Writing

Fishing in the Wrong Pond

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I heard someone say the other day that she was fishing in the wrong pond, and that reminded me of going with my parents to Oregon to visit my aunt and uncle so that my father could go salmon fishing in the ocean with his brother-in-law. I wasn’t allowed to go out on the boat with them, so I would wait on the shore watching the big waves and anticipating having a luscious big fish on the bar-b-q for dinner. They always seemed to go to the perfect spot to fish, and always came back with a bounty.

Being in the right place at the right time leaves room for finding exactly what you want. With fishing, you are more likely to succeed if you go where you know the fish usually hang out instead of to a pond that may be pretty, but you never heard of anyone catching fish there. I think of this in relation to discovering who you want to be around when you are dealing with grief.

Someone told me of a grief group she attended where many tears were shed at every meeting, and I knew that wasn’t the place for me. But it was the right place for those who regularly went to that group. On Maui, I went to a Death Café. The idea intrigued me, and when a friend invited me, I went with her. We met at a Mexican restaurant, ate nachos, and shared our stories. The group was warm and inviting, and the people who attended were working with grief related to a variety of reasons. I made friends there and did return.

A place you can make new friends who are also grieving is the Grief and Happiness Alliance. I facilitate this group which meets every week. We write on a different topic each week, then we talk about what we wrote. And then we learn happiness practices.  I love this positive, creative group where I’ve made great new friends. There is no charge for these meetings because we are supported by the Grief and Happiness Nonprofit Organization.

You can come to the meetings by registering here: Grief and Happiness Alliance 

Another place you can attend is Dialogue on Death and Dying provided by the Transform Myself Ministry of Unity Church. I am on a panel of four people with different backgrounds who meet once a month to discuss anything related to death and dying. We meet on Zoom and people come to see us by getting a ticket on EventBright. The four of us talk, then we break into smaller groups to have more in depth conversations. Every month the discussion is different, and you can make new friends there too.

You can sign up to attend here: Dialogue on Death and Dying

Ask around in your community to see what is available in person there. You can also find groups for a variety if things where you live on MeetUp. Try something new like a Pickle Ball group or a reading group.

Find MeetUp in your Community: MeetUp

The key is to find the fishing hole that works for you. Having people to talk to is so important, as is just having fun! The key is to do something. You are not going to find that big fish in your living room. Find your own, special fishing pond.

 

 

You can join the Grief and Happiness Alliance which meets weekly on Sundays by clicking here.

You can order Loving and Living Your Way Through Grief by clicking here at Amazon:

You can listen to my podcast, Grief and Happiness, by clicking here

You can order the International Best Selling book in 9 countries that I wrote a chapter in, Ignite Forgiveness, by clicking here

Writing Through Trauma

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This Sunday was a beautiful winter day in Hawaii with the temperature in the 70’s and the sky blue with white, puffy clouds. I facilitated a meeting of the Grief and Happiness Alliance that went so well.  The meeting felt good. I felt that each participant had been touched in a way that brought them comfort. That was my goal.

After the meeting I heard a gut-wrenching sound from outside. My dear friend from across the street was yelling at her dog to stop, and the next sound I heard was of her agony. I rushed to her side in the street where she knelt with her precious dog.  Neighbors ran out to help, and I snapped into emergency mode like I had done so many times as an EMT on ambulance calls to accidents. We worked together to dispatch the dog and the family to the emergency veterinarian, when just like that, all the people were gone, and I was alone in the street. As the adrenalin wore off, I saw that I had a job to do.  I couldn’t have my friends come home to the scene on the road, so I got out my hose and broom.

All too soon they were back home without the one who had been their constant, loving companion. We sat together sharing that tremendous immediate grief, with tears, hugs, and Kleenex. Feeling like my breath had been taken away, I eventually went home. I was shaking and struggling to not fall apart. When this grief hit, my past grief and trauma came flooding back to me. I couldn’t sleep that night with the inflammation that comes with stress causing everything to hurt.  Finally, at 4 AM, I gave up trying to sleep, but my thoughts wouldn’t stop.  I always start my morning practice with meditation, but this morning I couldn’t get started with that.

I knew I had to do something, so I got out my journal and my words flowed on to the page.  I wrote, and wrote, and wrote. As I finished with one thought, another started that needed to be revealed. I don’t know how long I wrote, but the writing gradually slowed till I knew it was time to stop. As the writing slowed, so did my breath and my tension. I felt the physical release of my muscles being able to relax. I did some slow, conscious breathing and felt a lightness and peace enter my being and was so relieved.

