walking in grace with grief Archives

Profound Faith in Life After Life

30 July, 2015 — Posted in: Conscious Grieving Leave a Comment

During this month of blog posts, I’ve shared with you some parts of my story and how I dealt with the pain of losing a loved one. To close out the month, I’d like to end with this final excerpt from my new book, Walking in Grace with Grief Meditations for Healing After Loss.

Faith: Inner Knowingness

Talking with Rick, being surrounded by magic and miracles, gave me a profound sense of peace. And with that peace came a deepening of my faith and an unshakeable inner knowingness of life after life. Here was proof that we live on as Spirit after we leave this earth. While spiritually I soared with Rick, however, my body was still grieving a mother’s loss.

I felt the searing pain mostly in my womb and in my heart. Some days I thought that my heart was actually breaking open and spilling its contents onto the floor. I felt a gaping hole in the back, lower-left area of my chest that I came to describe as “Rick’s Space.” There was also deep, burning pain in my lower abdomen, and I often doubled over in a cramping agony reminiscent of the last throes of childbirth. The pain was particularly noticeable when I allowed myself to descend into the “what ifs” and “if he’d only lived” stories. That’s when I experienced a sorrow that was full of self-pity, agony, and despair. After a bout of crying from this state of mind, I didn’t feel any better. There was no sense of relief. If anything, a cloud of depression was ready to march in and take over. I could just allow the cloud to engulf me, or I could fight it off. It was my choice. It’s always my choice in how I choose to react.

So I fought. I held those stories at bay and lived in the present moment. Every time my thoughts wandered to the what-if-Rick-had-lived stories, I pulled myself back. I literally would not allow myself to experience those thoughts. I chose to say to myself, “Forget that—Rick’s not here, and if you think of what could have been, you’ll feel pain. Choose another thought.” And I would. I would force myself to think of something else—to remember a time from the past when he made me laugh, or to remember his voice or his smell. Anything but a what-if-he’d-lived story. This took energy and effort, but I really think it made the difference in how I healed. I shifted the thought and experienced my sorrow in a different vibration, if that makes any sense. It was a higher, cleaner vibration—a healing vibration full of love and mercy. This vibration felt full of acceptance, kindness, and gentleness. I knew that if I could stay in this vibration—if I could surround myself with thoughts and feelings that resonated there—I could heal from this deep wound. I had energy tools to help me stay in this vibration. One of my favorite tools to stay out of the story of “what-if” is Blowing Up a Rose.

Healing Meditation: Blowing Up a Rose

Close your eyes and take some deep, cleansing breaths. On the inhale, bring all of your awareness into your body. On the exhale, ground to the earth. Inhale and center, exhale and ground. Breathe deeply as you focus on the present moment, right here, right now. Leave all your to-do list thoughts behind. Allow yourself to feel at peace.
Now think of a story that is no longer true for you. Perhaps you’ll think about the story of how your child will marry and have children. Maybe you have told yourself stories of a retirement planned with your life partner. You can acknowledge that the story has always been that, just a story. It was your fantasy about what you wanted to happen.
As you continue to think about the story of what might have been, and now will no longer be, imagine the image of a rose appearing in front of your closed eyes. The rose can be any color, any shape, and any size. In this rose is a giant magnet that is pointing back to you.
Ask the magnet in the rose to draw your story to it. Watch as each piece of your story leaves your body and moves into the rose. Watch the streams of color as they leave your heart, your throat, and your mind and move into the petals. Watch the rose grow bigger and bigger as the story takes up residence in the flower.
Feel the emotions that you’ve attached to this story leave your body and flow into the rose. Allow self-pity to leave. Allow the deep emotional pain of a story that won’t come true to leave your body and flow into the rose. Feel the sadness, the deep sorrow of loss, without the despair and hopelessness.
When you’ve collected as much of that old story as you can, then blow up that rose. Watch it disintegrate and feel the story disintegrate too.
Before you come out of meditation, fill your mind with thoughts of peace, tranquility, and serenity. Intend for those energies to surround you for the rest of the day.

Defusing the power of the story allows you to return to the present, the now, the current situation without the baggage of what could have been, should have been, or wasn’t meant to be. Releasing my old stories allowed me to look at Rick’s death from a new perspective. It was not about what could have been. It’s about what is—right here, right now. I still felt the pain, but it was a pain of missing Rick right here, right now. It was not about all the future things that would not be.

Blow up the lies, the wishes, the hopes, the pictures of what life was supposed to be. All you have is now, this moment in time.

