AUGUST 13 …you will not be cured, but…one day—an idea that will horrify you now—this intolerable misfortune will become a blessed memory of a being who will never again leave you But you are in a stage of unhappiness where it is impossible for you to have faith in these reassurances —MARCEL PROUST It is hard to believe, when we are in the midst of heavy grief, that any good will come of this We may resent any such suggestion—as though someone is trying to offer a palliative too soon, trying to proffer a “bright side” when the whole world is darkened It is true that we will never be “cured”—never restored to the being we were before But we will not be forever bereft A larger world will present itself, a picture whose frame has suddenly expanded, leapt out, to include more than we had known And in that expanded sense of our own world will be the presence—and the absence—of the one we love A more shadowed world, perhaps, but a more luminous world, too If I cannot believe it now, I can hold out the hope that in time my lost love will be a continuing blessed presence in my life AUGUST 14 There is no way out, only a way forward —MICHAEL HOLLINGS “Is there no relief from this wound?” we wonder “Is there nowhere I can go to turn aside, to get away?” What we would like to do, often, is to go back Go back before the accident Go back before the illness But that world no longer exists Our grief experience is a watershed and it has cut us off forever from that world which now seems so simple and almost idyllic (though we know better)—the life we knew with our loved one, the life Before This Happened Still we keep trying, remembering, wishing until the thought pattern is established in our brain: this is your world now; this is what your life is like Convinced, bit by bit, we begin to go forward—into a new sense of time and relationships, including a new relationship with the one who has died, and a new relationship with ourselves Our other available choice is to stand still, and we may try it for a while But we know we will turn to stone if we let that happen No, we must keep moving, and in the only direction that is open to us—forward Forward into new land, into unknown adventure, unknown territory I stand at the threshold of new life What will I do? I can stand still Or I can go forward Those are my choices AUGUST 15 I am reminded that what I adore, admire, and draw from Mother is inherent in the Earth My mother’s spirit can be recalled simply by placing my hands on the black humus of mountains or the lean sands of desert Her love, her warmth, and her breath, even her arms around me—are the waves, the wind, sunlight, and water —TERRY TEMPEST WILLIAMS What we have lost is not replaceable—is not supplanted by the other manifestations of life around us, no matter how beautiful—any more than the loss of a child is made up for by the birth of another child And yet…and yet…perhaps it can give us some comfort to think about the oneness of creation The words on a poster our daughter had in her room shortly before her death began, “The same sun warms us,” and went on to say, “…and we share each other’s lives, lingering in each other’s shadows.” My husband and I framed the poster, and for many years it in my writing room—a source of great comfort Can we, in the air that surrounds us, the sunshine that bathes us with its warmth and light, the life that surges in our own being, imagine the abiding presence of our loved one? AUGUST 16 Like an ant on a stick both ends of which are burning, I go to and fro without knowing what to do,and in great despair… Graciously look upon me Thy love is my refuge Amen —TRADITIONAL PRAYER, INDIA Someone was once described as “having lost his sense of purpose and therefore redoubled his speed.” Sometimes we are like that—frantically hurrying about in the vain hope that if we are very busy, we will somehow anesthetize ourselves and not hurt so much There is some point in being busy—one gets tired and is able to sleep And maybe if we are very busy doing something for others, we will forget our own pain for a while But sometimes the activity is purposeless—just a way to keep busy, as though that would take care of it But busyness doesn’t take care of it, and so despair—as well as physical and emotional fatigue—takes its toll and we are worse off than before The source of healing is not rushing around, but that calming assurance that love is at the heart of life, and is both our refuge and the source of our strength to go on I will stop my frantic busyness and reconnect with my source of strength AUGUST 17 It was not until the cremation was over, which only my children and a few friends attended, and I had scattered my husband’s ashes at the end of the garden where we often walked together, and my children had returned to their own homes, that I knew, with full force, the finality of death…What had to be endured must be endured now, and at once, alone —DAPHNE DU MAURIER The timing for facing the aloneness death leaves us with may be different for different people Maybe right away isn’t the best time And some can’t be physically alone for long—as in the case of a grieving mother or father who still must attend to the needs of young children But in the quiet moments before sleep—or when waking in the night and remembering—each of us is faced with the inescapably solitary aspects of grief And why not? While we can talk with others, there is a territory of loss only we can enter But there is a strange ambiguity in our solitude Often when we are most desperately confronting our loneliness, the sense of our loved one is strongest The person is gone; we are desperately lonely But what is this vitality in the air? I will step into the unknown dark, trusting I will be safe ... supplanted by the other manifestations of life around us, no matter how beautiful—any more than the loss of a child is made up for by the birth of another child And yet…and yet…perhaps it can give... as physical and emotional fatigue—takes its toll and we are worse off than before The source of healing is not rushing around, but that calming assurance that love is at the heart of life, and... inescapably solitary aspects of grief And why not? While we can talk with others, there is a territory of loss only we can enter But there is a strange ambiguity in our solitude Often when we are most desperately