I never imagined that in my 50s I would find myself pushed out of my nest -- marriage, family -- and forced to learn how to fly.
Father's Day, 2001. A day that did not start out well. A day on which I had never felt more or so completely alone.
We all know that Facebook reunites friends who haven't seen each other for years. But what some may not realize is, that it has literally changed the face of illness, death and grief, and offers a new kind of real support in a virtual world.
This morning the chapter I was reading is called "Nonagression and the Four Maras." It talks about the night in which Buddha was to attain enlightenment and he sat under a tree.
Three years old. That's how old the little girl was. She was walking to school with her grandmother when an SUV jumped the curb and hit them.
Few words make me angrier than a word that is constantly used toward and within the bereaved community. Closure.
Though different, each of the losses that Katrina experiences are both irrevocable and life-altering. I related to both.
At one time or another, most of us have been in the position of providing sympathy, comfort and encouragement to someone who has experienced a loss. Unfortunately, not everyone offers support in a way that is sympathetic, comforting or encouraging (and in some cases, not even positive).
There's a bright light of awareness that shines through each of us and guides us home, and we're never separated from this luminous awareness, any more than waves are separated from the ocean.
Tragedies that take kids too soon are always unexpected. As busy moms, we just forget that we are all fragile. We sometimes forget that the messy room, the lapse in homework, the bad grade, aren't the important things about mothering.
Lola taught me how to handle adversity and Lucy taught me how to love unconditionally. Lola taught me to laugh and Lucy taught me to cry. She taught me that it's okay to love someone so much that when they finally die, you feel that your heart is broken.
After an ambiguous loss, as after a parent's death, it is helpful for the remaining parent to tell the truth, in a timely way, in a manner tailored to the child's developmental capacity, and in limited detail.
When you are young, grandmothers seem so very old -- ancient, even. They favor knitting over Angry Birds, think texting is something you do on a skateboard, and prefer shopping at Sears for their 'comfortable slacks' rather than snagging a pair of cute skinny jeans at GAP. When you are young, even your own parents seem old-ish.
Sometimes I feel really sorry for my family. They are the unfortunate souls who have to listen to my bellyaching on any given day.
Mother's Day is one of the sweetest days of year, and we should celebrate it. In our celebration, however, let us not ignore the pain our friend and neighbor may be feeling.
Never an easy lesson of life, loss is experienced by all. And for those of us who have lost a loved one, certain holidays can become excruciating reminders of the persons we so dearly miss.
I'm not one to let the Republicans get away with much, as anyone knows who's read any part of this blog, but there's only one word to describe NPR's coverage of New Jersey Governor Chris Christie's recent lap-band surgery -- unfair.
When Mom presented me with the orchid corsage, it was as foreign as a lacrosse stick. Or a set of knitting needles. "But I'm not a--" "You gave birth to your daughter," my mom explained. "That makes you a mother."
She liked her jewelry discrete and her displays of affection and love to be measured by how tight you could hug. I'm not sure I ever held on long enough.
I will come out and say it. I love my job. I really do. And I also realize just how lucky I am to feel that way. The fact is that every single day, I have the privilege of being in service to people in need.
It used to seem futile to me to keep someone alive when they couldn't respond and had no hope of recovery. But that someone had never been my mother.
They can't be avoided and they tug at my heart -- the flyers crying out for lost cats and dogs. I try not to look at the postings, but find I am drawn to the sad faces and I involuntarily begin to scour yards, sidewalks and driveways, hoping to spot a glimpse of the lost pet.
You can't outrun grief, I'll tell you that for sure. It is an inconvenient truth if ever there was one. Is it better today than it was three years ago when I got that nightmarish, surreal phone call?
No one tells you that someday you might have to answer questions that don't have answers. No one tells you that you'll have to swallow so many tears to let them cry theirs.
Memories are like gold nuggets, nuggets with sharp edges that eventually wear smooth. During the first year or two of grief, memories may be painful, only highlighting the loved one's absence. However, over time, a shift begins to occur.