When I help others with grief, I suggest different forms of writing because I know how much it helps.  With the writing I did with this experience, I discovered profound comfort that I don’t know I could have found any other way. This reinforced for me not only the importance of writing to deal with grief, but also the necessity of it. And writing can be used at any time with grief from anticipatory grief to the grief that pops us years after the initial cause.

What I wrote in my journal was not for anyone else to see, and I doubt that I will go back and read it. The cleansing that came from that writing was so powerful that I was able to allow myself to shift away from the disabling thoughts my monkey mind was screaming, to the quiet of the peace that comes with acceptance.  I will always miss that precious dog. He visited me often and was part of my Ohana, the Hawaiian word for family.

The good news here is that we can all move through initial trauma by practicing the best self-care. And writing out your feelings is a great way to get started.

 

 

Get your Awaken Your Happiness Journaling Guide at no charge by clicking here: https://www.griefandhappiness.com/pl/2147595767

You can join the Grief and Happiness Alliance which meets weekly on Sundays by clicking here: https://www.griefandhappiness.com/offers/ytK7eLBa

You can order Loving and Living Your Way Through Grief by clicking here at Amazon:

https://www.amazon.com/Loving-Living-Your-Though-Grief/dp/1642504823/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1658356016&sr=8-1

You can listen to my podcast, Grief and Happiness, here: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/loving-and-living-your-way-through-grief-with/id1509589686?i=1000535381763

You can order the International Best Selling book in 9 countries that I wrote a chapter in, Ignite Forgiveness, here:

https://smile.amazon.com/Ignite-Forgiveness-Journey-Peace-Harmony-ebook/dp/B0BLFCYYD6/ref=sr_1_1?crid=9C6VAFE42H5C&keywords=ignite+forgiveness+book&qid=1669836040&sprefix=Ignite+forg%2Caps%2C284&sr=8-1

Story Telling

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My family lived through the Depression, yet I never would have known that had I not taken a US History class in high school. People just didn’t talk about those days. Actually, my family didn’t talk much about the past at all. I was a curious child, but there were no answers for me. I was a young adult before I started getting any answers.  All my grandparents were gone by then.

I asked my father’s older sister about his childhood, and she did tell me a few things. Their mother died when Daddy was young from milk leg, that’s what we call thrombophlebitis. This happened when she was giving birth to twins and all three of them died.  Dad’s two older sisters, my dad, and their father had a wagon they took from one oilfield job to the next in Oklahoma. They slept in a tent in the snow until the ten caught on fire and burned all their possessions.  At one point, Daddy had to walk close to an Indian Reservation on his way to school. His mother was Native American, and he looked very much like her.   His sisters were terrified that he would be kidnapped and taken to the Reservation to live, so every morning they would powder him with flour to dull his beautiful bronze coloring.

Daddy and his family migrated to California in 1929 just when the dust bowl started.  I was in an original play when I was in college that was created from the oral history project of the Oakie migration.  I tried to get Daddy to share stories of that time, but he wouldn’t talk about it.   I think he was embarrassed. I missed so much.

I didn’t know much about my mother’s family either.  She had 4 sisters and one brother.  I didn’t even know my grandmother had been married twice, and one sister and her brother was from that marriage.  I found that out when long after my grandmother died, and I was cleaning out my mother’s garage.  I found a pile of letters all tied up with a pretty bow. The letters turned out to be between Grandma and her first husband. He worked about 30 miles away from where they lived, so they only got together on weekends. He got sick at work one day, so they put him on a train to go to the nearest hospital.  He died of appendicitis on the way. Their letters and all the condolence letters people sent to grandma were beautiful and filled with love.

My growing up stories had to do with my parents being involved with Veterans of Foreign Wars. Even though we lived in a small town in central California, my Dad was able raise through the ranks to become Department (California) Commander. Mom and Dad traveled lots to meetings while I stayed with my grandmother or aunts.  I did get to go along on a couple of trips. One was to Detroit for a national convention where two presidential candidates spoke, John F, Kennedy, and Richard Nixon, then Vice President of the United States.  I attended both their speeches, and I got to actually touch Kennedy and shake hands with Nixon. I shook with amazement for days.

In the summer after sixth grade, we drove from California to Miami Beach for another convention. We had wonderful stops along the way at the Grand Canyon, Carlsbad Caverns, New Orleans, and more. What affected me most as an 11-year-old was seeing signs for White’s Only and Colored Only drinking fountains and on restaurant doors. My parents couldn’t explain to me why those were there. I started trying to learn all I could about something that just didn’t make sense to me.

