Della Temple

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Conscious Grieving

Carpe Diem (Message for Megan)

4 May, 2011 — Posted in: Conscious Grieving Leave a Comment

https://www.dreamstime.com/royalty-free-stock-photo-woman-catching-sunset-beach-image21045805I used to say, “Life is long. Don’t worry, there’s time to straighten out the disagreement; there’s time to make amends; there’s time to do all the things you want to do.”

I don’t say that anymore. I am much more inclined to say, “Life is happening TODAY. Not tomorrow, not yesterday, but now. Just right now. That’s all you can count on.”

There are moments that must be grasped full-bore, head-on, without thinking. If you think too much, plan too much, then you’ll probably rationalize yourself right out of doing.

Thinking, planning, analyzing, developing a timeline of firsts then seconds does not leave room for the unexpected, the spontaneous, the combustion point of love that might be waiting in the wings. Seize it – take it – NOW!

Don’t wait until after the trip to Europe or when you have enough money because life may not be long and opportunities present themselves only once. Grasp them while you can. Do not wear the blinders of Next Year, 6 Months From Now.

Live in the moment, fully, totally, and without exception. Carpe Diem Megan.

 

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Don’t Turn Away From The Bandaged Place

4 May, 2011 — Posted in: Conscious Grieving Leave a Comment

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Don’t turn away. Keep your gaze on the bandaged place. That’s where the light enters you. Rumi

I have a bandaged place. I bet you do too.

Mine is new and very painful. My son died not too long ago, and that wound is kept under wraps by a bandage of activity, mindfulness, healing talks over tea with friends and lots and lots of nurturing of body and spirit.

But the wound is there. I know it’s there, and I acknowledge it every moment of every day. Even amid the activity and love of friends, my gaze is fixed in its direction.

I know that grace enters through that wound and so my gaze is fixed and steady. I am waiting.

I experience fleeting glimpses of that radiant light of peace and tranquility. Its hue is deep and clear and full-bodied. It shows its face when friends are offering comfort, but exhibit signs of uneasiness and can’t quite make contact with my soul. I know they are trying hard, and so through grace I am offered the opportunity to ease them into my world of pain. And, I am happy to do so.

I feel the healing taking place. I can drive by the accident spot, with only a momentary wince to the soul. Every day it is easier. I can see the spring green around me and give thanks that the winter has receded. I can remember that at one time, I was happy and carefree and alive and full spirited. And deep within my soul I know that the day will come when the light enters and heals my wound.

IT has begun to penetrate, and I am patiently waiting.

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Where is silence? Where is serenity? Where is love?

15 June, 2011 — Posted in: Conscious Grieving Leave a Comment

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Where is silence? Where is serenity? Where is Love? Ultimately, these cannot be found anywhere except in the ground of our own being. There, in the silent depths, there is no more distinction between the I and the Not-I. There is perfect peace, because we are grounded in infinite creative and redemptive Love. There we encounter God whom no eye can see…Thomas Merton. Love and Living.

I’m going through another stage of Empty Nest Syndrome. I guess that is to be expected. My son died about a month ago and I miss him terribly. Much more than when he went off to college 10 years ago.

Our 30-something daughter is living her own life, dealing with her loss in her own way. We see her often, but it’s not enough to satisfy my craving for WHAT WAS.

My husband is a gentle constant reminder that I am loved and adored. Yet, I still yearn for something more.

As a Mom, I used to satisfy this craving for love and serenity as I slathered my kids with my do-ings. But no more. Looking outside of ourselves will not bring us serenity, only yearning.

Serenity, love, acceptance and peace are housed within us. Our soul – our very essence is love, is peace, is serenity. Is God. I must now look within to find the answers I seek.

I meditate, I take long walks, I nurture myself. I have replaced the inner critic with the loving voice of acceptance.

I am finding peace. I am finding serenity. I am finding the God Within.

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Making Peace With What Is

24 June, 2011 — Posted in: Conscious Grieving Leave a Comment

Making peace with what is; not what could be, should be, or isn’t.

That’s what I’m working on today – and every day. Grief brings your life into focus, doesn’t it? Making peace with what is – being gratitude for all that life is today. The sunrise, the sunset, the beautiful people that make my life full of meaning and beauty. It’s the small things that make the difference.

