Being a Heart with Ears...The Grief Recovery Method

“Grief is the normal and natural reaction to loss of any kind.” TGRM

I recently returned from training as a Grief Recovery Specialist for The Grief Recovery Method, and as I promised, I wanted to share the experience in more than just a quick post. It was an experience that changed me, and I came away with great tools to help myself and others deliver undelivered emotional communications to complete the losses we have in our lives.

First, I have to preface this: I've tried many different programs, from faith-based programs to books and videos. None of those things brought me to the place I am today after completing the book and the training. I desire to use what I've learned to help others feel lighter and more complete with their loss/grief in a group or one-on-one.

I entered this training after a friend posted about the program on her Facebook page. The church she attended was hosting an 8-week class, and unfortunately, that class was located in SoCal. I looked on the website and found that the closest in-person class from Vacaville was in Reno, which was too far for me to attend. I reached out to my friend in SoCal, and she directed me to the Grief Recovery Specialist she knew, and the discovery process began for me. After that conversation with the Grief Recovery Specialist, I decided to get the book. I found another friend interested in doing the book with me, and in February, she and I started the book together and finished the book together in March. I felt strongly about continuing to help others as the book helped me so much, so I signed up for the specialist training in LA.

The work in Grief Recovery isn't easy. Emotional Communication is incomplete when we use our intellect to explain what is in the heart. Me, I felt isolated, frustrated, and misunderstood, so I returned to old behavior patterns. The Grief Recovery Method helped me recognize the patterns and, with that recognition, work on those painful feelings so that I could deliver the incomplete communication to complete my loss. I still have work to do and will continue to do the work on myself. I can say with absolute clarity that this program has changed me. It has given me a clear understanding of how much my grief and the losses I've had has slowly chipped away at who I am. My 100% is now operating at 60% or less, and I want myself back. I want to live the rest of my days complete and fulfilled. For those who are interested, don't hesitate to get in touch with me directly. I plan a pilot group shortly and would love to have you. I hope this was helpful, and I'm available to chat anytime.

Empty Arms

Recently I started a birth and bereavement doula course, and I'm currently in the last two modules. The particular module I'm in now, we are talking about the emotional experiences of having a baby in the NICU. One of the exam questions is to choose from the list of 10 experiences one that could have a similar feeling if a child is born sleeping. So much about these emotional experiences are similar to the loss of my almost 26-year-old son. I've learned not to compare losses as when you do that; someone will always have something less or more of what you've experienced. Each loss is unique, as each person is unique. Give space for each loss and hold the heart and hand of that person so that they feel heard, understood, and valued. 

While reading through these experiences, I felt like I could identify with nearly all of them, and yet the question asked me to choose one. I decided on the word derealization, which for the parent of a NICU baby the emotional experience can be so overwhelming for them, that they find themselves in denial, forgetting, or suppressing important information that was spoken to them. Even if they appear to practice active listening, repeating things often can be helpful, along with keeping a journal of things mentioned and questions to ask. (reference from StillBirth Day)

This module, in particular, really has me thinking deeply about the painful process of birth, loss, and bereavement as it feels so very real. It had me thinking back to our days in the hospital and all the information that came our way that I heard but did not process. So much of my time in the hospital was spent with all the people: Evan's friends, Alex's friends, our friends, fielding Facebook messages so much of the processing of vital information was processed by John and Alex cause honestly, it was too much for me. The entire process of it was too much. It's hard to understand unless you’ve walked that long lonely hallway. I can never truly articulate to my husband or my son how much love I have for them. They showed me during that time, what unconditional love looks like as it was walked out during the darkest of days. It wasn't easy for them either. My husband never left Evan's room the entire time he was in the hospital. Alex always was caring for us. Both of them handled the most challenging parts of those days.

Life and death are fragile and fleeting. Whether we are talking about a baby born sleeping or a nearly 26-year-old son whose brain has stopped working but whose organs help save the lives of 5 people. Say your words — even the hard ones to those you love. Reach out to that momma who's arms are left empty because of her loss. Be a light in a world that so desperately needs it.

Spring Forward, Fall is Back...

"How beautifully leaves grow old. How full of light and color are their last days." - John Burroughs

Sunday, September 23rd marked the beginning of Fall, and that always brings about all of the Fall feelings. The one thought at the forefront in my mind is that I miss Evan. This isn’t a rare thing as I miss Evan every day, but maybe I'm anticipating the fact that this will be another birthday without him. This time of year has always been a favorite of mine. All the colors, the cooler mornings and warm afternoons, the anticipation of celebrations and just the vibe of Fall...but alas I'm overcome with melancholy. I know it will dissipate over time only to come back sometimes stronger than when it left, but it lingers through January. The new year and winter time brings its own set of emotions and feelings with it.

I'm trying hard to be in a different state of mind as I approach this birthday. I'm battling the voices and memories inside my head that want to take me back and then yank me forward. I want to find a place that is restoring/filling me, but I also want to be mindful of remembering. When I mention Evan, he is in the present, and my desperate need for him to be in the present with me is the thing that I think is the most difficult for those who don't understand. I can't help but think that I'm celebrating yet another birthday and Evan’s not here. That I will continue to celebrate birthdays and he won’t be here. That my future does not hold Evan and yet the past is filled with him. So the question is where do I want to be? And where should I be? The answer to these ponderings can't be answered by me at this time cause the space between the want and should is too vast.

The last few weeks I've kept busy with event photography and other thing photography related. I've been working, and in all the busyness I've been able to keep the memories that are inside my head at bay. That doesn't change that you won't be here to give me a hug or debate the latest political challenges. That makes me weepy...pretty much most of my memories make me weepy. I know it makes people uncomfortable. I know they want it to be ok. I know that they have the best intentions. I know that I'm loved and cared for in the best way. I just feel on some level that I've been cheated, robbed of moments in the future. I sometimes think that I worry about what people think. I’m learning that in all of this I am ok. That what I do and what I say can be judged, but in the end, I must walk out my grief in the way that fits me. I’m grateful for people who understand this truth. I’m especially thankful to my son Alex who walks along this path with me. Although we each are walking our own way, I realize that a portion of this journey we are walking in tandem with each other. Helping each other to take the next step and at times stopping to mourn our loss together. The vacancy of our loss is real to us as a family and the pain of that is raw and at times so very painful.