Wildflowers served as a place to scatter some of my mother’s ashes on her birthday on my “Sojourn with Grief” two years ago. photo by anne richardson.
Emerging From Winter’s Grief Scattered
Ah spring. I have emerged from winter as scattered as a bag of wildflower seeds torn open on a blustery day! My thoughts landing here and there. Sprouting with curiosity and wonder. It is a delightful energy to be in the midst of…and tiring, too. It is not my norm to be “airy” and at first it was unsettling, but I have opted to allow myself to play in the energy, much like the spring lambs I encountered and was enamored with on my Sojourn with Grief two years ago.
Processing Pandemic Shift
It is also my sense that as I/we emerge from the pandemic, though somewhat fitfully, this is how my being is processing. Coming out of that lengthy winter I wrote about previously, I’m blinking as I look into the light, raising contracted arms to the sun. Shaking myself out like a rug that has accumulated a winter’s worth of dust and grime. On warm days I sit outside watching the nuthatches, chickadees and sparrows bathe in the birdbath, as if they too are relishing the seasonal shift. And the squirrel! Oh my, that squirrel running back and forth along my deck rail all day long is reason enough to rest in the breath of my day. One day she had a mouth full of twigs and debris. (I say “she" assuming she was building a nest.) I wonder, if I asked nicely, would she bring her babes by for a visit?
One of the many lambs I saw on my sojourn. Has it really been two years?! photo by anne richardson
This sparrow drops by regularly for a sip from the birdbath. photo by anne richardson
Too Many Uninvited Losses? Overwhelmed? When to Grieve?
And…we are still in the pandemic, emerging into its own new season which will bring new uninvited losses while we are still in the midst of distilling the losses of the past 14, 15, 16 months (I’ve lost count.) With each loss, some directly related to the pandemic, some related to this journey we call life, comes an invitation to grieve. My sense is for some to start the grieving journey now feels overwhelming. It is easier, healthier even, to be numb. That might be the kindest, gentlest way to take care of ourselves.
Society Slowly Shifting Views on Grief
I offer this because I’ve been reading a lot about the opportunity for our society (meaning in the United States and Western culture) to shift our way of grieving. I agree! I’m on this soapbox…the one that wants to debunk the belief that grieving is linear (five stages.) That you should just “get over ‘it,’” whatever “it” is (death of your partner of forty years, miscarriage, pet, job loss, etc) after an arbitrary date (usually 6 months to a year.) That, if said date has passed and you are still sad, you must need medication (note: there are instances of complicated grief that need intervention.) That only certain losses are even worthy of grieving. And other beliefs that belittle those who are grieving losses in “unaccepted” ways. Mary Oliver in the poem quoted offers that sorrow has a use, though it may take time to discern it. We can’t hurry Grief. Perhaps the “gift” of the pandemic is that our unhealthy ways of grieving will finally shift.
“The Uses of Sorrow
(In my sleep I dreamed this poem)
Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.
It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.”
There are many examples from other cultures and traditions that were silenced over time but are now being heard or rediscovered to help us relearn how to grieve. I touched on the history of collective grieving and creating your own ritual in my last blog post, so this is obviously a passion of mine. Last December I reflected on lamenting, an ancient way of entering into Grief, as I prepared for a workshop I offered on lamenting. I found it powerful to present and those who attended (online) shared the power of the experience. (As an aside: if exploring lamenting interests you and you would like me to present it to your community, please reach out. Sharing Grief in community is a powerful way to share loss even as the loss is experienced differently for each individual.)
A coastline is an example of transitional space much like we are in with Grief. Shifting with the wind and tide. Cannon Beach, Oregon. photo by anne richardson
Wisdom From My Mentor Grief
My mentor Grief offers that we are in a time of transition. We will be drawing on the ancient wisdom and creating new rituals and ceremonies. A time of re-creation and creation. Expanding. Grief, I believe, is an archetype, shifting with us as needed. Teaching us. Even as I read this, I think “scattered, like one of those seeds blowing in the wind, anne.” So if it seems far-fetched, that’s okay. I don’t fully comprehend it either.
Exploring Your Losses and Grieving in Your Timing
If you are one of those folks feeling overwhelmed. If the thought of even putting your toe into the shallowest edge of the Grief pond to reflect on your losses right now feels scary. Too much. That’s okay. Trust your intuition. You’ll know when the time is right.
If you are ready to reflect on your losses, explore your ways of being with Grief in the past, in the present, going forward. Wanting a companion to come alongside you, I invite you to reach out. This is my call, my work in the world.
Hummingbird. photo by anne richardson
Hope Emerging Alongside Loss
As for this spring-energy-scattered-Grief journey(wo)man (I’ve been upgraded from apprentice,) I have a revived sense of Hope. Out of the fecund soil of winter comes…poetry after a fallow period. I am dreaming poems. They arise on walks. Conjure out of photos (my new passion—photography.) I am having fun posting photos and poems on my personal social media. I also sense a need to honor what is stirring and not sit on the words but offer them freely, like wildflowers along the roadside. It feels like service. Like gift.
You may recall, the Sister Tree that was named “Mother” fell during the ice storm. Well, the other day this gift of hope has emerged from her base! The next generation.
