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By Beth Brittain Morrie Schwartz, in 'Tuesdays with Morrie,' said “Death ends a life, not a relationship.” Your loved one will always be with you, just not necessarily as you prefer. You hold them forever in your heart and memory, and no one can take that from you. I believe that grief happens in the ordinary times of our life. It is in the day to day moments of life that we get some of the most intense grief experiences. It’s the doing laundry and finding one more of his tee shirts in the bottom of the basket and the tears come. It’s cooking a meal that has been the norm for years and realizing she is not there to eat with you. It is getting in the car and seeing a tote bag in the back that was hers. All these little grief moments are what really make up our grief experience. We can ‘plan’ for the big times: the holidays, family reunions and vacations, but the ordinary things just sort of hit us out of nowhere and the memories, tears and pain come to the forefront of our thoughts and experience. Along with the ordinary times, I think grief happens in seasons. We somehow unconsciously mark time as the seasons change and pass (this is getting a bit harder in North Carolina as we really seem to have only two seasons now—wet and dry!). My favorite time of year is winter. I love cold weather and snow and really miss that in North Carolina now. I think it is a time to snuggle in and read, create art or music or just rest. Fall is a nice season too because nature puts on a show with the colors of leaves and the crispness in the air. Summer is my least favorite season as I don’t like the heat. Sure, it’s a time of vacation for some, but since I have no children, I can vacation any time and I try to avoid the crowds at the coast in the summer. People get out and about more until the heat and humidity become intolerable and then we air condition ourselves to keep from becoming grumpy and irritable. Spring, now that’s a lovely time. New life is bursting forth and everyone seems to have a bit more energy. It’s a time of hope and promise and we begin to see others outside because it’s not too hot yet and there are flowers to be planted and tended and animals to walk and often we are greeting neighbors more often in the spring. Grief comes in seasons, too. It seems that the fall of grief may be when the changes are coming to our loved one as their health declines and they become more and more distant and dependent. We sometimes forget that grief doesn’t start with death; it starts with diagnosis. So, Fall grief often happens as the decline becomes more obvious. The Winter of grief for many is the actual time of death and memories linger of the days and weeks surrounding that event. We want to snuggle in and close out the world, but unfortunately, we have to continue living and being responsible, even though we are in the fog of grief. The Spring of grief is likely when we are beginning to emerge from the fog of grief and perhaps resume a somewhat ‘normal’ life. We are able to join others for a meal without the rawness of our grief overshadowing everything. We can attempt new activities and learn new things and begin to emerge, not unlike a butterfly emerges from the cocoon or a flower from a bud. We may not be fully whole yet, but we are functional and contributing. The Summer of grief is when we begin to enjoy (in a different way) aspects of life that we once thought we would never enjoy again. The meal we now are accustomed to eating alone, the daily work around the house, the time with family and friends that no longer makes us feel so isolated and odd are new realities. It sounds simple, doesn’t it? Doesn’t grief just come in periods and we move through them somewhat like the seasons of the year and poof, we are through our grief? It is so NOT like that. And it certainly is not as orderly as the seasons of the year. Grief takes as long as it takes and each season may last a different amount of time for different individuals. Each season of grief brings its own work and challenges and yet, as we work to move through our grief with intention and purpose, we do emerge, ever changed but no less beautiful and maybe even wiser than before. So, what does it mean to do ‘grief work?’ It means allowing our feelings to come and to feel and express them as needed. It means talking about our loved one as much as we need to and to whomever will listen. It means talking with a grief counselor or trusted clergy or friend to get additional support. It may mean participating in a group that includes others on the journey of grief, so we all learn together what works for us. Mostly, it means holding close the memories of your loved one and honoring the way they lived their life by living your life to the fullest. Morrie Schwartz, in Tuesdays with Morrie, said “Death ends a life, not a relationship.” Your loved one will always be with you, just not necessarily as you prefer. You hold them forever in your heart and memory, and no one can take that from you.

