Roses on my walk are a source of gratitude, softness, beauty and aroma therapy. photo by anne richardson
Hello Dear Ones,
In my neighborhood we are now fully into the rhythm of Summer. Those frenetic mating Bird songs of Spring that precede Sun’s early risings have eased into parental lessons. They tend toward later starts and a softer urgency. There is so much as a parent to be exampled on top of the instinctual nature hatched in the chicks! And as mid-July crests, I imagine those who hatch two families each Summer have already fledged brood number one and are well on the way to parenting number two.
The deeper of my two birdbaths gets less visitors this time of year. During the mating-nest building season, it was a favorite of the House Finches, but I rarely see them visit now. The shallow bath however is a favorite for a variety of wee Birds to dip and sip from. Less rain means less puddles, so I take my responsibility as a water source seriously. And even Crows have been stopping by for a quick sip. I do feel honored.
Tipping Point of Summer
In some cultures Summer Solstice is considered the mid-point of Summer instead of the start as that is when Earth turns back towards longer nights (and, of course, the reverse for our Southern Hemisphere neighbors as they just had Winter Solstice.) I actually prefer this view. As someone who struggles with the heat and longer days, even a minute or two of shorter days feels like a reprieve. Sure, a lot of hot, long days are forthcoming and I am gorging of the colors of Hydrangeas, Roses, Black-eyed Susans, Sweet Peas, Gladiolas, Dahlias…well you get the palate picture that this season offers when I walk around my neighborhood. But I settle into my body with more ease in Autumn and Winter, so while attempting to stay present to Summer, I glance forward with longing to those seasons
dazzling Hydrangea on my walk. photo by anne richardson
Marking Harvests with Gratitude
August 1st is Lughnasadh/Lammas in the Celtic and Christian traditions, marking an eighth turn on the calendar wheel. It celebrates the beginning of the harvest season (though as someone who volunteers at the local farmers’ market, the harvest seems to be well under way!) But its intent is to pause to offer gratitude. I found this blog, the smallest light, offering some ways to pause and celebrate in the midst of this busy time. If taking time out to pause and reflect on this season in a new way inspires you, I invite you to go take a peek.
Does Grief Take a Summer Holiday?
And where does Grief go in the ramped up activity of Summer schedules? Does Grief take a holiday? My sense is, though I don’t have a study to prove this, those who have losses, fresh or that are stirred anew this time of year, may feel they are caught in an undertow. With the inundation of colors, the endless options of and invitations to community events, the energy of the Sun cascading out of blue Skies day after day, grievers may feel unable to share Grief with others. Don’t want to “burden” anyone with their sorrow and sadness. And yet losses are as likely to occur this time of year as any other. Accidents, illnesses, storms, wildfires, job loss, broken relationships, deaths…these and other losses don’t take the summer off.
Being Soft With Grief
If you are Grieving, your body and spirit may be wanting to rest. Stay indoors. Be still. The whirl of activity and invitations may be pulling at you to come out. Participate. Smile. And for some, engaging in some activity may be nourishing. For others, it may be draining. Learning to sit in softness with yourself may be all you have energy for. Finding those who can sit in that space with you without trying to fix you…who are those folks in your life? Navigating Summer with Grief doesn’t come with a GPS. Allowing many nourishing rest stops would be a kindness. And don’t forget sunscreen and a sleeping mask.
“I love that cows have best friends. I love that fleeting moment of annoyance while deep in writing a poem, someone interrupts to ask me to come look at the sunset. I love the instant that follows, when I recognize that to be a true poet, I must abandon every poem for every pink sky.
I love the pink sky and the sound of my grumpy neighbor opening his door at the same time that I do. I love both of us peeling off the husks of our minds to taste the sweetness of the world’s truth. I love what I have in common with people I have nothing in common with.
(from “A List of Things I Love”)”
Grieving as a Communal Act: Honoring Andrea Gibson
Grief can, of course, be individual or communal. On July 14th poet Andrea Gibson died. The outpouring of love and sorrow at their passing on Social Media is a testimony to the depth and width of their impact on the lives of those they touched (and will continue to touch.). How to even choose what to link to…what to share? There’s the Guardian’s obituary, one of the best I thought. How about her Substack post from March 13, 2025, A List of Things I Love, (see quote above,) which is a reminder of their beautiful heart and at the end of the post includes this: “In the end/I want my heart/to be covered/in stretch marks.” (That is being re-posted all over the internet.)
Their work was prolific (a quick google search will bring up a multitude.). A most tender gift offered to the world: a last interview with Andrea reading the poem Love Letter From the Afterlife. A poem they personally wrote to Megan Falley, their wife, and decided to extend to everyone. You can also read it on Substack: Love Letter From the Afterlife. If you click over to the YouTube, I recommend having a tissue handy.
I already miss Andrea…but in stretching my heart with her beautiful wise, words, I know I/we haven’t lost them.
“My love, I was so wrong. Dying is the opposite of leaving. When I left my body, I did not go away. That portal of light was not a portal to elsewhere, but a portal to here. I am more here than I ever was before.
...
It was me who was up all night gathering sunflowers into your chest the last day you feared you would never again wake up feeling lighthearted. I know it’s hard to believe, but I promise it’s the truth. I promise one day you will say it too– I can’t believe I ever thought I could lose you.
