OCTOBER 27 My grief and pain are mine I have earned them They are part of me Only in feeling them I open myself to the lessons they can teach —ANNE WILSON SCHAEF When our whole sense of ourselves seems wounded and vulnerable, one of the ways we can claim our rightful presence in the world is to claim the legitimacy of our grief That is who we are right now, and it is a valid way to be We cannot escape the reality of ourselves as grieving persons any more than we can escape the reality of the death of the loved one In time we will see ourselves again in broader terms But if, for a while, grieving is the main aspect of our being, then so be it We may well move away from it sooner if we embrace that reality now We don’t owe anyone else an apology We don’t owe ourselves one, either Only by living my grief fully will I be able to walk through it and learn what it has to tell me OCTOBER 28 Shall we live in mystery and yet conduct ourselves as though everything were known? —CHRISTOPHER FRY When we are grieving, everything has significance We see meanings in what appear to be random events and wonder what is going on A flower blooms in our garden out of season The phone rings when we are feeling desolate and lonely, and it is a friend: “I was sitting here reading and I had a sudden urge to call you.” A bird lands on a tree branch outside our window and bobs up and down, chirping and singing, for a very long time Are these all just coincidences? Is it possible that in the mysteries of creation, the Powers, God, the energies that move the world—even our departed loved one—are looking out for us? We would like to think so And when we get together with others who have been through grief, we share our stories—shyly at first—and our skin tingles and our hearts are made glad and we think, Yes, it might be so There is always room for doubt There is also room for faith and hope That is the nature of mystery I will accept as gifts all intimations of love and care OCTOBER 29 Be still, my heart, these great trees are prayers —RABINDRANATH TAGORE When we are grieving, we’re apt to feel in some ways alone, cut off from other people and other living things It is salutary to go outside and stand by a tree To stand in the presence of a great tree is to feel a kind of solidarity with nature, a continuity between oneself and the whole created world Now move closer, and put the palms of your hands against the bark of the tree Feel the bark with your fingers Think of the tree’s age—how long it has been here, through summer and winter; how it draws its energy up from the earth and down from sunshine and rain Then stand closer yet, lean against the tree, and put your arms around it (hoping the neighbors aren’t looking, but who cares?) Feel your own continuity with the tree—and, by extension, your loved one’s continuity with all created life, including this tree you now embrace in honor and in memory of the one you have lost You may be laughing, or crying, or feeling foolish—or some of each But don’t you feel better? The created world is one and embraces us all, the living and the dead OCTOBER 30 Without friends the world is but a wilderness…There is no man that imparteth his joys to his friends, but he joyeth the more; and no man that imparteth griefs to his friends, but he grieveth the less —FRANCIS BACON We know this, but sometimes we have to make the effort to prove it to ourselves once again Maybe we just don’t feel like seeing anyone, not even a friend Or if we do, maybe we don’t want to impose on the friend by going on and on about how terrible this loss is Or we may not want, just then, to reopen ourselves to this sorrow All of these moods are legitimate and we need to honor them Not all times are appropriate for sharing our grief But sometimes with friends, we take the risk of sharing Yes, we may cry, and feel the pain of reentering that sorrow, but the fact that we means there is sorrow there we need to release And to whom better than to a trusted friend? We will feel more at peace for having done so I will trust my friends to hear me in love and understanding OCTOBER 31 All shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well —JULIAN OF NORWICH At a time when I thought my world had all but ended, when the realization was hammering at my heart that my daughter’s death was not some nightmare from which I would recover but was for all time, a friend came into the room, put her arms around my neck, and said, “Everything’s going to be all right.” I thought she was crazy And yet…and yet…was it possible that she was right? I had occasion, some years later, to be the consoler of a young woman whose son had lapsed into a coma from which he would not recover, and my words to her were the same “Everything’s going to be all right.” And I felt my friend from that earlier time standing beside me, nodding—See, that’s what I told you Improbable though it seems when grief first assaults us, we come to learn, though the surface of our life will often be in turmoil, that on a deep and unshakable level there is indeed a confidence that all is well Until that happens, we cling to the testimony of others and take hope: if for them, why not for us, too? All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well ... if we do, maybe we don’t want to impose on the friend by going on and on about how terrible this loss is Or we may not want, just then, to reopen ourselves to this sorrow All of these moods are