Dear John,

I sat in my cold tub staring at the pale blue sky, watching the wind bend branches on the trees lining the yard. I felt awake and alive, my senses fine-tuned to the sound of the rustling leaves, bluejays in the distance announcing my arrival, and the smell of a neighbor’s fireplace warming the cool morning air. Suddenly, a strong wind blew through the towering Ash tree, sending autumn leaves floating through the air like falling stars. These are the moments that soften the sadness of loss.

Last week, on a particularly tough day, I took myself to a local farm to cut flowers in what looked like a field of joy. Rows of dahlias the size of my face smiled up at me as I strolled along the well-worn paths. The colors – soft peach, sunset orange, ruby red, and eye-popping magenta, were electric in the bright midday sun. I made a mental note to add this activity to my list of things that help heal grief.

These days, most of the items on this list involve nature: sitting outdoors in my cold tub and naming all the things I’m grateful for that I can see around me, taking long walks with friends, collecting fall leaves and pressing them in my journal, watching the birdfeeder for new visitors, or enjoying an outdoor shower. The outdoors has always been my saving grace, and now that I’ve lost my Mom, I guess I need a new kind of maternal comfort, the kind I get from Mother Nature.

There have been other moments of beauty in the last few weeks that involved people. Like the old friend I hadn’t seen in years who showed up at my Mother’s wake to hug me. Or the nurse who was doing the intake for my annual physical and saw that I was struggling with my phone.

“Everything okay?” she inquired as she prepared to take my blood pressure

No, my Mother’s in the hospital, and I have to text medication information to my sister right away and the wireless isn’t working.

She looked up from her computer, saw the tears in my eyes, and gently took the device from my hand. She performed some kind of wireless magic, sent my text, and handed me back the phone.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, you’re all set,” she said as she squeezed my shoulder. “I hope your Mom is okay.”

I can still feel her loving energy.

We spend our whole lives worrying about losing those we love and how we’ll handle the grief that follows. But once this guest becomes a friend, you realize that grief is like a guardian angel who keeps leading you back to the present moment so you can experience the grace that exists everywhere. In this open-hearted place, you see, hear, and feel the beauty you usually miss – the vibrancy of color, the sound of wind, or how a caring human being dissolves the walls between us.

I’m here to remind you that the gifts of grief will carry you through the pain, and someday, you’ll look back and feel grateful. I already do.

Love,
Cheryl

P.S. – All of the CD sets have been claimed. Because so many of you inquired about the “How to Survive the Loss of a Pet” program, I wanted you to know you can visit this page for more information here. Thank you also for your kind words of condolences. ❤️

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