The rain has settled in for the day as I settle into the beige velvet chair of my hotel room—laptop open, journals in piles, scattered papers, and iPhone camera roll close at hand. I have returned to my favorite retreat during the winter months—the Oregon Coast. Cannon Beach. I have come to write. Take time to focus on what is becoming a persistent poke at my heart. Actually, it is more akin to having several toddlers gathered around my ankles all vying for my attention. “Write me!” “No, work on me!” Poems. Non-fiction prose. Blog posts. That book about my spiritual sojourn and weaving it into the journey through my mother’s Alzheimer’s. How grief became my mentor through that journey. That area where from my training and experience I am an expert, so I have something to offer, right? They are all clamoring for my attention.
Shattered: On Loss, Grief, and Growth
Perhaps a year after we moved into our home and furniture finally made an appearance in our living room, my ex and I purchased two pieces of art. It was a stretch for us, but both pieces brought us pleasure over the years. One piece was a large, glass-blown plate saturated with turquoise, navy, pearl, rose, and fuchsia elegance. Heavy, it sat upright nested in a plastic holder on the console table behind the couch where on bright days it would retain the sun’s heat. The plate witnessed birthday parties, holiday gatherings, graduations, and close to three decades of life passing by. If you believe, like I do, that even inanimate objects can soak in the energy of a home, this one held love and loss, sadness and acceptance, disappointment and relief…and bundles of laughter. That plate appeared in a myriad of family photos as it remained in the same spot for over 27 years until we sold our home and divorced four years ago. It absorbed our stories as much as it absorbed the heat of the sun.
Sneaker Waves-Opening Boxes, Finding Grief
“Never turn your back on the ocean.” A teaching offered to me as a youngster. Living close to the Oregon Coast where sleeper waves can heave logs on to shore or wash an unsuspecting walker out to sea in an eye-blink, it is a sound piece of wisdom. Even as I connect in my being to the sea as “Mother Ocean,” I was reminded of this on a recent visit when I was knee deep in water seconds after noting the waves were a good 20 feet out and seemed to be biding their time, lapping more than galloping. She wanted my attention—“Daughter, something is stirring.” Something is stirring.
Abundance, Milestones, and Loss-Rounding a Corner on the Journey
I invite you to visit a farmers’ market this time of year. The abundance flows from the stalls. I fill my bags with local produce even though I know, I mean I KNOW, I won’t get through everything. I am only feeding one person after all. But the fruits and veggies looked so delicious and autumn is underfoot as the first leaves begin to fall. It won’t be much longer and Sweet Sue peaches, Brandywine tomatoes, and Brooks prunes (reminiscent of my childhood) will disappear until next year.
Sojourning with Grief-Between
Sunday marks nine weeks since I returned from my spiritual journey, “Sojourning with Grief.” As many weeks returned to this home as I was immersed in my Celtic homeland. I want to write something wise or profound about my growth and insights. And there are many insights spinning in my head and heart. But the truth is I am tired and the threads that I try to hold onto are too thin to be woven into any kind of cohesive tapestry. Instead I am offering a few random thoughts.
The Rhythm of the Seasons
The season is post Labor Day and though it is a Friday afternoon, the crowds one saw in August have dissipated, as if blown inland. The gulls, maybe in anticipation that their easy prey of organic fish crackers and gourmet sand-crusted hotdogs have left with the crowds, are gathering at the water’s edge.
Ocean Wisdom
I find a deep spiritual connection when I am at the beach. I walk along the coastline as the tide flows in and out. The waves seem to chase each other back and forth—some racing toward me, while others recede into the background. Since I’m not a tidal expert, without looking at the longer shoreline, I can’t tell right away if it is high or low tide, if the beach is being revealed or masked. When I am in the midst of those waves grabbing at my ankles all I can see is the present moment. Feel the water swirling around me-the warmth of water kissed by summer sun or the cold Pacific undercurrent.
