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Another gem from our friends at What's Your Grief?

Is "Deathiversary" Actually a Word?

Deathiversary . . .crapiversary . . . angelversary . . . death anniversary . . . whichever you prefer (and many more options abound) none ever feel quite right to me.  And as much as I want a word, something to easily explain to people why there is a cloud hanging over me on a certain day of the year, it feels almost appropriate that there is no real word for a date marking the creation of a hole in the universe.  Read on here >>>

 

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Widower's Grief

 

Advice For Grief Recovery

Posted: 09 Aug 2017 04:19 AM PDT

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My friend Fred Erwin wrote what he would share with people if they were grieving. His words are filled with wisdom, truth, and compassion. These are his thoughts with a few of my own. 
 
Pay attention to your grief.  
It is right for us to grieve because people we love have died. They died too soon, and they died before we were ready. They died before we had learned all we could from them. They were an important part of our lives, and their absence leaves a hole.
Grief will last for longer than you expect.
 
Grief will bring many emotions and physical sensations as we move through the days, weeks and months—shock, sorrow, loneliness, despair, rage, depression, aches, chills, discomforts and more. Do not hide from any of them. And if you have any unresolved grief from the past, that will probably come back.
Death is a physical event and grief is the appropriate physical response.
 
Gather with family and friends and share stories about the one who died. You know much about the person’s life, but you do not know everything. Sharing with others fills in the gaps and brings new insights and understanding. We hear stories we never knew. Be honest in your sharing because everyone has weaknesses and flaws. This is the time to acknowledge the fullness and contradictions of your loved one's life.
 
The biggest danger with grief is to fear or deny it because then psychological problems begin.  
Allow yourself to cry when you feel like crying, and weep when moments move deeper. People expect those who are grieving to be emotional and you have their permission to grieve now. They won’t be as understanding if you put grief off for five or twenty years. 
 
Be prepared for visitations from the departed, whether this happens in dreams, visions, or simply feeling their presence when you see their possessions or smell a familiar scent. This can also be a time for you to complete unfinished business. If there is something you always wanted to say to the one who died, now is an excellent time.
 
Find relief in the rituals and prayers of your tradition, whatever they are.  
 
Many people have walked the path of grief before us. They bear witness to the fact that people survive grief, that they patch their lives back together, and that they are able to find happiness again.
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Dear all

Dear Marty

Do you have any suggestion of articles about grief and resillience? I am a bit confused about resilience, I've been targeted with that word/advise which to me doesn't make sense with what I'm going through.

So, I would like to learn more.

Thanks in advance. 

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Wednesday, August 16, 2017

The Worst Grief

 
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Sometimes when we’re feeling bitten hard by grief, or just snarky, we try to prove that we are hurting the most, that our grief is the worst that anyone has ever experienced. In the entire world. Ever.
 
I’ve lost a wife in her 40s, three beloved pets (well, one not so beloved), both parents (one to dementia), all my grandparents, a friend to AIDS, two to murder, several to cancer, one to suicide, and a number of young friends to car accidents. As I walk among the tombstones in my private cemetery, it would be hard to put them on a scale of the worst because they each hit me hard in different ways.
 
The severity of grief depends upon who died, the quality of our relationship with that person, the circumstances of death, the volume and frequency of death in our lives, and what else was going on at the time.
 
No death is simple. Every death carves its own canyon of unimaginable sorrow.
 
A wife who dies in her 40s seems more tragic than a wife who dies in her 80s. One death, after a long life of adventures, is expected, while with the other death we also mourn all the years ahead that were lost.
 
Many of us feel closer to one parent than another, so one parent’s death affects us more. But what if one parent was abusive to the other, or to us? Should we feel any grief for a parent who abandoned us when we were young?
 
Do we grieve close friends we have chosen more than relationships we were born into?
 
I have not lost a child, but I imagine that this might be among the worst losses of all because we are supposed to protect them. If they died from something like cancer, then there are also our feelings of injustice for a child dying, anger at cancer, and guilt for not having taken care of them, even if there was absolutely nothing more that we could have done.
 
The Holmes and Rahe Stress Scale measures the impact of changes in our lives. On it, the death of a spouse is at the top with 100 points. Divorce is second at 73. The death of a close family member is 63, and I’m guessing that losing a child is included here since I don’t see it listed separately. Losing a job has 47 points.
 