by Beth Brittain, M. Div., LCMHCS As I reflected on the survivor’s experience, I realized that her world view must be very similar to being inside of a snow globe; her world was shaken by circumstances outside of her control, and she reported feeling that ‘everything is spinning around me’ as I stand still. She felt ‘frozen.’ Since childhood, I have been drawn to snow globes. I have been known to spend quite a bit of time in stores shaking up globes and watching the changes. It is just mesmerizing to me. Recently, as a grief survivor was talking about a particularly difficult aspect of their grief journey, I thought of snow globes again. This time, however, my perspective was different. As I reflected on the survivor’s experience, I realized that her world view must be very similar to being inside of a snow globe; her world was shaken by circumstances outside of her control, and she reported feeling that ‘everything is spinning around me’ as I stand still. She felt ‘frozen.’ That pretty well summarizes how my world and that of those I serve feel as a result of the COVID-19 pandemic. It has shaken up the normal routine and sent us all spinning while we are trying to cope with grief and loss. I began to listen to others describe their experience and realized that snow globe grief is very real. When you watch a snow globe, there is usually something in the center that is fixed. That may represent us before our world was shattered by loss. After a loved one’s death, we may feel more like the objects that are floating around when shaken; and they always float differently. It reminds me of the uniqueness of grief and that there is no right or wrong way to grieve. For some, when loss shakes our world, we are sort of ‘frozen in place,’ unsure of what to do, feel or think. From the outside, we may appear okay or normal. In fact, though, we are far from our norm and are not even sure what is normal anymore. We fill our roles, but we are often doing so by rote; just going through the motions. Those who feel like the objects being tossed around due to being shaken by grief often struggle to get things done. They may not return to work as soon as others would like and are not as quickly able to finalize tasks. These folks are the ones who can’t seem to make decisions early on and are carried by the help of others who provide support, ideas, and suggestions. These grieving folks often struggle when the support begins to evaporate and they are forced to function more fully and independently. They are usually able to make the transition; it just may take them longer than others would prefer. That might be an important lesson for all the world amidst the COVID-19 pandemic; we will make the necessary transitions to cope with a different way of being in the world, but it may take us longer than expected and we may need to find different and creative ways to accomplish things. Living out our grief in a snow globe is difficult. However, if we work hard to find the balance of feelings, support and growth, the shaking is not so traumatic and we are able to find peace. That is not to say grief will not ‘shake up’ our lives again. But if we do the grief work, tell the story, feel and express our feelings, we are better equipped to find peace and settle into the new ways of being.

By Ken Grano, MDiv., CFBPPC-A, BCC When she arrived at the funeral wearing climbing gear, she was pleasantly surprised at how well she was received by those attending the service. In her article ‘Death Acceptance Through Ritual,’ author Nancy Reeves recalls speaking with a man who was planning on attending a funeral for someone she met through a hiking club. Apparently, members of the club were avid climbers and she wanted to honor the man who died by wearing climbing gear to his funeral. However, she feared this would be disrespectful to the family. She advised this man to reach out to the family prior to the funeral to get their thoughts on what she was planning. When she arrived at the funeral wearing climbing gear, she was pleasantly surprised at how well she was received by those attending the service. She reported that people told her how much it meant to them that she wore hiking/climbing attire as this represented the gentleman who died so well. Another way to say that would be to say that the gentleman who had died was re-presented well by the woman wearing the climbing gear. The power of re-presenting a loved one through symbols is where I would like to draw our attention. In this story the symbols are the climbing rope, shoes, helmet, belays, or whatever was worn to point beyond the symbols themselves to the gentleman being honored. In his Psychology Today article ‘The Power of Rituals to Heal Grief,’ Dr. David Feldman makes the important point that symbolism gives ordinary, everyday acts or objects their power. He goes on to comment about rituals stating that ‘particular acts, with particular objects will yield particular meanings.’ Walking up to the foot of a mountain in climbing gear means something different than wearing the same climbing gear walking into a funeral. As this fellow climber came to honor her friend, she added a ritual within the ritual already taking place in the funeral service. Fortunately, it enhanced the funeral ritual and is a reminder that we can create meaningful rituals through symbols that can provide us with comfort. But how do we do this? Again, Dr. Feldman is helpful: What would you like the ritual to mean? For example, you may want to emphasize a memory, a character trait, words of wisdom, or a life transition. When and where would you like to perform the ritual? You may want to perform them on important dates (birthdays, anniversaries, etc.). It can also be important to consider the environment that could enhance the ritual (a religious setting/building, the mountains, by the ocean, etc.). Who will be there? Perhaps you do not want anyone there. Or maybe it is close friends or family only. There is of course no right or wrong here. It is simply a matter of what will make this the most meaningful. What will be done? What kinds of items/objects and actions will be most meaningful? What can you do that will best re-present your loved one or aspects of their life you want to emphasize? What objects do you have of theirs or what items would help you construct the meaningful connection you are looking for? There is a unique power in ritual in general and in our grief. I hope that you discover meaningful rituals through powerful symbols that bring comfort amidst the pain of your loss.