(opening and closing lines of “Love Letter from the Afterlife”)”
Communal Grief: the Thread That Weaves us Together
Communal Grief…every post I read about Andrea, I find my eyes welling with tears. Their poems, their heart touched me so tenderly and deeply. There are other events in the world that I am grieving in community. That sorrow my heart. Communal Grief…I want to believe it is the thread that weaves our humanity to each other and other Beings. That weaves me to you.
For Your Reflection
how are you navigating Grief this Summer? is it something you are aware of? perhaps your Summer is “Grief free” and that is okay. if you are Grieving, what does it look like to be soft with your Grief? to allow for rest? to be nourished? to let others know you are Grieving?
in the midst of seasonal cycles, global upheaval, and all that is unfolding in our world, taking time for gratitude may feel out of place or overwhelming. if you were to take a minute, hour, day for a gratitude ritual, what might that look like?
what would your “List of Things I Love” include?
if you listened to or read “Love Letter from the Afterlife” is there a line or part of the poem that resonates with you? or that you want to push back against? i invite you to simply be curious about any response you have.
what, if anything, are you Grieving communally? do you do it alone even if it is a community happening, join with others, or a combination?
usual question: are you treating yourself with kindness and gentleness these days? how does that look? if not, how might you make the shift to being kinder and gentler with yourself? how can you be kinder and gentler toward others?
Upcoming Presentation
I will be presenting A Slow Walk With Loss: Anticipatory Grieving in Dementia Care for HOPE, Dementia Support on Tuesday, August 26th, 6:30-8:00 PT via Zoom. This presentation was well received in previous years so they asked me back! If you are the carer of a loved one, family member, friend of someone with dementia, or want to support someone who is journeying with someone with dementia, please join me. And pass the information along. I didn’t see the link for registration available on their website yet, so contact me if you are interested and I will pass it along as soon as it is available.
Offering: Usual Reminder 😊
Spiritual Direction/Companionship
Spiritual Companionship is the heart of my practice. I offer the gift of coming alongside and providing deep listening. This allows one to hear their own wisdom. Their own stories. To connect with their Source as they define and have experienced Mystery in their lives. To hold space to reflect on beliefs with curiosity without judgment. To be in the midst of their Grief & Loss and have someone simply be with them, taking time, all the time needed/desired to allow the journey to unfold. To celebrate joys. And more.
I meet with folks from diverse beliefs and spiritual backgrounds and practices. Different ages and genders. All are welcome. Yes, my writing reflects my unfolding curiosities and path. So yes, I am on my own journey, but I have a director that I sort through my “stuff” with, so I won’t be trying to nudge you over to my ways of thinking.
To find out more about my philosophy, background, training and “tools” that we can use in a session, check out my website. I follow the ethics of Spiritual Directors International., where I am a member.
I have space available. I meet with folks in-person or via Zoom. Please reach out if you have questions about how a session might unfold.
I always appreciate referrals!
A Wee Bonus on How Grief Evolves
Musician Nick Cave offers an almost weekly newsletter, The Red Hand Files, where he reflects on questions sent in by fans. I find his responses kind and thoughtful, though rarely offering “answers.” He is often asked about pain, sorrow, and Grief having had two of his sons predecease him. His most recent offering #331, ‘It’s been ten years since your son Arthur died. What have you and Susie learned in those years?’ starts out: “The pain remains, but I have found that it evolves over time. Grief blossoms with age, becoming less a personal affront, less a cosmic betrayal, and more a poetic quality of being as we learn to surrender to it. As we are confronted with the intolerable injustice of death, what seems unbearable ultimately turns out not to be unbearable at all. Sorrow grows richer, deeper, and more textured. It feels more interesting, creative, and lovely.
“To my great surprise, I discovered that I was part of a common human story.”
He goes on to share how his wife Susie still dreams of Arthur. About heartbreak and things getting better with time. And how they always remember him. It is a rich reflection and worth a click over to read. Especially if you are in the midst of early loss and you feel as if the grayness of sorrow will never lift. I can’t promise, but it may offer some hope.
Final Thoughts
My sojourn to Scotland was an adventure, though not quite as I had planned (see Spring Newsletter: Final Thoughts). I managed to tweak my left knee the first day of my walk. This caused considerable pain for my six days of walking (grateful to my walking companion for her patience as it slowed my pace!) However, the countryside was stunning and it did not rain (a first for one of these sojourns.)
An aging body does not recover as quickly as a youthful one. Even with the gentle care I received visiting my cousin after the walk, I found my hopes for connecting with the “wildness” of the Land withering away as I limped along even on sidewalks. So I altered my plans. Made lemonade out of my lemony knee and made due with visiting museums and art galleries and returned home a week early. I reflected on my Substack about stitching together a sojourn and pulling at narrative threads if you are curious for more details and want to see some photos (sheep!)
And finally, I have a new fur companion in my abode. A seven year-old rescue pug, Joey. It has been eight and a half years since my Hugo died and while I missed him immensely, it took this long before my life was settled enough to bring a dog back into my home. Joey is a sweet fella and I enjoy the “click click” of his nails on the floor, the snuffle of his pug breathing and his snuggling up on the couch while I read. He is working on training me to meet all his needs. Grateful for Joey.
Please take soft and tender care of your hearts. And let me know how you are being.
with gratitude,
anne
Joey’s first visit to the North Oregon Coast…at least with me.