Thank you for sharing this month with me. If this post resonated with you and you would like to read more, Walking in Grace with Grief Meditations for Healing After Loss is available on Amazon or at your local bookstore. From my heart to yours.

Is There Really Joy Beneath the Sorrow?

30 July, 2015 — Posted in: Conscious Grieving Leave a Comment

I’m sharing my interview with Matt Welsh from Spiritual Media Blog. I believe it’s time to broaden the discussion about death and dying. I don’t believe we have to walk the path of anger, denial, and bargaining to reach the final destination of acceptance. I believe that there is joy beneath the sorrow and that others too can start at acceptance and stay there throughout their journey of recovery. This might fly in the face of what’s considered “normal grieving”, but what I found true for me was an amazing feeling of ease, comfort and nurturing – what I refer to as Grace – that kept me from drowning in the mire of doubt, wishful thinking and regret. There really is joy beneath the sorrow for you too.

Q&A with Della Temple, author of Walking in Grace with Grief: Meditations for Healing After Loss

Why did you write your book?

Walking in Grace with Grief Meditations for Healing After Loss is a book from my heart. When my son died in a solo car accident four years ago, I grieved a different kind of grief. Along with the deep anguish and searing pain of losing a loved one, within 48 hours of his death, I found myself in what I refer to as a state of Grace. I don’t know how else to explain it. I didn’t feel anger or rage against a God that had taken my son. I experienced sorrow; a deep, fathomless sadness; grief; love; acceptance; compassion; and happiness-yes happiness-all at once. I felt the Divine surrounding me, offering comfort and support. I knew deep within my soul that my son’s Spirit lived on. He had left his body, but he was alive as a Spirit. This profound acceptance and belief were the keys, I believe, in my ability to walk this path in a different manner.

I wrote this book because I want to broaden the discussion about death and dying. I don’t believe we have to walk the path of anger, denial, and bargaining to reach the final destination of acceptance. I believe that others too can start at acceptance and stay there throughout their journey of recovery. This might fly in the face of what’s considered “normal grieving”, but what I found true for me was an amazing feeling of ease, comfort and nurturing – what I refer to as Grace – that kept me from drowning in the mire of doubt, wishful thinking and regret.

Can you explain in a little more detail what you mean?

For me, the pain of sorrow was particularly intense when I allowed myself to descend into the “what ifs” and “if he’d only lived” stories. That’s when I experienced a sadness that was full of self-pity, agony, and despair. So every time my thoughts wandered to the what-if-my-son-had-lived stories, I pulled myself back. I literally would not allow myself to experience those thoughts. I forced myself to think of something else-to remember a time from the past when he made me laugh, or to remember his voice or his smell. Anything but a what-if-he’d-lived story. This took energy and effort, but I think it made the difference in how I healed. I shifted the thought and experienced my sorrow in a different vibration if that makes any sense. It was a higher, cleaner vibration-a healing vibration full of love and mercy. This vibration felt full of acceptance, kindness, and gentleness. I knew that if I could stay in this vibration-if I could surround myself with thoughts and feelings that resonated there-I could heal this deep wound. I had tools to help me stay in this vibration, and I share those tools in the various healing meditations in the book. In fact, the meditations have become a standard part of my everyday life and continue to help me maintain a profound acceptance of life as it is, not as I wish it might be.

How do you balance giving yourself time to grieve and remember someone with still allowing yourself to move forward?

There’s not a right way or a wrong way to grieve. Each person deals with their grief as best they can. What I found worked for me was being aware – staying conscious – of how I felt each moment. If I felt like laughing I laughed, if I felt like talking about my son, I did so. If I felt like crying, I allowed myself a good cry. This is what I call Conscious Grieving. Being consciously aware of how we feel and allowing all the emotions of sorrow and pain to exist while simultaneously taking a step forward on our path of being something new. I share some practical skills such as grounding to the earth and “filling in” with life-force energy so that you can stay healthy as you move through this time of becoming something new. Because that’s what we are doing; becoming something new. Our world has changed – our life is in upheaval – and we will never return to the “before” times. We are moving forward into this state of being without, a time of honoring what was and wondering what will be.

How do you balance giving yourself time to experience and express painful emotions associated with loss such as sadness, regret, or confusion while still remaining at peace and faithful?

One of the chapters in the book is called Learning to Ride the Wave. It’s about finding that balance of expressing your emotions fully and completely without falling into the pit of despair and depression.

From a metaphysical point of view, when you cry, your loss moves through the various layers of your energy body and exits your system. This is the “release” we feel at the end of a good cry. What was literally attached to your physical body has been removed, leaving you calm, peaceful, and renewed. After my loss, I cried often, and I cried deeply. I keened for my loved one. I accepted this gut-wrenching, razor-sharp, searing pain for what it was-a natural healing process.