By Larry Dawalt, M.Div., BCC, Senior Director of Spiritual & Grief Care Services I am not the only one who is tired- especially when I think of some of our grieving survivors. . . Some days I feel like I have just had enough. I am tired of ‘eating groceries’ instead of going out, I am tired of wearing a mask, I want to be closer to people than six feet away, and I would really like to hug my grandchildren or even just see them since it’s been over a year now for the boys in Texas, since the spring trip got cancelled. I can think of other things I’m tired of. I can go on and on and on. Then, I catch myself. Whining. Ungrateful. I am making it all about me. But I am not the only one who is tired- especially when I think of some of our grieving survivors. I know one who is tired of not having her husband around. She has so many important items on her ‘to-do’ list and doesn’t have the physical strength, nor the emotional and mental energy to get things done. She is facing more than one surgery and weeks of convalescent time- alone, without him. The list isn’t going away. It’s actually getting longer. But it wouldn’t be that way if he had not died. She alone. She’s scared. She’s tired. Two other women come to mind that are tired. They are tired of suddenly being thrust into the role of a single parent of young children. They need their ‘co-tutor, co-driver, co-parent, co-everything, etc.’ to be by their side during these difficult days. But their husbands are gone; and gone too soon. A wonderful hospice volunteer comes to mind who couldn’t be at the assisted living facility when her mother died because of the pandemic. She’s tired of wondering why things happened that way and she can’t stop thinking about it- day after day. I am a survivor, too, and even though it’s been over two years now, every now and then I am reminded that I am tired of not being able to call up my Dad to see if he cut the grass today, or if he heard the owl last night, or if he found an auction to go to and look for treasures on Saturday. I feel better when those thoughts come because I am beginning to whine about something permanent instead of the things that are probably not going to last. This year has brought about a lot of changes. The world is different than it was just six months ago, and not just from the pandemic. There is so much unrest and volitivity. Times are difficult for millions. In the midst of this, there are those who are also experiencing fresh grief and spending their days discovering the harsh realities and sufferings of unbearable loss. They need texts, emails, visits, calls, cards, hugs and other forms of contact, but are instead dealing with their losses in isolation, or with minimal support. So, if you have times when you feel like whining, go ahead and do it. I understand. But set a timer; and when the timer goes off, make a call, send a card, whisper a thought or prayer, bake cookies and set them on the doorstep, text or email- whatever it takes to leap outside of yourself and into the world of those who are coping with loss during this difficult time. And for you who are trying so desperately to cope with your grief, please know that you are not alone. Reach out- to family, to friends, to us at VIA Health Partners. We’ll be tired together.