I could continue to write about experiences I have had that led me to be who I am today.  These things are all my story, my beliefs, my priorities. Telling stories is an art that is passed down through generations. Our stories introduce who we are.  In my book I share stories of my grief and the grief that other people have experienced.  Often it is easier to get a point across when prefaced by a story.

What stories do you tell? What stories have you not shared? What stories do you want to be remembered for?

Tell your story.

Start now—

 

 

You can join the Grief and Happiness Alliance which meets weekly on Sundays by clicking here: https://www.griefandhappiness.com/offers/ytK7eLBa

You can order Loving and Living Your Way Through Grief by clicking here at Amazon.

You can listen to my podcast, Grief and Happiness, here. https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/loving-and-living-your-way-through-grief-with/id1509589686?i=1000535381763

I would be happy to put you on the reminder list for or Writing Together Through Grief occurring on Saturdays each week by sending an email to me to [email protected] and giving me your email address.

Join my Facebook group here.

The Power of the Pen 

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Yesterday I had the nicest surprise when I opened my mailbox and there was a small envelop with a handwritten address to me on it.

Last month I received a message online about a special drive a private Hospice in Canada was doing.  They asked for people to write a note of support to someone who was grieving with no name on the note. Then I put the note in an envelope and put that envelope into another envelope that I sent to that Canadian hospice. Once they received all the notes people sent into them, they opened them and randomly chose a note to match each note that was sent so that everyone who had submitted a note of support was sent back a note of support from someone they didn’t know. The note I got in the mail yesterday was in response to the note I had submitted. Reading the heartwarming note I received made my day.

I was reminded of my fourth grade teacher whose sister was a fourth grade teacher in another city. The teachers had us write a letter to a student in the other class, then the teachers delivered them for us.  We did this exercise for several exchanges, and many of us became pen pals for years. This was a wonderful way to get practice writing and to learn how to write letters. I remember how I looked forward to getting that letter in the mail.

Writing letters is becoming a lost art. In this season of writing Christmas cards, I’ve been thinking about the art of letter writing. Each year I send out about seventy Christmas cards because I love to be in touch with friends I have known over the years. I love to keep in touch, and I am sure when a card I have sent appears in the mailbox, the person receiving it smiles.  I know this tradition of sending Christmas cards is dying out because as my list grows every year, the number of cards I receive dwindles.

The condolence cards I have received over the years meant the most to me when they included a handwritten note. Having someone take the time to thoughtfully write a note so me was so special, and I was grateful and lifted by each note.

I would like to give you a challenge today to write a note to someone you know who is grieving. Then put it in an envelope and mail it to that person. Smile when you put it in the mailbox and know that they will smile when they receive the note. This only takes you moments, but it can brighten the whole day of the receiver. Hopefully this will feel so good to you that you’ll write lots more notes and make lots more people happy!

 

You can join the Grief and Happiness Alliance which will meet weekly on Sundays by clicking here.

You can order Loving and Living Your Way Through Grief by clicking here at Amazon.

You can listen to my podcast, Grief and Happiness, here.

I would be happy to put you on the reminder list for or Writing Together Through Grief occurring on Saturdays each week by sending an email to me to [email protected] and giving me your email address.

Join my Facebook group here.

The words that can provide comfort and support to others

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Every Saturday people come together to write through grief with me on Zoom. This week, I was so moved by what Rev. Rachel Hollander wrote that I asked if she would share it with us for my blog post this week, and she graciously said yes. Rev. Rachel is the President of the new Grief and Happiness Alliance Nonprofit Organization. She is amazing and is a gift to the organization. Her beautiful picture accompanies this blog.

If you would like to join us on Saturdays, please send me your email and I will put you on the Zoom invitation list.

 

Here we go….

Whatever you are feeling is completely acceptable.

If you want to cry, scream, laugh, rage, hide, smile, remember or forget.

It’s all acceptable.

There is no “wrong way” to grieve (unless, of course, you are harming yourself or another. In that case, call me).

If remembering feels good, brings up sweetness and sadness, go for it.

If remembering stings too much, let that go for now. There’s time.

BE GENTLE WITH YOURSELF!

Show yourself the same level of Compassion that you would show for a beloved friend.

HYDRATE! Crying and grieving can cause dehydration. Don’t make things worse for yourself. Hydrate.

Reach out – or don’t reach out – as much as you feel comfortable. You are in charge of your process.

If there are people you can trust, lean on them. If you’re unsure, call me.

Let go of judgment, time-lines, and all of the “shoulds.”