Even good changes are stressful, like getting married (50) or buying a house (31), because we have to make major adjustments in our life. If several changes happen at the same time, good and bad, the stress points add up. When our total is over 300, we are at a high risk of breaking and becoming ill.
 
Perhaps the first death of someone close is the worst, because not only has someone died, but our childhood belief in the innocence of life may also disappear. Dylan Thomas wrote about this. Maybe the third death in a month unravels us more because it tips our fragile balance over to the dark side and it seems that everyone we love is either dying or dead. If we’re retired and our spouse is gone, the death of our best friend or pet might be what causes our Tower of Resolve to fall.
 
Besides who died and our relationship with them, there is the how.
 
Was the death from a slow and painful illness? Was it sudden or peaceful? Was the death a suicide or deliberately caused by someone else? These things can make us question whether goodness exists in the core of every person.
 
I find myself mourning the death of good people I don’t know because the world doesn’t have enough compassionate people, just a lot of the angry, too-busy, and self-absorbed. Do we ever get used to people dying and taking parts of us away? Is there a limit to our endurance?
 
Perhaps the worst grief is the one where we never forgive ourselves.
 
 
Posted by Mark Liebenow at 6:24 AM 
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I would think losing a child would measure higher than a "close family member" but I've learned not to compare loss...losing parents might rate high for one person, lower for another, depending on their relationship, how entwined their lives were, how close they were.  There may be a rule of thumb, but there's a high number of exceptions for every rule it seems.  Every contributory factor seems to weigh in.

I found this article I got today to be interesting...it helped me understand for the first time why my mom chose the most expensive casket she could ill afford for my dad, but came home and immediately discarded all of his clothes...  https://whatsyourgrief.com/grief-greed-families-fight-material-possessions/

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 Posted by Teresa TL Bruce on her blog today, 09/18/2017

The Seven-Year Glitch: When Grieving Gets Easier

It — That Day — snuck up on me this year. Granted, I’ve had a lot on my mind the last month:

  • Waiting for the birth of my first grandchild in another state
  • Helping my daughter recover from the birth of her daughter
  • Rushing home to prepare my house for Hurricane Irma’s attack on my state
  • Cleaning up after Irma smacked Florida up one side, across the middle, and up the other side as well
  • Juggling the usual stuff — editing, writing, paying bills, tending to family needs …

Some residents displayed humor in the aftermath of massive cleanup following Hurricane Irma. In worse-hit areas, there’s not much to laugh about as residents try to reassemble their lives. (photo by Teresa TL Bruce, TealAshes.com)

So it makes sense that I felt distracted while attempting to work last week. I missed my precious baby granddaughter (and her parents) while I dealt with Irma issues. Even so, I’m usually better able to tune out distractions while polishing prose — whether my clients’ or my own.

As that long, long week drew to an end, realization hit me. All at once, I understood what kept my attention blowing aside, why my mind felt muddled, where the eye of my inner storm hit a wall:

In a handful of days I would complete my seventh year as a widow. I once again faced the anniversary of my husband’s unexpected death. Read on here >>>

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I’m pretty sure when a doctor prescribes medication to a patient they’re supposed to discuss the potential side effects with them.  By pretty sure I mean this seems to make sense to me but I’m actually not 100% sure what the rule is because I avoid taking medication at all costs.

It just seems like good practice to warn patients about all the weird symptoms they’re likely to experience as a result of a medication, treatment, or therapy.  That way they don’t show up at your office in a week all like “well, my acid reflux is gone but I haven’t gone to the bathroom in a week.” Or, in the case of emotional exploration and certain therapy, saying “What’s going on doc?  I feel like a basket case!”

My current outlook has me contemplating this and feeling a bit remiss.  Since our inception, we’ve discussed many ways to explore, express, and seek therapy for grief, but we’ve never provided the disclaimer that sometimes some of these things may initially make you feel worse.

On some level you probably already understood healing means opening wounds and poking around.  It’s why we avoid thinking and talking about the things which force us to feel the sting of being scared, angry, guilty, hollow, and small.  We avoid the road that leads into darkness because we aren’t sure it will ever open onto a sunny path.