As I cried, I kept the self-pity and despair stories at bay. I used a technique called Blowing Up a Rose to keep the thoughts of what might have been from taking root in my body and mind. This energy tool helped to keep the lower vibrational feelings of regret, anger and confusion from taking over. It allowed me to find the peace and joy beneath the sorrow. That’s riding the wave; being consciously aware of your emotions and finding a way to experience them fully and completely while remaining upright as you navigate this world of sorrow.

What advice would you have for someone who feels like they don’t understand certain aspects of why things happened the way they did in a relationship with a loved one who they’ve lost?

What helped me deal with the unexpected timing of my son’s death was my understanding of Life Contracts. I believe in reincarnation-that we exist as eternal Spirits and come to earth to experience certain challenges and emotions. As we make ready for our trip to earth, we call together the Spirit forms of our soon-to-be-parents, siblings, friends, and colleagues. God is there too. We gather around a big “conference table in the sky,” and we design our soon-to-be life. We think about what our main purpose will be in this lifetime, and we design a life that presents many challenges and learning opportunities. This Contract of Life includes many variables, or different paths that a person may take once they come to earth. Some paths are straight and narrow, leading right to the person’s overarching purpose while other paths are full of curves and unexpected dips and bumps. Some life paths are long, and others are short.

Once this Contract of Life is blessed by God, and all parties agree to play their part, we come here to earth to live it. Some souls choose short lifetimes; others choose long ones. Each is perfect just as it was designed. While this is not easy for those of us left behind, we must honor the timing of a death. It is not for us to say whether life was too short. It is perfectly right just the way it is.

Any other books you are thinking about writing? And, Why?

I released two books this year. As I was writing Walking in Grace with Grief, I was also writing a book about stopping the mind chatter, Tame Your Inner Critic Find Peace & Contentment to Live Your Life on Purpose. Both books utilize the same set of “energy tools” – grounding to the earth, filling in with life-force energy, protecting yourself from the unwanted thoughts and feelings of others. Of course Tame Your Inner Critic isn’t about grief, but surprisingly they overlap in many areas. So after writing two books in short order, I think it will be another year or two before I write another. But, I’m already thinking about a children’s book on losing a loved one. Even children can learn to ride the wave of grief without falling into the stories of what might have been. We will see what next year brings!

Where can we get a copy of your book?

Walking in Grace with Grief Meditations for Healing After Loss is available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble and other online outlets. Or call your local bookstore, and have them order it! And, if you want more information about Tame Your Inner Critic, please come say hi at dellatemple.com. I would love to hear from you.

About the Author

Della Temple writes about melding the worlds of the physical and the metaphysical. She combines her love of anything analytical with her wide-ranging interest in quantum physics and the world of energetic healing. She is a certified Reiki Master and has studied clairvoyance and psychic healing at Boulder Psychic Institute.

When she lost her son in a solo car accident, Della experienced a different kind of grief – one full of sorrow; a deep, fathomless sadness; love; acceptance; compassion; and happiness-yes happiness-all at once. She knew that her loved one was still “alive” in Spirit, and often felt him surrounding her in love and comfort-especially during the first year after his passing. Accepting this as a natural occurrence, their Spirit to Spirit talks became an integral part of Della’s healing journey. She was also surrounded by some unusual friends who helped her navigate this world of death, Spirit, and Life after Life.

Della writes about her experience in the hopes of broadening the discussion around death and grieving. Through the healing meditations and energy tools explained throughout the book, it is Della’s hope that the reader will connect to the joy and grace that exists beneath the sorrow and pain of loss.

Do I Have One Child or Two?

25 July, 2015 — Posted in: Conscious Grieving Leave a Comment

During this month of blog posts, I’d like to share with you some parts of my story and how I dealt with the pain of losing a loved one. These are excerpts from my new book, Walking in Grace with Grief Meditations for Healing After Loss.

The Dinner Party Dilemma

A few months after my son’s death, we went out to dinner with a business friend of my husband’s. As you know, when you meet people for the first time, you share information about who you are, what your life is like, your children, your job, and tidbits about life in general. This surface conversation is like going on a first date. Both people agree: let’s not get too deep, let’s not tell the full story of who we are and the pain we’re experiencing. Let’s just be “nice” and social.