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Being in the present moment and appreciating with gratitude all that I have, right here, right now, leaves me with a quiet sense of contentment.

I think when we yearn for peace, harmony and contentment what we are really striving for is something that is outside of ourselves.

If we just looked within through meditation, quiet contemplation or prayer, we would find IT.

Can you imagine what this world would be like if we all rejoiced for those things which we have?

Epictetus said it well:

He is a wise man who does not grieve for the things which he has not, but rejoices for those which he has. 

I will strive to remember the things I still have  – and be in gratitude for my husband, my daughter, and the sweet, sweet memories I will always have of my son.

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Crab Walking Through Grief: Letting Go

4 July, 2011 — Posted in: Conscious Grieving Leave a Comment

8476297402_35020e215f_zIt’s hard work, this grieving.

It’s been almost four months since my son died, and I work at this grief every day. I’m trying hard not to stuff away my feelings because I know that causes dis-ease.

One of my good friends lost a son about 20 years ago, and, according to her husband, she never worked through the grief. She died some five years later from a hole in the heart. That was the honest to god medical diagnoses.

My former mother-in-law and sister-in-law, developed tumors, one in the breast and one in the stomach, after their daughter/sister died in a car accident. So I do know enough not to stuff all my grief.

And I know that I don’t have to heal those around me; although that is much more difficult to put into practice than I had originally thought.

Right after Rick died, I was concerned about how my daughter, my husband, and Rick’s best friend were processing this death. So I kept a keen ear open to what they said and a watchful eye on how they were reacting. And, I’ve kept up this vigilance towards them and with other friends close to Rick.

Everyone looked to me initially to see how I was holding up, and as they saw me deal with it fairly well, they found that they could too.

Now, while they may have bad moments now and then, everyone seems to be moving forward and aren’t stuck grasping for meaning or answers. So that’s good. But it’s left me without an outward focus.

Healing others, offering comfort to others, was healing to me and so very natural to do. Now, I’m the “last one standing,” as they say.

I work hard at not going into the would-a, should-a, could-a type of thoughts. I don’t allow myself to dwell on what would have been if he were still alive. I turn my thoughts to other things when I start to go down that path.

Staying that aware of my thoughts and re-focusing them when necessary is a lot of work. It certainly depletes my energy, but I know that I have many months ahead of me, so I must stay focused.

Yet everywhere I turn, every place I visit, I see him. I’ll be sitting on the porch, and my eye will catch upon the corner post and beam that he straddled like a monkey last summer when we were building the deck. I look at the kitchen counter and remember him cooking his famous pancakes in the morning – totally scruffy looking, unshaven, hat on backwards, smiling and having fun. I know soon, someday, I will be able to smile at those memories and even laugh out loud, but right now I still tear up and my heart breaks open each and every time. I turn away from the memory because I can’t yet allow it to penetrate my core.

And that means that I’m holding back on all my emotions. I’m afraid to feel anything fully as I’m not sure I can feel without opening myself up to the pain of this loss. I’m aware of this and trying to deal with it. I don’t want to wall off my heart as that too causes dis-ease.

But I’m missing the full experience of life right now. The pine/dirt/rock smell is not as soothing as it always has been and the flowers, not as sweet.

My energy is being used internally to keep the grief from getting the upper hand. I’m learning to be OK with letting go of the need to do some of the ordinary daily tasks. The “I should do this; I should do that,” keeps coming to the forefront of my thoughts. I push those “should” thoughts out, take a deep breath, acknowledge and validate the NOW, and “go within” for a moment to determine what’s the most healing thing I could do right this minute.

Spiritually, I’ve said good-bye to Rick so that he can move forward to his next adventure. That was particularly hard for me to do because I was not ready to let him go. I wanted to hold him close; thinking that if I let him go I would lose those special “Mom” feelings.

But now I know that letting go was also healing for me. I was trying to keep Rick in the present, in the NOW. I kept looking for something visceral, a touch, a smell, a smile. But that’s not where he is. He is, and always will be, a very huge part of the past, but he is not in my present, nor is he in my future.

That was quite a revelation for me. Healing, but hard. So all in all, I would say that I’m doing OK. I’m reflective; I’m writing, I’m doing a lot of energy work. I’m taking each day and moving forward – not backward – but sometimes sideways and then forward.

Maybe like a crab, two steps sideways and one step ahead, but I am moving forward.

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