Maybe we should have warned you that when we asked you to explore your grief, we were really asking you to dive into the pain and keep swimming.  We were asking you to tolerate it, sit with it, and even embrace it.  Perhaps we should have clarified, many of the methods we recommend – journaling, art, therapy, etc – have the potential to make you feel miserable before you feel better.Side Effects

I remember someone talking about being in couple’s therapy, I can’t really remember who, but they said it’s kind of a nightmare.  For an hour they are forced to open up in a way they never have before.  Theoretically, things like honesty, communication, and truth are positive, but anyone who’s been in a relationship knows they can also sometimes lead to pain.  It makes total sense for a couple to leave these sessions feeling like crap, unable to recognize any progress in their capacity to communicate, empathize, and cope which (in theory) ought to happen in the long run.

The same sometimes holds true with individual therapy, sometimes you wander down emotionally dark alleys, admit truths, and accept the unacceptable.  Some days you might leave feeling refreshed and invigorated and some days you swear you’re never going back again.  Oftentimes the burn means it’s working – read this article on whether it’s time to break up with your therapist and if the answer is no, stick with it. 

Then there are the areas of creative, artistic, and expressive coping – journaling, art, writing, photography – these can be just as frustrating.  I’ve had a few people ask me if I think writing this blog has been cathartic and I think ultimately the answer is ‘yes’…but every so often I feel like the further in I dig here, the worse I feel.

Some days there are just no words or pictures to express how I’m feeling, and some days the words and pictures are right but troubling.  In my journal, I have at least a dozen opening paragraphs on a dozen different topics.  I write a paragraph, I stop writing, I look into space, and I think “no I don’t have the energy to explore this today”.  I’m not a writer so I don’t know if this is what writer's block feels like, but I am an avoider so I can say with complete certainty that I’m avoiding.  In order to write honestly it means admitting things and right now I’m just not in the mood.  My frustrated self tells me I’m better off lounging on the couch watching The Real Housewives of God Knows Where….but deep down I know I’m not.

My mother died many years ago and honestly it wasn’t even close to being the first time I felt the pangs of despair and hopelessness.  I’m not new to the game, I’ve experienced several different shades of anxiety and depression since my early 20s.  I know the frustrating feeling of “nothing I’m doing is working”. I know what it’s like to stand at the bottom of a pit without a ladder.  But I also know the only way to get out is to start digging.  To keep the things I know to be helpful even when I feel like I’m getting nowhere.

So this is my disclaimer to you, dealing with grief sometimes comes with a few emotional side effects.  The sting of sadness, guilt, shame, and despair – often these mean it’s working.  Don’t give up, keep trying, and call me in the morning.

Hey, you, make our day.  Subscribe to 'what's your grief' to receive posts straight to your inbox.

Edited by MartyT
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I like "What's Your Grief" and it's very handy having those articles sent directly to our email!

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BORROWED HOPE by Eloise Cole

Posted by The Compassionate Friends on October 16th, 2017

Lend me your hope for awhile,

I seem to have mislaid mine.

Lost and hopeless feelings accompany me daily.

Pain and confusion are my companions.

I know not where to turn.

Looking ahead to the future times

Does not bring forth images of renewed hope.

I see mirthless times, pain-filled days, and more tragedy.

Lend me your hope for awhile,

I seem to have mislaid mine.

Hold my hand and hug me,

Listen to all my ramblings.

I need to unleash the pain and let it tumble out.

Recovery seems so far distant,

The road to healing, a long and lonely one.

Stand by me. Offer me your presence,

Your ears and your love.

Acknowledge my pain, it is so real and ever present.

I am overwhelmed with sad and conflicting thoughts.

Lend me your hope for awhile.

A time will come when I will heal,

And I will lend my renewed hope to others.

~ Eloise Cole

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Beautiful.  It's so important to extend hope to those newer to this, they can't see it yet.  At my senior site there is much laughter, and kinship.  I look around and MOST of them are widowed.  

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What Is 'Sexual Bereavement'?

We don’t talk about it enough.

By Alice Radosh

It’s all over the media. Bestselling books, popular blogs, and talk shows have discovered that older people are enjoying sex. One writer in her 70s exclaims that she is having the best sex of her life. Studies report that people in their 60s, 70s and beyond consider sexuality an essential element in their lives and critical to their relationships. But there is one thing these upbeat studies are not saying. People in those age groups are also dying. And the death of a long-term partner leaves someone to grieve the end of this shared sexuality that was so critical to the relationship.

