grieving

The Power of Family

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“That’s what people do who love you. They put their arms around you and love you when you’re not so lovable.” ― Deb Caletti

“I sustain myself with the love of family.” ― Maya Angelou

A family has always been a big deal for me. When I was growing up, it was a place I called home. I felt wanted, loved, and encouraged. Was it perfect? Not by any measure. We all held our measure of imperfection. It didn’t matter, it was family. Mom and dad always held an open door and waited for me with open arms.

When I married Babe, we decided we would be a family filled with love. We wanted our five girls to know their mom and dad loved each other and modeled their love for them. We loved, we laughed, we celebrated, we cried, and we forgave. Through it all, we remain a family.

All through Babe’s suffering and death, the five girls rallied around me. They sustained me. They did it because that is what loving families do.

All through my grieving period, their love was the foundation from which I gleaned strength, courage, and determination to go on. Why? Because it is what loving families do.

Family is the place we come from and where we feel we can always return.

Family is the place where, in spite of differences, when the chips are down, we count on each other.

Not everyone has the same experience of family as I did. It is never too late to create a sense of family. It takes two people who care deeply about each other. Two people who dare venture into tomorrow. And, two people who will always have each other’s back. I found strength in my large family. I hope you find strength in your family.

Family

 

Getting Over Life’s Problems

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Interviewer: “Dr. Frankl, what is the difference between people who can pick themselves up and get over life’s problems and those cannot?”

Dr. Viktor Frankl, “The decisive factor is the freedom to make a decision I want to become this way or that in spite of my conditions. … The freedom and responsibility for making something out of themselves.”

Dr. Viktor Frankl’s work, Man’s Search for Meaning guided my doctoral dissertation and played an important role in my life from the moment I read it. I’ve reread it several times. Each time I read it, I gain new insights.

His work sheds light on my path through the grieving process. In his book, he talks about discovering the meaning in one’s life that one can dedicate himself or herself to in spite of the conditions he or she finds himself or herself in.

Yes, grieving hurts like hell. I can’t do anything about it. But I discovered my meaning or some might say it is a call, and I pursue it with focus and vigor. I wrote a book about grieving and share my insights in how grieving affected me and how I am working through it. I intend to work with grieving groups to help those who share a similar experience find their way through their grieving process.

What meaning drives your life? Are you a better person because of the path you have chosen? Are others better because of you? These are questions I ask myself each day.

mountains and valleys high

Music Touches The Soul

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Without music life would be a mistake. ~Friedrich Nietzsche

I have always enjoyed music. Music touches the deepest part of my soul. It rouses memories, stirs emotions, and connects me to the deeply spiritual source within me. Music can make me cry and shout for joy. When Babe went into the hospital, I stopped playing music. Making the decision to being to listen to music was difficult for me. It was nearly two months after Babe’s passing before I let music reenter my life. It was a good decision to start to listen to music again.

Yes, some songs still flood my eyes with tears and my soul with emotions. That’s okay. Music is therapeutic for me. It is good medicine. I sing along with the performer (glad no one hears me). I even feel the beat down into my feet again. It is a good feeling.

If, you, like me, are grieving and music stirs your deepest emotions, don’t fear to listen to music. The joys it brings far outweigh anything else. Now, when songs play and remind me of Babe, I am filled with good memories and heartfelt gratitude.

I feel like singing. I think I’ll play some of my favorite tunes.

Couple Walking on Beach

Ten More Pedals

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My family and I lived near the center of a small, western Massachusetts town for ten years. The center of the town perched on top a steep hill. The road running north and south was Jabish Road. We all dubbed the hill, Jabish Hill. It is a very steep hill that stretches for nearly a half mile on either side of the center of the town.

We were a physically active family. If we weren’t walking, or hiking in a nearby state area, we were riding our bicycles. Riding our bicycles up Jabish Hill taught me a lesson that stays with me today and sustains me in times of struggle.

When I took our five daughters bicycle riding, I rode in the rear keeping an eye on them and hollering out directions – they might say commands or orders. The one ride they didn’t like was a circle route that ended up with us cycling up Jabish Hill. The first time we went on the ride,  I said as we began the climb, “Don’t quit, just count ten pedals. That’s all. Ten pedals. You can do it.” We all made ten pedals. Then I said, “Ten more pedals. I know it’s hard. But doing ten pedals is something we can do.” We did ten pedals over and again until we made it to the top of Jabish Hill. We all felt good about our accomplishment. The girls gained confidence. After the first bicycle ride up Jabish Hill, the girls knew to do ten pedals over and again. It was the way you made it to the top.

Ten pedals, over and again, is the way I am learning to live alone, move forward, and enjoy life and tell suffering and grieving, they won’t have the last word with me.

