cohort and words on the page was this year's ritual. And that day of exhaustion.
Small Wave Losses
Loss reminders can be like the small waves at the beach as well as tsunamis that knock us off our feet. They lap gently at our toes, asking us to take notice once in a while. They don’t demand our full attention, understanding that we have danced with Grief for a time, set that dance card down, either due to exhaustion or simply because we have journeyed through all that is needed during this cycle and we feel complete for now. But those waves tickle our toes and ask us not to forget completely. And so, I remembered my mother’s death, and even the anniversary of the formal end of my marriage four years earlier which also occurred during that writing workshop, by honoring them with written words. Both losses that no longer sweep me out to sea, but ask to be respected and honored.
Small waves at Cannon Beach, Oregon. Mother Ocean doesn’t always thrash us when we visit. Some days she is gentle. February 2020. photo by anne richardson.
Loss of the Map or “Where did my compass go?”
One of the losses I am facing is what I call “The Loss of Orientation” or “Loss of my Map.” My usual compass points have fallen off the map. Actually, the whole map has disappeared from beneath me. So forget compass points. There are days I’d like to have a map to stand on! Again, it was my spiritual director that pointed out to me that I was “reorienting” myself…or was it my therapist. See, reorienting. Anyway, most of my old maps of how the world works no longer serve me since my return last June and yet there are days I want to pull them from the glove compartment, unfold them and say, “Oh yes, this is where I am going.” Familiar. Certain.
With the loss of my maps comes the opportunity to explore this new territory of “me” with revamped tools. So I have fresh compass points: Kindness, Compassion, Gratitude, Curiosity. These are my core values to discern choices I make as I continue along the path. And perspective and time in a way are latitude and longitude—though to be honest I can’t describe to you yet what that looks like. They just feel like the apt replacements for those navigational tools that defined our world maps as we know them today.
Staying Below The Surface of Winter A While Longer
Slipping beneath the waters of myself. Exploring my pockets of loss AND nourishing the something that is gestating below the surface. The both/and of transformation. I feel this creation of “me” growing. Shifting. It is not ready to come into the light and so I wish winter would stay a while longer. That the clocks wouldn’t “spring forward” in two weekends. If you want to play outside in the sun and I opt to snuggle under the covers a few weeks longer, please don’t take it personally. My last ultrasound said this creation isn’t ready yet. And that fuzzy image, while radiant, is incomplete. I look forward to sharing it (me) with you when its birth day arrives.
Thank you for reading. Always grateful,
anne
For Your Reflection
What discoveries did you find when you slipped beneath the still surface on the well of grief? How did it become a part of your grief journey?
What small losses are nudging at you? Do you ever find yourself ignoring them, perhaps feeling they are not worth acknowledging? How do you decide if something is worthy of being called “a loss” and therefore worthy of “grieving?”
Loss can often leave us feeling disoriented. What helps you reconnect with yourself and others? How do you decide/discern if an old way of coping is still effective or if it needs to be reviewed and possibly replaced? When have you done this in the past?
What navigation tools do you use to journey through your losses? Have you created any new maps?
Ongoing Services
Yes, I am in a period of gestation. Creation. Discernment. I flow through loss. Dance with grief. And life is also full of joy. That both/and again that I hold loosely. You may remember I see Grief and Joy as being partners on this journey. And I have areas of my business that continue to unfold, that excite me, that are my passions.
Labyrinth
I recently completed Advanced Labyrinth Facilitator Training through Veriditas. I have been working with the labyrinth for over 15 years and am excited by what I brought back from my training. I look forward to integrating the labyrinth further into what I offer. Please contact me to see how my expertise as a labyrinth facilitator can be of service to you.
Spiritual Direction
Sitting with another one-on-one and allowing their story to unfold. Listening to the threads and weaving them into a tapestry that, if it doesn’t seem to fit, the client is free to unweave them. Speaking stories back. Offering not answers, simply noticings. This is what I provide. Something rarely given in our “fix it” world. With my extensive training and experience as a chaplain and spiritual director and work in hospice, I often come alongside with those experiening loss of loved ones. And I have clients that are in the midst of life altering illness, life transitions, or reflecting back on the past and wanting to make sense of “what was then” to make sense of what is happening now. If this kind of support appeals to you, please contact me. Or if you know of someone else who might be interested, please forward this newsletter.
Workshops
Upcoming Workshop:
Recognizing & Honoring Life Transitions
April 4th, 1-5pm, SW Portland.
I still have room! Limit is 12 though, so don’t wait to long.
Click on link for details.