I hadn’t understood the importance of this until Bart, my husband of 40 years, died after a serious illness.  Read on here >>>

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A Day Like Every Other. Except~

POSTED BY ALISON MILLER ON OCTOBER 25, 2017

Today was an ordinary day like every other day has been since Chuck died.

Except that, today, I finally made a decision that I need to move my body. I need to get stronger. I need to move.

I’m 4.5 years since my world incinerated, and every so often I’ve made concentrated attempts at exercising.  Honestly, I can always find excuses to not work out, in the best of times.  When Chuck was alive, he and I exercise walked, no matter where we were.

And then he died and I gave up mostly.  I mean, seriously, what was the point? He ate well, he exercised, he took vitamins and supplements and did everything right and then cancer got him and he fucking died 3 weeks later.  I remember the day after he died, taking the bag where we kept all those vitamins and supplements and throwing them away, filled with rage and hopelessness and fuck yous (to the vitamins, because that’s a rational response}.

My eating is still shit and I don’t know how much that will change.  Except that I intend to exercise obsessively and that will keep me from sitting on my butt and eating chocolate.  Read on here >>>

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Haha, I gave up on the "looking good" part, just want to be somewhat healthy!  No way seems like a GOOD "way to go".  Not that I want to live into my 90s, but I don't need to die today either.

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  • 3 weeks later...

A good story from What's Your Grief   

Tell Two Jokes and Call me in the Morning: How Humor Helped my Family Grieve

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We are working on some projects over here at the WYG headquarters (otherwise known as ‘whatever coffee shop we wandered into this morning’) and were worried we’d fall behind on our blog posting schedule. We’re super lucky to have amazing grief-friends to help us out with a few guest posts so you don’t go into What’s Your Grief withdrawal.  

Today’s post comes to you from Stacy Beller Stryer.  Stacy is a pediatrician, parenting expert, author, and lover of humor and the great outdoors. She lost her husband to cancer when her daughters were ages 7 and 9 and have recently written a book to help newly widowed parents through their journey and that of their children.  We’re pretty excited to have her writing here, so I’ll get out of the way and let her get to it.  


Humor has always been a big part of my life.  No, let me rephrase that.  Humor has often been a necessary part of my life.  Humor was a particularly good friend of mine several years ago when my husband was diagnosed with and eventually succumbed to glioblastoma, a brain tumor.  You might wonder “why” or “how” I could even think about laughing during such a traumatic period, but this is when I needed it most. The year of my husband’s illness was so difficult and overwhelming that I welcomed any break from thinking about his treatment, our future, or his chances of survival. Humor provided a distraction, allowing me to think about something besides cancer, even if only for a few minutes.  It gave me a reason to smile and laugh, and instantaneously decreased the stress level in our house.  

I didn’t actually sit around a table telling jokes or devise a stand-up comedy routine about my life, although others have done this to cope with their grief.  I merely tried to find ways during my husband, Dan’s illness, to make my family feel normal.  I frequently reminded all of us, particularly our 6 and 9-year-old daughters, that life consisted not just of sad times but happy ones too, sometimes simultaneously.  I organized sleepovers and play dates with friends who I know would make Rachael and Becca laugh. We baked animal shaped cookies with outrageous decorations, slurped jello through a straw, and ate dessert for dinner and dinner for dessert.  Fun with food was a favorite theme.

Two specialties in our household were the whip cream escapade and the Singing in the Rain revival.  The escapade involved buying cans of whip cream and squirting them into our children’s mouths and onto the tips of their noses.  Of course, they then had to do the same to us.  Even Dan, who wasn’t feeling well and rarely smiled those days, loved it!  

The Singing in the Rain revival included three willing family members, umbrellas, raincoats, rain boots and a shower, although an outdoor sprinkler on a hot day or even a mud puddle would work wonderfully, too.  On this particular day we turned the water on, donned our gear, climbed into the shower together, fully clothed; and belted out the song, “Singing in the Rain.”   Years later we still talk about that day in the shower and, believe it or not, it is a fun, happy memory that occurred during one of the worst times of our lives.  

The period after Dan’s death was so incredibly sad.  Those who approached me were at a loss for what to say. Friends and family tried to help with words of support but, to be honest, it was the humorous, distracting stories that did the most good and provided a moment of relief from my grief.  The benefit of laughter was apparent during a series of email exchanges I had with a friend of mine, Jennifer, whose husband died suddenly a few years after Dan.  We began corresponding soon after his accident when just a few weeks after her husband’s death she asked me if I still dreamt about Dan.  