by Brad Sachs “Information brings knowledge, but stories bring wisdom.” These words guide my clinical work more than any others, for I have learned that it is the power of the patient’s story, rather than that of the patient’s dogged data, that defines and informs psychotherapy’s curative properties. Or, as Mark Twain once put it, “Never let the truth get in the way of a good story.” Stories breathe, and the storytelling process keeps us alive and psychologically oxygenated. The patient’s tales convey to us everything that we need to know about who they are and what they need. Human beings naturally follow the river of narrative impulse and when the therapist bravely joins them in navigating these currents, treatment is inaugurated. Our most sacred and potent mission is to help them to recover or re-discover their story, and to re-animate their passion for telling it. I find myself most worried about the patients of mine who can no longer tell their story — whether their story is rich or impoverished, elegant or clumsy — or worse, those patients who appear to have lost interest in their story. Our most sacred and potent mission is to help them to recover or re-discover their story, and to re-animate their passion for telling it. Something crucial is invariably lost when unconscious thoughts and ideas are dragged, sometimes kicking and screaming, into consciousness. There is an unavoidable collapse of one’s personal lexicon at the moment of attempted articulation. But more is gained than lost when the story is told, and the therapist’s primary function is to be the midwife who supports the labor that ushers their epic into the waiting world. And labor it is, because there is a deep-seated fear that all of us experience when thought and feeling are funneled into language. Telling one’s story means acknowledging the mountainous iceberg of experience that lies beneath that story, an iceberg that mutely lurks underneath enduring and fathomless depths. So I am interested in the patient’s story, but I become just as interested in what the patient leaves out of the story — which, of course, is its own story. I am tuning in to both what the conscious mind allows to be spoken, and what it has disallowed, what remains, for whatever reasons, unspeakable. As noted above, we are all driven by the narrative impulse, but we are simultaneously driven by the fear of that impulse, the terror of the anarchic shadow story that, like a dream, resists comfortable formats and inevitably illuminates the darkened shadows of the troubling unconscious. So our work entails listening to what is said, and listening for the unsaid that lies outside of or on the margins of the story, the “anti-story” that simultaneously conceals and reveals itself in the language of plangent silence. Meaningful therapy depends upon a careful exploration of the patient’s determined effort to deploy certain words while eschewing others, to articulate certain phrases while muting others, to recount certain tales while silencing others. This complex calculation results in the series of linguistic choices that govern the nature and texture of the therapeutic conversation. In that context, the meaning of the patient’s told and untold story and the meaning of the patient’s lived and unlived life are terminally bound up with each other and cannot and should not be disentangled. There is a transcendent wisdom to the patient’s language that, when recognized, is unsurpassed when it comes to finding ways to be more fully human, to once again feel whole. The most important request a small child makes is, “Tell me a story.” When we make the same request of our patients, the story of their healing is summoned and finally allowed to begin. Brad Sachs PhD is a psychologist, educator, consultant and best-selling author specializing in clinical work with children, adolescents, couples, and families, in Columbia, Maryland. He lectures and conducts workshops nationally and internationally He is the author of numerous books including, most recently Family-Centered Treatment with Struggling Young Adults: A Clinician’s Guide to the Transition from Adolescence to Autonomy, and many books for parents, teens and families, including: The Good Enough Teen: Raising Adolescents With Love and Compassion (Despite How Impossible They Can Be). Brad is also a poet and musician, whose most recent projects include In In The Desperate Kingdom Of Love: Poems 2001-2004, and the CD Hard Tales To Tell, a cycle of original songs based on stories his patients have shared. Additional information is available on his website.

By Larry Dawalt, Senior Director of Spiritual & Grief Care Services ‘Can you tell me about grief’ is a question I hear often, especially since I have been a grief counselor for a very long time. It is a sincere question, asked at times out of exasperation because people generally want to know, and are desperate for relief from the suffering they are experiencing. Without getting into the basics of grief theory, my first answer would be that grief is about relationship and that makes grief as individual as the relationship that brought it about. I recently read an article by Emily R. Long that describes it well: “Every relationship between any two people is completely unique and individual. That also means that every experience of loss and grief is also completely unique and individual. Everyone grieves in their own unique way. There is no right or wrong way to grieve, no set timeline, and no clear-cut path to walk on one’s journey with grief.” So, what does that mean in terms of day-to-day functioning? It means that while there are certainly some observable commonalities in grief such as initial shock and numbness, sadness and sorrow, anger, loneliness, and maybe even a situational depression, there are also feelings of relief, gratitude, and even celebration and joy for a life well lived that people also express.. To say ‘my grief is not like theirs’ is not only true, but also logical because the relationship was different, and the survivors are unique individuals who grieve in unique ways. What we want is for it to be easily explainable, with simple instructions and a workable action plan so we can feel better and get on with our lives. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way. I attended a memorial service in September for a young man who died tragically in a vehicular accident. His mother and girlfriend both gave eulogies and five of his friends went to the microphone to share remembrances as well. Some could barely talk at times while others were able to deliver their words with strength. But you never know exactly what is going on because all we could see and hear was the exterior- on the surface. That brings me to my other answer to the question, and the reason I keep a little duck figurine in my office. Grief is like a duck swimming across the water. The duck may look majestic, serene and in control, but you have no idea how hard it is paddling underneath. I occasionally run across the quote that basically says, ‘treat everyone with kindness, because you have no idea what they are going through. Those words are especially true as to how we should treat those who are grieving. We just don’t know the whole story because grief is as individual as the relationship that brought it about. So, we extend kindness, listen to the stories, and never forget that we have no idea how hard they are paddling underneath.