 

My Mom’s Lesson

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My mom grew up the hard way. A daughter of immigrant parents, her mother died when she was two. Her older sister raised mom and her three other siblings. She stopped attending school when she was in fourth grade. This uneducated woman was one of the most intelligent and compassionate people I’ve known. I recall early in my life when she took me to the library and made sure I had a library card. She made sure I read, read, and read some more. She never asked me, What did you do today?” She always asked me, “What did you learn today?” In her wisdom, she reminded me over and again, “Ray, learn something new every day.”

Learn something new every day. A simple sentence from a simple woman holding a deep, profound truth. If I am learning something new, I am growing. I am capable of changing. I am capable of adapting. I am not quitting. I am not deferring. I am capable of doing much, much more than I am doing at the moment.

Her simple lesson has helped me through my grieving process. I discovered grieving throws you on a steep learning curve with only two choices: Learn and grow or stop learning and atrophy. I’ve chosen to learn and grow. Thank you, mom.

Putting The Clouds Behind Me

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On this long storm the Rainbow rose —
On this late Morn — the Sun —
The clouds — like listless Elephants —
Horizons — straggled down —

The Birds rose smiling, in their nests —
The gales — indeed — were done —
Alas, how heedless were the eyes —
On whom the summer shone!

The quiet nonchalance of death —
No Daybreak — can bestir —
The slow — Archangel’s syllables
Must awaken her! ~ On this long storm the Rainbow rose by Emily Dickinson

No one is a stranger to pain. It is one of the commonalities binding us together as human beings. When I watch the news and see a father grieving over the loss of his children or wife thousands of miles away, my heart grieves with him and prayers from my heart and lips rise to a loving God to bring healing to him. No one is a stranger to pain.
Pain doesn’t have the last word. Suffering doesn’t have the last word. At least not with me. I live in hope-filled expectation, that today will better than yesterday, and tomorrow will be better than today. I place my heart into the hands of a loving God and walk forward, my eyes ever ahead catching sight of a rainbow that is mine.
There is a rainbow waiting for you and your pain will turn into laughter and joy. As the poet Emily Dickinson says, “On this long storm, the rainbow rose.”
double rainbow.jpg

Look Back With Kindly Eyes

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 Look back on Time, with kindly eyes —
He doubtless did his best —
How softly sinks that trembling sun
In Human Nature’s West — by Emily Dickinson
Now that I am dancing alone, when I pack for a flight, I try to keep it light and simple. I take all I need in one carry-on and my backpack. When my carry-on is full, it’s full and that’s it. Everything else stays behind. It’s easier that way. I don’t have to check baggage. I easily pass through TSA. Okay, I get a pat down now and then. I have to remove my shoes and belt. You all know the drill. After I pass through security, I go to Starbucks, get a coffee and head to the gate. I’m relaxed and ready to enjoy my flight and destination. Traveling alone is a teacher.
I’m learning to “Look back on Time, with kindly eyes.” The poet Emily Dickinson had it right. I’m learning to pack only good memories, and consider the rest excess baggage. I can look back and know, “He doubtless did his best.” I think knowing I did my best is a good thing. All the would have’s and could have’s and should have’s are excess baggage I’ve discarded. Here’s hoping you “Look back on Time, with kindly eyes,” too.

Live with Hope.

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Accepting the Absurd

I grew up in a mill town, 30 miles south of Boston. My mom and dad worked in shoe factories in my early years. Across the street from our apartment home was a four-story shoe factory converted into a chicken factory. I’m not sure how many chickens were in the factory at any given time, thousands, probably. In the summer, when it was hot, and the wind fresh from the south, the not so fragrant smell of chicken manure hung in the air so thick you could almost see it. Everyone in the apartments thought it was normal. No one ever complained. Smelling chicken manure was our everyday experience. That memory came back to me when I thought of about my blog. A childhood experience is teaching me an important lesson for where I am at in my dancing alone life.

What is the lesson? Don’t live across the street from a chicken factory, right? That a lesson for sure, but not the one I that came to mind. The lesson I learned was more like understanding how getting used to things is easy and often makes the absurd feel normal. If I get used to feeling sorry for myself it soon feels normal. I may want company and hang around with people who shared the same philosphy. Man, that kind of company I don’t need. Or, as my dad would say, “Ray, I need that like I need a hole in the head.” He frequently said that, honest.

I have another choice, I can wake up, realize I don’t have to be stuck in an emotionally or physically unhealthy place. I can declare, I choose to live. I choose to embrace life. I choose to be around people who are happy, optimistic, and see life as a wonderful God-give gift.

Takeaways:

Live with hope.

Live with joy in your heart and song on your lips.

Never quit, never give up.

Down? Shake yourself off, rise, and going again.

 

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