I responded, “Very rarely, but I never did a lot. I always ask for a sign from him to let me know he’s around – but I have strict conditions – make it obvious, don’t do it at night, and don’t make it scary!  I think it’s too much for him!”  

She wrote, “Stacy, I am loving this exchange. You had me laughing so hard at your description of the conditions you placed on Dan for the sign! I laughed because I did the same thing, so the laughter was both from sheer hilarity (“not at night”) and from relief that I’m not the only crazy weirdo (oops, I meant to type widow).”   We wrote more about dreams and life after death, where sorrow was mixed with humor.  “Stacy, Hilarious! What do you think they serve in the after-life? Bonbons and triple cream cheese? (my heaven).”

Humor continues to play an important role in my life, even years after Dan’s death.  My younger daughter, Eva, grieved for a long time after her dad’s death (not that we ever stop grieving in one form or another).  At first, she wouldn’t smile or laugh because she felt guilty and thought that if he couldn’t enjoy life anymore, she shouldn’t be allowed to either.  She shut out her feelings toward him and others, both negative and positive, in order to avoid the pain.  Over the years, however, she has learned how to compartmentalize his death and is no longer paralyzed when she thinks about him and the fact that he is no longer with us in body.  

I know she is better because of her humor.  If I blame something, let’s just say her stubbornness, as being inherited from her dad, she may respond with, “Oh, way to blame the dead guy!”  Dan would have absolutely loved this because she is sticking up for him, including him in our conversations, and comfortable enough to joke about a difficult aspect of her life.

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I’ll go ahead an acknowledge the giant turkey in the room, Thanksgiving can be the pits for people who are grieving. Many of the values, traditions, and messages associated with the day, like warmth, comfort, gratitude, and family togetherness, can feel in direct conflict with a grieving person’s actual reality. If you are grieving, you probably know what I mean by this. Although you may be hesitant to admit it in the face of all the festivities, the ’30-Days of Thankfulness’ challenges on Facebook, and Charlie Brown and his dang pumpkin. But you’re amongst grief-friends here, and it’s okay to admit that you’re feeling just a little (or a lot) less grateful than you’ve felt in years past.

After a death, it’s common for grieving people to feel apathy towards the experiences and activities that used to bring them joy. This is not a deliberate choice anyone makes, grief just changes the way life looks and feels. Sadly, this loss of joy may seem like a secondary loss, especially if you feel out of touch with things you previously cherished, like holidays and special days. What you wouldn’t give to feel those old familiar and enthusiastic holidays feelings, but instead, it feels like you’re standing out in the cold, watching through a window while everyone else enjoys the warmth and togetherness of the holiday season.

With all the uplifting and nostalgic holiday messaging, no one would blame you for feeling left out. Many people feel like the holidays are only for happy people and so those who are sad either need to shape up or ship out. However, I’m here to refute this notion. Your invitation to the holidays isn’t revoked simply because you don’t embody holiday cheer.

As I write this, Thanksgiving is only a few days away, and I know many of you experiencing the heavy thoughts and distressing emotions of grief may be thinking about scraping Thanksgiving altogether. Maybe you’re dreading grief triggers, maybe your loved one seemed so central to the day that you wouldn’t know how to carry it off without them, or maybe you’re just feeling anything but grateful.  If it’s the latter (a sense of gratitude) that’s making you feel cut-off from Thanksgiving, I want to offer one simple suggestion.

Just as the holidays aren’t only for happy people, neither is gratitude. You don’t have to choose between grief or feeling grateful. As we’ve said in the past, you can feel two things at once. In fact, grief is fertile ground for experiencing conflicting emotions. So here’s our not at all groundbreaking advice: Try to have a balanced outlook towards gratitude this Thanksgiving. Why is this suggestion important? Because, frankly, it sucks to feel alienated, isolated, left out, and disconnected, especially during the holidays. 

Okay, there are two parts to this, so get ready.