By Carrie Barto, MA, LPC, NCC with Paula Patterson Grief is the last act of love we have to give to those we loved. Where there is deep grief, there was great love. ~Unknown In my experience, the journey through grief often brings tremendous internal conflicts. Physical, emotional, spiritual, and mental are some of the most prominent, but there are others as well. There is conflict between the head saying the person is gone and the heart saying no, it’s not possible. There is conflict between moving forward in life, and on the other hand wanting everything to stay exactly the same. There is conflict as one reviews the loved one's illness and death questioning, "Did I do everything possible to keep him/her alive? Could I have done more?" when the truth is everything was done as the healthcare professionals directed. The most distressful conflict for many comes in the form of emotions. Experiencing moments of happiness while feeling sad is a common conflict in grief. Perhaps you have been filled with joy watching a new granddaughter take her first steps while being overcome with sadness that your spouse is not present to share the joy. Or, you find yourself laughing with friends, then feeling guilty for being happy. Another example of grief's emotional conflict presented itself to me a few months ago. I received a message from my cousin letting me know their twelve-year-old family dog had died. He asked me for advice about how to help his two young sons deal with their grief, as they were both pretty upset. Later, my cousin shared that his five year old said, "I didn't know I could be sad and angry at the same time." Our society tends to believe that sadness is the only emotion one feels while grieving. If only this were true! Because of this erroneous view, many grievers feel confused by the mixture of emotions they experience. Not only can one feel multiple emotions at the same time, they can experience a variety of feelings many times within a day, or even an hour. For example, a widow may find herself waking up to overwhelming sadness as she faces another day alone. Then, anger may surface as she struggles to learn how to complete a task that used to be her spouse's responsibility. When she is successful, she smiles knowing her husband would be so proud of her. Then, sadness breaks through again. When evening falls, loneliness settles in as she begins to prepare dinner and faces this sacred time of their relationship alone. She feels hungry and nauseous at the same time. She feels like leaving home, like running away, but knows once she leaves, all she will want to do is return. Then, she hears a song on the radio that they used to dance to and feels like she's been hit by a tsunami-sized wave of grief. As she recovers, a smile crosses her face and she laughs out loud, remembering a funny exchange she and her spouse had not long ago. And so the emotions surface and change during grief. Being caught off guard and thrown off balance when your emotions change rapidly, intensify, then subside only to return later without warning is scary but normal. As you move through your grief, it is common to feel confused, overwhelmed and exhausted; not like yourself at all. The conflicting emotions that surface in grief can cause you to feel like you are losing your mind. This can often lead to a feeling of loneliness and isolation because you believe no one understands how you feel or even worse, may judge you for those feelings. Be assured, there is nothing wrong with you. You are not losing your mind; you are grieving. In time, the storm of emotions will lessen as you acknowledge what you are feeling and process your grief. It will be helpful to learn about the grief process through books, support groups or counseling. Allow yourself to feel the many emotions of grief and consider them a tribute to your loved one. Grief is normal and healthy. Don't deny yourself this sacred process. In time, the conflicting emotions you experience will be less painful. You will always sense your loss, but you can feel joy with it, too. Grief is the last act of love we have to give to those we loved. Where there is deep grief, there was great love. ~Unknown

By Larry Dawalt, BCC, CT ‘When you walk through a storm, hold your head up high, and don't be afraid of the dark.’ Chances are many of you remember those opening lines of the Rodgers and Hammerstein classic ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ from the 1945 musical ‘Carousel.’ The song has been recorded over 250 times by artists ranging from Frank Sinatra and Elvis Pressley to Josh Groban and opera star Renee Fleming, who offered a stunning rendition as part of the first inauguration of President Barack Obama. ‘Walk on through the wind, walk on through the rain…’ 'Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart, and you’ll never walk along- you’ll never walk alone.’ While it is not as bad as ‘The Most Wonderful Time of the Year,’ ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ can be a difficult song to hear for those who are grieving the loss of a loved one- whether around the holidays or any other time of the year. Loneliness is a significant part of grief and it is one of the most difficult to combat. And yes, I meant to use the word ‘combat’ because dealing with loneliness can be a battle. Acquaintances and even friends mean well when they say, ‘just get out there and be around people and you won’t be lonely’ but those words aren’t comforting. As a matter of fact, most people who are grieving can be in a large crowd and still feel all alone. But it’s the emptiness of a previously occupied chair, seat at the kitchen table, or bed that hurts the most. Visits from family and friends can help. Cards and emails are valuable, too. Even more important is some sort of steady correspondence with someone who has shared a similar experience. In this age of worldwide communication, opportunities for maintaining relationships across the miles abound at the touch of a computer keyboard or a smartphone. It is certainly not the same as a long visit together, but it helps- especially around the holidays as you share memories that may be both happy and painful. So, reach out as best you can. You may not be in each other’s physical presence, yet knowing someone is always out there can give you ‘hope in your heart’ and remind you that you aren’t walking alone. Larry Dawalt is Senior Director of Spiritual & Grief Care Services for VIA Health Partners. If you have questions or comments about this article, the Bereavement Bulletin or the VIA Health Partners Grief Program in general, you may contact him at DawaltL@viahp.org.

by Ken Grano, M. Div., BCC ...he casts an image that speaks to a common phenomenon for those who are grieving when he says, "There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me." One cannot help but appreciate the honest expression of grief when reading C.S. Lewis' "A Grief Observed". In the pages of this little book (really his private journal made available to the public), Lewis describes the nature and impact of grief that is relatable to many who have suffered a significant loss. Towards the beginning of his reflections on the death of his wife, he casts an image that speaks to a common phenomenon for those who are grieving when he says, "There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me." Now I hope I am not taking too much liberty with Lewis' comment, but what stands out here is a felt separation between the one who is grieving and the world. What is more, if there is a blanket (so to speak) before me, than does that mean I see things through the blanket? If this is the case, everything that was once clearly visible has now become distorted. Why? Because now everything is seen not directly but indirectly through a veil (or blanket) which changes how things in the world are presented to me. C.S. Lewis himself seems to affirm this when he says, "The act of living is different all through. Her absence is like the sky, spread over everything." Everything is different. Does that resonate with you? Nothing seems the same. In our time of mourning the world that was once so familiar can seem like a strange place. Not only the world but we can become a stranger unto ourselves. The loneliness and isolation this brings into our lives can seem unbearable. What are we to do with this loneliness? How are we to find our place again in the world? Many answers have been given to these questions and they all have their merit. For example, sharing stories about your loved one or inviting others to share stories about them can alleviate some of the loneliness. Starting a blog provides an opportunity to openly express your grief and may help others who are going through a similar circumstance. Other suggestions have been to join a grief support group or gradually resume social activities you used to enjoy. All of these are good suggestions. In addition to these, I wanted to bring to your attention certain markers for meaning discovery or guideposts as described by Joseph Fabry in his book, “Guideposts to Meaning: Discovering What Really Matters.” These guideposts can help us discover a sense of who we are, as well as how we can contribute and reconnect to a world that seems so foreign to us after the death of a loved one. The first guidepost is self-discovery and addresses the questions of who you are and who you want to become. The second guidepost, choice, involves discovering where we have freedom to change a situation if desired and deciding what kind of attitude we choose to have when we can’t change the situation. The attitude we choose speaks to our values. For example, if I cannot alter a difficult situation yet I decide to not allow the circumstance to get the best of me (taking a stand), I discover that courage, or a sense of heroism, is an important part of who I am. The next guidepost is uniqueness. Uniqueness refers to your gifts and talents along with how these gifts have been used for others, for some kind of cause, in the workplace, or to accomplish some other important goal in your life. Personal relationships are also included here. That is to say, there are relationships you have that no one else can lay claim to which connect you uniquely with those important people in your life. Following this is responsibility. This refers to the ability to respond to what you may be called to do. Given my uniqueness, my gifts/talents, and the attitude I have chosen, what is life asking of me? Or, in the context of Lewis’ writing, what is God asking of me? Last of all is self-transcendence. This involves the ability and act of reaching beyond yourself to serve someone or a cause that coincides with your personal values. Psychologists, theologians and philosophers have argued that we find ourselves if we lose ourselves in the service of something greater than ourselves; which brings us back to that first guidepost, self-discovery. You may have noticed that these markers for meaning discovery compliment and inform one another. It is my hope that they will be informative in your own life as you learn how to walk again in the midst of the loneliness that often accompanies grief.