Well guess what? I didn’t want to be nice and social! I wanted—no, I needed—this business friend and his wife to understand that I was in pain and walking a fine line right then. I wanted to tell my story. I was not the same person I had been. I was new and I was exploring who I was. So the innocuous bits about my hobbies and what I did with my day belonged to the “before” time and had very little relevance to who I was or what I was doing with my life. In fact, it seemed that the most important thing in my life was how I was working at keeping the grief from encompassing me. I knew that my husband had shared our story with his business friend and his wife, so I didn’t need to tell the story of loss. They knew we had experienced a death, and I expected them to acknowledge that early in our time together. But they didn’t. Never once in our hour-and-a-half dinner did either one of them ever say, “We are sorry for your loss.” Neither ever said, “We have a child of our own. We can’t imagine what you must be going through.” That’s what I needed: acknowledgment, validation, empathy. I was not prepared to share the details of my process, and I did not want to burden these new acquaintances with my pain, but I did expect some kind of acknowledgment that they knew we were going through a particularly difficult phase.

And so I pushed. I guess I got a little bit angry and found myself starting sentences with phrases like, “After Rick died …” or, “During the past few months …” I wanted to give them an opening so that their rejoinder could be as simple as, “We were so sorry to hear about the loss you suffered.” Instead, I received woefully sad faces and averted eyes. This couple was not ready to deal with anyone’s loss of a child because it hit too close to home. I’m sure they pictured themselves in my shoes and couldn’t imagine how they would deal with the death of their child. I got it. I understood. But I could not give them my compassion. Instead I gave them some uncomfortableness—on purpose. I’m not proud of that evening, but I do acknowledge the learning, on both sides.

Looking back on that night, I realize that I was not ready for new friends. I still needed the comfort of my circle of supporters who knew about my situation and who felt comfortable with my teary-ness and my silences. Now, with some distance, I am full of compassion for our dinner companions. I can see how agonizing that night was for them. I have the energy now that I didn’t have then. I extend to them my sincerest apologies for being unable to see how much pain they experienced. We all have growth periods that we endure. This was one of mine.

Do I Have One Child or Two?

As I sat at dinner that night, I kept thinking to myself, “Do I have one child now or two?” It might sound silly to those of you with more than two children, but I really didn’t know how to complete a sentence or tell a story from my past. For years I had used the phrase, “the kids,” when talking about my children. But now I had one alive and one not alive. How did I talk about those well-worn stories of my children’s growing-up years? How could I tell the tale of one child smashing the other child’s finger in the bathroom-door hinge without stumbling into the territory of death and dying? What could I say about how second children learn to take naps in odd places or in shifts? Who was I now? A mom of one or a mom of two? I struggled with this for quite a while, and sometimes I got the verbiage down, and sometimes I felt myself stumbling through a story—and I still do. Mentally I have had to rewrite the stories—all of them—to fit the new reality. Sometimes I say “my daughter,” sometimes I say “my kids,” and sometimes, when I’m feeling really centered and at peace I can even say, “Rick, my son who died.”

If this post resonated with you and you would like to read more, Walking in Grace with Grief Meditations for Healing After Loss is available on Amazon or at your local bookstore. From my heart to yours.

That’s Where the Light Enters You

20 July, 2015 — Posted in: Conscious Grieving Leave a Comment

As the first week turned into the first month, I began to feel a new normal take root. The hole in my heart was still ever present, but it seemed smaller and a tiny bit more manageable now. I had named it “Rick’s Space.” It was still tender, and I poked at it much like a sore tooth. It was empty, waiting, mourning, and wondering what was next. This space knew there was no going back, but it didn’t yet know what to expect. It just was.

I had to be OK with this empty space. I felt it, I experienced it every minute. It was right there, just below the surface, letting me know that there was something amiss. I came across a quote attributed to Rumi, that great, thirteenth-century poet: “Don’t turn away. Keep your gaze on the bandaged place. That’s where the light enters you.”

My wound was kept under wraps by a bandage of activity, mindfulness, healing talks over tea with friends, and lots and lots of body and spirit nurturing. But the wound was there. Even amid the activity and love of friends, my gaze was fixed in its direction. I knew that the light of Grace would enter through that wound, and so my gaze was fixed and steady. I was waiting. I experienced fleeting glimpses of that radiant light of peace and tranquility. Its hue was deep and clear and full-bodied. It showed its face when friends exhibited signs of uneasiness, not quite making contact with my soul. Through Grace, I was able to not take offence but instead to offer them compassion as I eased them into my world of pain.

I felt the healing begin to take hold. I could say the words, “My son died,” with only a momentary wince in my soul. Every day it was easier. I could see the spring green around me and I gave thanks that winter was receding. I remembered that at one time, I was happy and carefree and alive and full-spirited. Deep within my soul I knew that the day would come when the light fully penetrated my soul and healed my wound. I was patiently waiting.

