suffering

Grieving Is a Sacred Experience

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Grieving hurts. I’ve found that grieving moves into the background as I move forward. It doesn’t make the noise it once made, but it found a home in my soul. I think it’s that way for others who grieve. I learned not to judge how other’s grieve, it’s a private, sacred event uniquely experience by each person who grieves. 

“M removed her hand, “It’s been four years since Peter died, Ray. I was like you. I wanted it over. My grief wouldn’t let go of me. At first, it wrapped me so tight I had trouble breathing. I quit wearing makeup because I couldn’t stop the tears from running down my face. I can breathe now. It took a little bit, but I started wearing makeup. I’m different now. But, I’m not over it. Oh, the pain comes and goes like waves on a beach. Sometimes the waves are small, barely discernible. Other times, you can take a surfboard to them.”

“I feel like I’m in a tsunami, M.”

“I didn’t experience a tsunami,” M said.

“You didn’t?” I asked.

Mine was more like an F5 tornado devastating everything in its path. Understand, Ray, what you feel is what you feel. You can’t compare it to what other’s feel. Everyone experiences loss in the same ways, just differently. Don’t judge anyone’s grief. You now understand what others feel. Let your compassion for others who suffer as you do grow.”

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Excerpt From: Dancing Alone: Learning to Live Again by Ray Calabrese. This material is protected by copyright


Life Changed When Grieving Knocked

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Life radically changed when I began grieving. One change for me was the home Babe and I shared. I still lived at the same address. The difference now, my home became a house. Here is an excerpt from Dancing Alone: Learning to Live Again that talks about this change:

“My house was empty. It was no longer a home. A home was what Babe made it. It was now as empty as I was. I wandered from room to room. I didn’t know where to begin. Everywhere I turned, a memory stared back at me. I stared momentarily at a photo of us together and cried. I turned and saw the flowers she loved and the tears continued to flow. I walked into the bedroom and gazed at her side of the bed. I turned and walked into the study, my eyes staring at Babe’s empty seat with her unopened computer sitting on her desk. I quickly walked to my desk, got my computer, and closed the double doors to the study. It was too painful for me to work in there. Pain was everywhere. I couldn’t avoid it.”

Ordering information for the paperback or ebook version of Dancing Alone: Learning to Live Again may be found here.

Excerpt From: Dancing Alone: Learning to Live Again by Ray Calabrese. This material is protected by copyright

You Never Grieve Alone – Millions Grieve With You

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When I entered the grieving universe I quickly discovered the millions and millions of people with grieving’s scars imprinted on their hearts.

“My prayer was answered, but not the way I wanted. Babe died five hours later. When she died, my tears began to flow and continued to flow unannounced, unpredictable, and at the most inopportune times. I am left to negotiate my way alone through the parallel universe. I thought I was the only one who grieved this deeply. I quickly learned I am one of a growing legion of people who suffer as I do.”

Ordering information for the paperback or ebook version of Dancing Alone: Learning to Live Again may be found here.

Excerpt From: Dancing Alone: Learning to Live Again by Ray Calabrese. This material is protected by copyright
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Grieving Became My Teacher

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I wrote Dancing Alone: Learning to Live Again in real time. Grieving became my teacher. It taught me many valuable lessons. Here is an excerpt illustrating one of those lessons:

“I learned those who grieve become invisible to many people. I now know what it is like to walk among those who grieve. In the past, if I caught a hint of their suffering, I kept them at a safe distance. I offered a short hug and kind words such as, “I’m sorry for your loss,” and “Let me know if there is anything I can do.” I now walk among them, invisible to those who have not yet experienced grieving.”

Ordering information for the paperback or ebook version of Dancing Alone: Learning to Live Again may be found here.

Excerpt From Dancing Alone: Learning to Live Again by Ray Calabrese

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Today’s Reflection ~ Kindness

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Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” – Plato


Grieving’s Tough – You’ll Pull Through

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Dancing Alone: Learning to Live Again tells my story of grieving the loss of my best friend and wife; and, my efforts to learn to live again. My wife, Babe, was as healthy as any human being can get. She was a vegetarian, exercised regularly, and never felt sick, until … She was diagnosed with stage IV glioblastoma. Ten weeks after her diagnosis, I said goodbye. My grieving began. That was nearly three years ago. I began writing as soon as the last guest left because I wanted to document what I experienced and see if I could find a way through my living hell. It wasn’t easy. The low points always seemed to have an upper hand. There were times when I thought I’d never be happy. I found my way through. I’m now happy. I don’t have what I once had, but I’m grateful I had it. 

Over the next few weeks I will share excerpts from Dancing Alone: Learning to Live Again with you. If you are grieving, or have deeply grieved a loss, you’ll relate. If you’ve not experienced a deep loss, the book will help to understand the grieving experience of those you know and love .

Ordering information for the paperback or ebook version of Dancing Alone: Learning to Live Again may be found here.