By Katrina Cauble, LPC ...grief is a balance between engaging in life and being still and reflective. This fall I was able to go to a training for grief by Alan Wolfelt where there were many things that were eye opening and thought provoking. He spoke on several points from his book “The Paradoxes of Mourning.” The one concept he talked about that made so much sense to me was the concept that you have to go backwards before you can go forward in grief. This is something I witness daily and also experienced with my own grief journey. So what does this mean - to go backwards? The body gives us physical signs in grief to slow down and be reflective. One myth Dr. Wolfelt speaks of is the concept of “just stay busy.” Does staying busy push grief away to not be dealt with? The season of winter is a great reflection of how nature slows down and stays still. In grief, winter can be the season for us to do the same. Most people I witness experience fatigue with grief, especially when it is more acute or intense. This is the body trying to tell us to be still and rest, and this may look very different than “just stay busy.” One thing I like to stress is that grief is a balance between engaging in life and being still and reflective. If one is busy, busy, busy, it does not give time to do natural grief work. The risk can be that the grief will build to a level that one day it just explodes like a volcano. The other side is if one is too still, they may neglect self-care and the necessary activities of societal functioning like paying the bills, buying groceries, cleaning house and other basic activities of life. This leads to the built-up stress of neglecting what is needed to survive and then finding oneself in a bind. So, the balance of grief and life can be different every day as one tries to walk the tightrope of grief. So much of grief is thinking of your loved one and the memories of the past. It is rare to see someone who is grieving intensely be able to concentrate on a book or always remember just why they came into a room. This is going backwards when you are grieving. I have had more than one person describe just sitting still and not even focusing on the television. Crying and even just being numb may take a lot of energy; and when it is winter it may even cause you to want to hibernate like a bear. Taking a day or even just a couple of hours just doing this may be what is needed. It is said that grief is the dark season of the soul. This is a still place that needs to be tended, just the same as the bills and caring for oneself. You may think about the balance of the two - grief and rebuilding life - and reflect on what you have done for both and/or what is your body saying? Fortunately, even though the journey of grief can be very overwhelming, you don’t have to do this alone. Just as we have walked with others, our VIA Health Partners grief counselors are here to help journey with you through the winter of the soul. You don’t have to do this alone. For more information about VIA Health Partners Grief Care Services or to schedule a call from a grief counselor, please contact Deborah McGregor at 704.335.4300.