Part One: Remember, it’s okay to feel not grateful

I know that other people may be like, “Rah, Rah. Fun holiday office party. Carolers, how precious. Let’s go shopping. Whee!”, which may leave you feeling like the Grinch. But your not a holiday villain, you’re simply a person who had a difficult year. It’s okay to acknowledge this and to recognize your grief, apathy, and sadness. You don’t need to stuff your feelings for the benefit of other people. You are not responsible for any other adult’s happiness. Now obviously there will be times when you feel like you have to put on a front, like at work or child-related celebrations, and that’s okay. But the bottom-line here is that it’s okay to acknowledge all the reasons why you are anything but grateful.

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Part Two: For every gripe, find a gratitude

Look, we know the world has robbed you of something so incredibly precious, and so it is beyond annoying for us to come along and tell you to be grateful. Also, we just got through telling you it’s okay to not feel grateful. We don’t offer this suggestion lightly because we know finding gratitude may feel like a stretch. Just hear us out, we’ve actually put some thought into this.

  • As we acknowledged, finding something to be grateful for doesn’t minimize or erase the difficult thoughts, memories, and emotions you are experiencing. It may simply help to balance your outlook a little.
  • Balancing your outlook is important. Have you ever read our post about the grief lens and its impact on outlook? If not, I can summarize. Basically, grief can make people feel cheated, angry, self-focused, bitter, lonely, isolated, resentful, guilty, sad, anxious, worried, or depressed. What many people fail to realize is that, over time, negativity can have a large impact on their overall worldview. People with a negative outlook may be more likely to find depressing, cynical, and suspicious explanations for events. They may feel as though their lives are globally awful, people are globally awful, they themselves are globally awful, and believe that these realities will never change. 
  • Gratitude has been shown to help. In 2003, Michael McCullough and Robert Emmons conducted a study where participants were asked to keep a weekly journal for nine weeks.  The participants were randomly placed into three different diary groups; in the first  group participants were asked to record up to five things they were grateful or thankful for, in the second group participants were asked to think back on the day and record at least five hassles that occurred in their lives, finally the third group was asked to just record the days events. Despite journaling only once a week, participants in the grateful group reported increased well-being, better health, they exercised more, felt life was better and had increased optimism.
  • Even though Thanksgiving will feel different this year, actively seeking gratitude can be an empowering way to reclaim a part of the holiday for yourself.

Finding gratitude doesn’t have to be complicated.  It’s simple, actually. All you have to do is pay attention to your thoughts and when you catch yourself feeling really negative and pessimistic, think to yourself, “Yes, AND I also have X to be grateful for.” I have confidence that you can find something to be grateful for, like a hot cup of coffee, a happy memory, a song you like, your dog, your cat, green bean casserole – you get the picture. Even if you don’t want to make a habit of this whole gratitude thing, just give it a try through Thanksgiving. Because let’s be honest, you don’t want to be caught off guard when some yahoo suggests everyone share one thing they are grateful for at your Thanksgiving dinner.

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  • 4 weeks later...

Good article.  I don't drive at night and that's when most events are so I have no choice but to catch a ride or stay home.  Thankfully my grief is enough ways out that isn't a problem now, but that was sound advice for anyone newer in their grief (by newer I mean first few years).

BTW, I love WYG What's Your Grief!  I get their emailed articles every week and found them helpful with my grief support group.  I'm always looking for information!

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  • 2 weeks later...

Monday, January 1, 2018

Zero

 
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Zero
        
           January 1                    Mark Liebenow
 
 
Zero degrees this morning
as if there was no temperature.
The world postcard still.
No creatures move.
I breathe the crisp air in slow,
not wanting to freeze my lungs.
 
Steam curls from neighborhood rooftops.
Thick snow covers the road and my mailbox.
Black tree branches brush haiku
across the white paper landscape.
 
The woods are silent. 
No birds at my feeder of sunflower seeds.
Deer have not followed the creek’s path up
to paw through the white crust
for green moss underneath.
 
Zero is a door between. 
What will be born in me this year?
What will die?
 
Dawn trails pink across the frozen horizon
warms the air to eight degrees. 
The crystalline world sparkles in sunlight.
Crows glide across the frosted sky. 
 
A cardinal sweeps to the feeder.
his feathers bright red against the white. 
Wrens come, then chickadees,
a Downey woodpecker. 
Their sounds return life
 
to the brittle forest.
 
Posted by Mark Liebenow at 10:01 AM 
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And I'm glad it's not zero here today, pretty as it is.

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