Everyone does this differently. And we each grieve different people differently.

There are no rules for this. Well, except to hydrate. That is really essential.

Understand that this is not a linear process. You won’t go from “bad” to “good.”

You’ll have easier days – or moments – and then challenging ones. It’s all ok. It’s all part of the experience.

When/if you’re able, be with patient with the well-meaning folks who say truly stupid or un-helpful things. They usually know not what they do.

Accept soup, rides, flowers, support.

And, if it all becomes too much, decline offers gently.

It might seem odd to have to care-take those who are not grieving. And, yet sometimes we need to try. Aim for tact.

AND – do not be afraid to get what you need: “Thank you for the offer. I really need some quiet time right now. It’s been a rough day.”

There is no time frame or limit on grief. If someone asks why you are “still” grieving, remind them of how lucky they are that they don’t understand.

When you’re able, create an altar or small space to remember your beloved. A photo, a token, a stone, whatever. Give them a place in your world.

And, lovingly, remember.

 

 

 

You can join the Grief and Happiness Alliance which will meet weekly on Sundays by clicking here: https://www.griefandhappiness.com/offers/ytK7eLBa

You can order Loving and Living Your Way Through Grief by clicking here at Amazon.

I would be happy to put you on the reminder list for or Writing Together Through Grief occurring on Saturdays each week by sending an email to me to [email protected] and giving me your email address.

Join my Facebook group here.

The Memory of Things

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Stuff seems to accumulate. I have bookshelves full of books I won’t read again, and this is after I have donated enough books in my lifetime to have opened my own bookstore. And I have enough kitchen equipment to run a catering company, and I am sure that is because I did have a catering company in the past. And I have taught cooking classes and had to have supplies for that. And I have done tons of sewing and weaving through my life and that takes a lot of stuff.

There was a time when I used every bit of stuff I have now, but I don’t use almost all of it anymore. Why is it so hard to let go? I see now that it is because of the memories attached to the stuff. I have a beautiful fish poacher. When I bought it years ago, it was pricey. I got it to be able to poach a large piece of salmon to serve as part of an appetizer spread that I put together for the guests at a celebration we had for the publication of Jacques’ new book. I remember Jacques being so impressed with how elegant the appetizers were for his party. The salmon with homemade dill sauce was a huge hit, so I did that a few more times. For years now that great big poacher has been sitting on a top shelf. I see now I haven’t gotten rid of it because it made Jacques happy when I used it.  Jacques died in 2006.  Maybe it is time to let it go.

And that’s just one thing.  I have a story for every specialized baking pan and serving dish I own, and for lots of other things that fill my cupboards.  When we moved from the mainland to Hawaii, we had an enormous garage sale where I released so much stuff, even stuff with good stories. I just didn’t want to load up the container we were shipping across the ocean with things I would never use again, yet we still ended up with lots of stuff here. So why is there still stuff in my life?

I see now that I am equating the things with the memories. I see 2 carving right now that bring such amazing memories about the people who gave them to Ron and me. Do I need these 2 works of art? No. But I do enjoy those memories when I see each piece. And I justify these pieces because they are art, but most of the stuff isn’t.  One time Ron and I came across a delightful little store named “Kiss My Bundt.”  They sold store-made mini and medium sized individual bunt cakes with amazing cream cheese frosting. Ron decided that when we moved to Hawaii, I needed to make and sell these dreamy delicacies. I knew how much work that would be, so I bought some pans and made a few batches of different flavored treats.  After he saw me do this, he realized I was right about how much work it would be, and how the cost for the quality ingredients that made them special made it unlikely we would make any money on this adventure. So ever since that experience, the mini bunt pans have shared the shelf with the fish poacher.

I do love to write, and as I have been struggling to release all this stuff, I realized that instead of holding on to them forever, I could give them away, but only after I wrote the story of the beloved object. The item is not the memory. The story is. So now I am in the process of a purge accompanied by some beautiful, recorded memories.  I can carry these memories with me always whether anyone else even knows they are there. I can see how much more space I will have as I release stuff, and I see how much richer my life will be as I remember the stories of my past with my loved ones, while I live now happily in the moment.

 

You can join the Grief and Happiness Alliance which will meet weekly on Sundays by clicking here: https://www.griefandhappiness.com/offers/ytK7eLBa

You can order Loving and Living Your Way Through Grief by clicking here at Amazon.

I would be happy to put you on the reminder list for or Writing Together Through Grief occurring on Saturdays each week by sending an email to me to [email protected] and giving me your email address.

Join my Facebook group here.