“Hope
“‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers-“
says the poet goddess Emily
or in “Window” Naomi Shihab Nye,
(I’ll give you her full name just in case
you don’t worship her crafting of
poems like I do)
says “Hope makes itself every day…
The 2-year old
‘kissing the window’ he said
because someone he loved
was out there”
& Hope ebbed
& Hope trickled in
& ebbed again
again
again
through last
year’s long spring
summer
autumn
winter times 2
or was it 3
& only began to inch forward
again
with spring’s return
& so many of us
noses pressed to windows,
pained,
watched the storms pass
through our lives
(why did we leave them
open? did we Hope a small
bird would pass
through as
it migrated to sunnier
climes, tuck us under a wing
& be whisked away)
crows left me feathers
every morning for weeks
a coastal brown pelican
offered one on its
way north last summer
the stellar jay
the chickadees
even a mourning dove
left feathers like bread crumbs—
HopeHopeHope
now Hope burgeoning
in the branches
of Sister Trees with
song birds readying nests
now Hope in the fallen Sister
who, like her mother before
is nursing new life
rising from her decaying trunk
ancestor roots intact
now Hope today injected
in my being by needle
and smile through a car
window
because those i love
are out there”
And so, my beautiful community, please continue to be kind and gentle to YOU…and perhaps a little bit wild too, if you are willing to see where the wind scatters you.
in gratitude,
anne
PS: A few odds and ends
Happy Bealtaine! As Dr. Sharon Blackie reminds us, “as May begins, we’re fully enmeshed in the growing, greening time of Bealtaine, the Gaelic festival which takes place around the first day of the month.” As these are my roots, I try to pay special attention to the land during this season. And for my Southern Hemisphere friends, as you move into longer nights, may you be nourished in the coziest of ways.
May 1st is World Labyrinth Day where folks are encouraged to “walk as one at one pm” their local time. To find a labyrinth near you or find out more go to World Labyrinth Day. You can even “walk” a labyrinth from home using a finger labyrinth (a paper one is downloadable from Veriditas.) If you can’t get out, I recommend registering and joining a facilitated online walk with Lauren Artress of Veriditas. Scattered me did not pull together a labyrinth event, but I will be walking one in my local area.
For Your Reflection
As the pandemic flows into a new season, where are you? Do you still feel like you are in winter? Spring? Falling behind? Catching up? Are you feeling hopeful? Hopeless? Cautious? Somewhere in-between?
How have you coped with losses in the past? Have you been allowed (or allowed yourself) to grieve in a way that felt healthy? Take some time to write out your beliefs about how you are “supposed” to grieve. Would you like to explore new ways?
Have you taken time to write out your losses since the start of the pandemic? If not I invite you to do so. They do not have be directly related to the pandemic. This can include collective/community losses. Observe how you respond in your body. That’s all. It is a way of acknowledging all that has unfolded. Be sure treat yourself with compassion and kindness.
How would you describe your energy on this day? Stable? Scattered? Grounded? Buzzy? Chaotic? Flowing? Calm? Other?
What does Hope mean to you these days? How does look? Feel? Taste? Smell? Sound? (Yes this is recycled from last time.)
How are you taking care of your one precious self?
Anticipating Grieving in Dementia Care
I had the honor of presenting on Anticipatory Grief in late March to HOPE, Dementia Support Groups. The online presentation was recorded and is available for viewing on HOPE’S Facebook page or YouTube channel.
If you or you know has someone in their life who is impacted by a loved one with dementia, you work with folks with memory loss, or you are curious about anticipatory grief and ambiguous loss in general, I invite you to watch. And please reach out if you have any questions.
What’s peaking my curiosity these days and a resource.
Not all my time is spent pondering Grief, Loss, and Trauma. I spent the better part of last week online at the Spiritual Directors’ International Convention and my head and heart are still trying to take in all the wisdom. It was deep and nourishing and I am grateful for the efforts of those behind the scenes who made it all come together.
I am so excited that one of my favorite podcasts, Poetry Unbound is back. Described as: “Your poetry ritual: An immersive reading of a single poem, guided by Pádraig Ó Tuama. Unhurried, contemplative and energizing” is spot on. It makes my poet’s heart do back flips, somersaults and handstands with each listen. And then I pause, take a deep breath, slow, and sink into the words. It helps me become a better poet…I think.
Reading: The Illuminated Space. A Personal Theory & Contemplative Practice of Media Art by Marilyn Freeman. Amazingly creative and contemplative. It is priming my creative pump for sure. Link here to purchase M’s book and watch some of their stunning films.
Everything Comes Next, Collected and New Poems, by Naomi Shihab Nye. Nye is the Young People’s Poet Laureate. Her poetry is accessible and stirring.
A lovely Facebook group I belong to that supports folks grieving in the kindest, gentlest way is Coffee and Grief Community. Started when Oregon first locked down, it has been going for over a year and has over 600 members. There is a monthly curated reading plus other free offerings. As the creator of the group describes it, it is: A community to support and engage in grief conversations. We would love to hear your story. All levels of writers are encouraged and non-writers too. We are creating a network to support you and help connect you as much or as little as you would like. We're all for public grieving and we love you. Welcome to our sacred space. It is a private group, so you need an invite to join. Please message me at my Nurture Your Journey FB page if you are interested.
