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Grief One Day at a Time: 365 Meditations to Help You Heal After Loss (Understanding Your Grief) - Softcover

Buch 9 von 11: Understanding Your Grief

Wolfelt, Alan

 
9781617222382: Grief One Day at a Time: 365 Meditations to Help You Heal After Loss (Understanding Your Grief)

Inhaltsangabe

After a loved one dies, each day can be a struggle. But each day, you can also find comfort and understanding in this daily companion. With one brief entry for every day of the calendar year, this little book by beloved grief counselor Dr. Alan Wolfelt offers small, one-day-at-a-time doses of guidance and healing. Each entry includes an inspiring or soothing quote followed by a short discussion of the day’s theme. This compassionate gem of a book will accompany you.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Dr. Alan Wolfelt is a speaker, grief counselor, and Director of the Center for Loss and Life Transition. He is the author of Understanding Your Grief, The Depression of Grief, and The Paradoxes of Mourning. He lives in Fort Collins, Colorado.

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Grief One Day at a Time

365 Meditations to Help You Heal After Loss

By Alan D. Wolfelt

Center for Loss and Life Transition

Copyright © 2016 Alan D. Wolfelt, Ph.D.
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-61722-238-2

CHAPTER 1

JANUARY 1

"At the rising of the sun and at its going down, We remember them.

At the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter, We remember them.

At the opening of buds and in the rebirth of spring, We remember them.

At the rustling of leaves and in the beauty of autumn, We remember them.

In the beginning of the year and when it ends, We remember them.

So long as we live, they too shall live for they are now a part of us as We remember them."

— Excerpt, by Sylvan Kamens and Rabbi Jack Riemer


At this transition from the old year to the new, we think about those we love who have died. A year they will not enjoy. A year they will not be here for us. A year — at once so swift and so excruciatingly slow.

But in this new year, we will remember them, and we will love them. And those are the two most powerful forces in the universe.


* * *

This year, I will remember, and I will love.


JANUARY 2

"And now we welcome the new year, full of things that have never been."

— Rainer Maria Rilke


We who grieve may not exactly feel like celebrating the new year, but we can sometimes feel a bit of relief that the last calendar year — which was rough — is over.

The new year holds the promise of a clean slate. It offers opportunities for new beginnings. It whispers of hope.

Let us welcome hope whenever and wherever and whyever we feel it stir. And as we slog forward into this new year, let us try to remember that it will be full of things that have never been. It will lack special people, yes, but it will also bring surprises — gifts, joys, love, and, if we continue to do our hard work of active mourning, a measure of healing.


* * *

I can both mourn and expect good things to happen in this new year.


JANUARY 3

"On this bald hill the new year hones its edge.

Faceless and pale as china The round sky goes on minding its business.

Your absence is inconspicuous; Nobody can tell what I lack."

— Sylvia Plath


Part of what makes grief so hard is that it's invisible. Inside we are torn apart, but outside we look basically the same. Nobody can tell what we lack — sometimes not even the people who are closest to us.

In times gone by, mourners wore black clothing or special jewelry to alert others to their grief. We too can wear a symbol of our loss, such as an armband, a photo button, or, as we do here at the Center for Loss, an "Under Reconstruction" pin. Or we can simply make it a point to be forthcoming with the people in our lives, letting them know what happened and sharing our current thoughts and feelings. We can appropriately communicate our lack.


* * *

When others ask me how I am doing, I will not say, "fine" unless I am truly fine. Instead, I will learn to share my inner reality so that I am living and communicating my truth.


JANUARY 4

"Nothing makes a room feel emptier than wanting somebody in it."

— Author Unknown


Oh, the pain of missing those who have died. The memories are there, the love is still there, but the physical presence is ... gone. Forever. Even though it has been 16 years since my father died, I still have moments when I remember that I will never again see him on this earth, and I gasp aloud at the hurt of the realization.

Our five senses ascertain reality. We see, hear, touch, smell, and taste our world. When we are missing someone, we may still be able to touch an article of their clothing, breathe in the scent of their pillow, and see and hear them on cherished videos. I call these "linking objects" because they link us to the physical presence we are missing so much. Linking objects soothe, honor, and help us transition to a relationship of memory in lieu of presence.


* * *

I wish you were here. Right here, where I could see, touch, and hear you. I will always miss you, but I will also always love you. The love is still here.


JANUARY 5

"In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan. Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone."

— Christina Rossetti


Where I live in Colorado, winter can be brutal. January is dark and can be bitter cold. The wind at my home in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains slices like a knife. Snow and ice cover the iron ground, making driving and even walking outside treacherous.

Midwinter is a time to withdraw and to grieve. It is a time to huddle indoors, sit by the fire, and contemplate the meaning of life and death. It is also a time for hot chocolate and meaningful conversations with people we care about. We can heed grief's call for stillness and also share this time of reflection with others. Midwinter can be a time to take a break, too! More and more as I get older, I like to carve out time in January for a vacation somewhere warm. But even when I can't travel, I can still visit a friend's house, go to my favorite restaurant, or spend time just being.

We grieve and withdraw. We take breaks for warmth and relief. This is the January of our grief.


* * *

On the bleakest days, I will remember that withdrawing is necessary, that talking to others helps, and that I need breaks now and then.


JANUARY 6

"Journal writing is a voyage to the interior."

— Christina Baldwin


When we write about our grief in a journal, we're expressing our thoughts and feelings outside of ourselves. That means journaling is a form of mourning, and it can help us heal.

There are no rules for grief journaling, but you might consider jotting down your thoughts and feelings first thing when you wake up or each night before you go to sleep. You can use a paper journal or a computer. Entries can be as long or as short as you want. Don't worry about what you're writing or how well you're writing it. Just write whatever's on your mind and heart.

Over time, journaling also helps us see our progress. When we go back and reread things we wrote months ago, we notice the ways in which our grief has changed and softened. Sometimes seeing how far we've already come helps us keep going.


* * *

If I'm not already a journaler, I'll give it a try today. I just might like it.


JANUARY 7

"You don't get explanations in real life. You just get moments that are absolutely, utterly, inexplicably odd."

— Neil Gaiman


In grief we often look for explanations. Why did the people we love have to die? Why now? Why in this way? Why am I still here and they are not?

It's normal and necessary to ask such questions. Grief is a spiritual journey, and asking — and searching for answers to — the big meaning-of-life questions is definitely on the itinerary.

We don't always find answers. Lots of times we end up shrugging and surrendering to the mystery. We find ways to trust in the chaos. Life is odd. But like so many things that are odd, it's also beautiful because of its idiosyncratic nature. Tidy explanations are overrated.


* * *

I can look for explanations, but I might end up finding a sort of peace in not finding...

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