Listening in Stillness: Healing from Loss

15 July, 2015 — Posted in: Conscious Grieving Leave a Comment

I’m turning my thoughts to grief, loss and how we manage in those terrible times of sadness. Those of you that are used to me blogging about happiness, joy and authenticity might be a little surprised to discover that in our times of sorrow and grief some our same energy tools are powerful allies. During this month of blog posts, I’d like to share with you some parts of my story and how I dealt with the pain of losing a loved one. The following is an excerpt from my new book, Walking in Grace with Grief Meditations for Healing After Loss.

Interwoven among the stories of my experience, in my book I have included some of the healing meditations that made my journey a little less arduous. In fact, these meditations have become a standard part of my everyday life. They continue to help me maintain a profound acceptance of life as it is, not as I wish it might be. I hope they will ease the reader’s path of transition, as much as they did mine.

The following meditation is designed to offer you a chance to renew your own depleted stores of life-force energy. It is important that we keep our gas tank full, so to speak, as we journey through this transition. We are becoming something new. And as with any stress-filled period, it’s important to treat our bodies and our spirits with care and respect. I’ve also included the elements of centering and grounding to offer you a simple, easy meditation you can do every day.

Healing Meditation: The Golden Sun

Sit in a chair with your feet flat on the floor and your eyes closed. Take a couple of deep breaths. Relax and just be.
Bring all of your awareness into the center of your head. This is your special meditative space. Between your ears, behind your eyes—this is your space. It is for you alone. If you feel that all the thoughts of things to do and places to be start to encroach on this space, just tell those thoughts that you will be with them in a moment or two. Watch them leave your space.
From this space in the center of your head, start to count each breath. On the inhale count one, and on the exhale count two. Inhale again and count three; exhale and count four. That’s all. Inhale and count, exhale and count. Breathe. Count each breath.
Now imagine that your body is surrounded by a cocoon of energy. It stretches out about eighteen inches around you in all directions. Put your arms out to your sides and imagine this bubble of protective energy reaching out from your body to your fingertips. See this bubble all around you: above your head and below your feet. Know that this cocoon of protective energy is your space. You are safe here.
On each inhale, continue to center, and on each exhale ground to the earth. Imagine your grounding cord attaching to your hips and dropping to the center of the earth. See this hollow tube of energy reach all the way down through the earth’s crust, attaching solidly into the core of the earth. Feel it draw you deeper in your chair as your body begins to relax.
Intend for your body to be at peace. Feel your jaw relax and your shoulders fall away from your ears. Ask for any tension you hold in your body to be released down the grounding cord. Feel yourself sink deeper in your chair as you allow yourself to be at peace.
Breathe in and center, bringing all your awareness to the center of your head. Breathe out and ground, allowing all tension and tightness to ease.
Breathe in and center, breathe out and ground. Be in stillness and peace.
Now imagine a giant golden sun above your head. See the sun filled with golden light. Imagine that this sun is about three times the size of your body. Place a giant magnet in this sun and ask this magnet to call back your own scattered energy. Let all your life force energy return from your dream space, from your family and friends. Feel all that energy zoom back into the golden sun.
Imagine the golden sun bringing your scattered energies back to a vibration that will be just right for your own body.
Fill this golden sun with relaxation, peace, abundance, and gentleness—or whatever quality would be most beneficial to you today. See those qualities permeate the sun, vibrating in a wonderful harmonic, which will be perfectly attuned to what your physical body needs most right now.
Pop the golden sun and let all your own energy and all those qualities flow into your body, filling every cell and membrane. Allow the excess to move from your body out into the space around you.
Feel yourself refreshed and vibrating at your optimal frequency, enveloped in a cocoon of energies that are just right for you. The world around you can be full of sadness and turmoil, but you, in the center of your aura, filled up with your own energy, can be at peace—free from stress and unease.
Sit in this wonderfully peaceful place of fullness for a moment or two. When you are ready, open your eyes. As you come out of meditation, intend for this stillness—this sense of peace and knowingness—to carry forward with you into your day.

Every day for the year or two after Rick’s accident, I reminded myself that I was in charge of my body and my emotions. I could accept or not accept energies into my space. I could be with people and feel their love and support surrounding me, but I didn’t need to let that penetrate into my personal space. This awareness allowed me to be in charge of my healing. I liked that. I liked being in control of at least one small aspect of my day-to-day life. I meditated every day, and I remained consciously aware of my grounding cord connecting me to Mother Earth. I filled in with golden suns health, vitality, peace, serenity, and love. And I talked with my loved one, often.