By Larry Dawalt, M. Div., CT, CTSS Having been in the ‘grief business’ for much of my adult life, I am consistently looking for words to help people understand what grief is and also what it is not. While there is no single absolute definition that covers grief in its entirety, I recently found three explanations in a blog by Russell Friedman that are certainly important contributions to the discussion. His first and most basic definition states that ‘Grief is the normal and natural emotional reaction to loss or change of any kind. Of itself, grief is neither a pathological condition nor a personality disorder.’ While that definition works in a classroom setting, it doesn’t exactly explain seemingly endless tears, sleepless nights, and the morning startle of awakening to find him/her still gone. The second definition is more personal and a little closer to reality, writing that ‘Grief is the conflicting feelings caused by the end of or change in a familiar pattern of behavior.’ I can apply that one a little easier than the first one, but it’s still not as good as his last one. “There’s another definition of grief that’s so descriptive that we include it in all of our books, and usually quote it in every public speech we make. It’s a piece of language that we didn’t create, but if we knew who first said it, we’d give them credit. ‘Grief is the feeling of reaching out for someone who’s always been there, only to discover when I need her (or him) one more time, they are no longer there.’ As poignant as that statement is in giving words to feelings, it can be reversed and used for a different, painful situation; as when a long-term relationship has never been good, in which case it can be stated as: ‘Grief is the feeling of reaching out for someone who has never been there for me, only to discover when I need them one more time, they still aren’t there for me.” I get cold chills reading that definition as I see the faces, hear the voices and feel the feelings of dozens and dozens of dear souls I have worked with over the years. Grief is tough and while I can’t describe it completely, I have come up with a few ‘Larryism’s’ that I consistently share in my grief talks. “When grief is new, words should be few.” “Grief is as individual as the relationship that brought it about.” “Grief is initially about the last chapter, but to really celebrate a life you have to look at the whole book.” Lately, I’ve been thinking about grief as the path to re-connectedness; learning to trust again, and take one more chance that there may be someone out there you want to let into your life as a lover, friend, mentor, confidant, or just someone who makes you want to get out of your pajamas or jogging suit and live and laugh and care again. Whatever definition you use, please know that there are people out there- neighbors, friends, people at a community of faith, counselors and others- who are willing to walk beside you; not as guides, but as companions on your journey of mourning the loss of someone you love. You are on a unique path, but you are not alone. Larry Dawalt is Senior Director of Spiritual & Grief Care Services for VIA Health Partners. He joined the organization in 1997 and has served as Camp Director of Chameleon’s Journey since 2000.

By Larry Dawalt, M.Div. The first lesson is go slowly and learn to hurt in increments. How does one deal with the death of an adult child; or any child? For two precious people I have worked with over the past year, the loss of a child is a reality that they deal with every moment of every day. One lost an adult child and the other an adolescent. They aren’t related. They don’t even know each other. But in their own way they have each confirmed some lessons about what they are experiencing and what they need in the way of help and hope. The first lesson is go slowly and learn to hurt in increments. There is no way to fully comprehend the loss in its totality all at once, so there’s no way to grieve it all at once. Take little bites and don’t be afraid to not ‘go there’ when you aren’t ready. It’s not denial. It’s just waiting; regaining strength and adding small things into your life before confronting the missing pieces. The second lesson is to lower expectations of family support and/or support from friends. It may be good and it may not be good. People may be genuine and kind or they may sensationalize and want to hear the story over and over. It doesn’t take long to find out who is supporting you and who is insensitive, whether they intend to be or not. You will find people you had no idea could be so supportive and they make up for those who disappoint for whatever reason. The third lesson is to let the child keep living even though they are not physically present. What would they do, what would they say, what would they think, or how would they feel are natural questions you would ask anyway; so why not keep asking them, since they are still alive in your heart? They may be gone physically, but they are still present with you in many other ways and always will be. Lastly, find someone who will listen without judgment and let you just talk and talk and talk. Talk about what you are feeling, talk about your anger, talk till you cry- then rest a minute and talk some more. Talk about your loss, talk about your health, talk about lunch, talk about current events- talk about anything. Learning to talk about anything and everything may eventually lead you to what you really need to say. It’s like Julia Cameron’s ‘Morning Pages’ as a way to break out of writer’s block, which she described in her book The Artist’s Way. She said to take a sheet of paper and just start to move your hand. The first sentences may be something like, ‘I don’t know what to write. I don’t even want to write right now. I don’t even know why I am trying to write. But here I am writing. Did I just write five sentences?’ Talking is the same way. You may not know what you really need to be saying about your loss, where you are now, the future, or anything. But if you can just start talking with someone whose sole purpose is to listen, you may eventually say what you need to say or get something out that will help you move forward. I want to conclude by simply thanking these two precious people for the lessons they have taught me - and now you. They didn’t want to become teachers, but their courage and wisdom is a gift. They are truly an inspiration and it is an honor to walk beside them. Larry Dawalt is Senior Director of Spiritual & Grief Care Services for VIA Health Partners. He can be contacted at DawaltL@viahp.org.