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Sorrow Is Like a Ceaseless Rain

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When I began writing Dancing Alone: Learning to Live Again I was unsure I’d find my way through the grieving process. I began Chapter 1 with the poem, Sorrow, by Edna St. Vincent Millay.  His poem expressed how I felt. Here is the poem as I placed it at the beginning of Chapter 1 in Dancing Alone: Learning to Live Again:

SORROW

Sorrow like a ceaseless rain

Beats upon my heart.

People twist and scream in pain,

Dawn will find them still again;

This has neither wax nor wane,

Neither stop nor start.

People dress and go to town;

I sit in my chair.

All my thoughts are slow and brown:

Standing up or sitting down

Little matters, or what gown

Or what shoes I wear.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Dancing Alone: Learning to Live Again. Available in paperback and ebook formats from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iTunes, and Kobo.

Excerpt From

Dancing Alone: Learning to Live Again

Raymond Calabrese

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An Emotional Tug of War

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While I grieved, M spoke with me about the emotional tug of war I experienced. One side pulling me into the darkness, the other side pulling me toward the light. Here is an excerpt from Dancing Alone: Learning to Live Again:

“You ever play tug of war when you were a kid?” asked M.

“I imagine most kids did. Tug of war was even part of gym class in high school. It was something I did during basic training when I was in the Army as well. What does this have to do with our conversation?”

M raised her eyebrows and replied, “It has everything to do with our conversation. I’m not speaking only about you, Ray. I include myself and every person who grieves. Inside each of us, a tug of war is going on. One side pulls us toward the darkness, and the other side pulls us toward the light. Every day, the battle rages within us. The only thing we can do is opt to choose the side we want to help win. You can’t run from memories. You can’t run from emotional storms. You can let them tug you into the darkness, or you can let them tug you into the light. It’s always your choice.”

Have you experienced this emotional tug of war? What was it like?

Dancing Alone: Learning to Live Again. Available in paperback and ebook formats from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iTunes, and Kobo.

Excerpt From Dancing Alone: Learning to Live Again. Raymond Calabrese. This material is copyright protected




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A Difficult Truth to Accept

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If I don’t like a meal, I’ll ask the waiter to bring it back. If I don’t like the way a new shirt fits, I’ll return it. When grieving struck and suffering rolled over me like a tidal wave, they carried a no-return policy. M told me there were gifts in my suffering if I was willing to look for them. Here is an excerpt from Dancing Alone: Learning to Live Again:

“I heard M chuckle as she said, “Suffering … gives everyone gifts if we have the courage to recognize the gifts, and even greater courage to put the gifts into action. Our gifts come at a great price. No one seeks them. We pass by their window many times and never pay attention to them. Now it’s your turn to enter its store and take hold of your gifts.”

I understood what M was saying. It was a difficult truth to accept. She was pointing the way to a healthy choice and leaving the final decision up to me.

I said, “Thank you, M. I hear the shopkeeper inviting me in to accept my gifts.”

“I know of no other way to look at the grieving experience, Ray. Consider journaling about the gifts suffering offers you. Before I go, let me read a quote from The Diary of Anne Frank: ‘I don’t think about all the misery, but about all the beauty that remains.”

Dancing Alone: Learning to Live Again. Available in paperback and ebook formats from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iTunes, and Kobo.

Excerpt From Dancing Alone: Learning to Live Again. This material is copyright protected



Nothing But Stone – by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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Nothing But Stone

I think I never passed so sad an hour,
   Dear friend, as that one at the church to-night.
The edifice from basement to the tower
   Was one resplendent blaze of coloured light.
Up through broad aisles the stylish crowd was thronging,
   Each richly robed like some king’s bidden guest.
“Here will I bring my sorrow and my longing,”
   I said, “and here find rest.”

I heard the heavenly organ’s voice of thunder,
   It seemed to give me infinite relief.
I wept.  Strange eyes looked on in well-bred wonder.
   I dried my tears: their gaze profaned my grief.
Wrapt in the costly furs, and silks, and laces,
   Beat alien hearts, that had no part with me.
I could not read, in all those proud cold faces,
   One thought of sympathy.

I watched them bowing and devoutly kneeling,
   Heard their responses like sweet waters roll
But only the glorious organ’s sacred pealing
   Seemed gushing from a full and fervent soul.
I listened to the man of holy calling,
   He spoke of creeds, and hailed his own as best;
Of man’s corruption and of Adam’s-falling,
   But naught that gave me rest:

Nothing that helped me bear the daily grinding
   Of soul with body, heart with heated brain;
Nothing to show the purpose of this blinding
   And sometimes overwhelming sense of pain.
And then, dear friend, I thought of thee, so lowly,
   So unassuming, and so gently kind,
And lo! a peace, a calm serene and holy,
   Settled upon my mind.

Ah, friend, my friend! one true heart, fond and tender,
   That understands our troubles and our needs,
Brings us more near to God than all the splendour
   And pomp of seeming worship and vain creeds.
One glance of thy dear eyes so full of feeling,
   Doth bring me closer to the Infinite
Than all that throng of worldly people kneeling
   In blaze of gorgeous light.

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