Reflecting on the death of his grandson, my friend shared this on facebook:

Two years have passed since Jan 4th, and yet the shadow of that redwood, mighty and indifferent, still looms over my heart as if it fell but yesterday. Aeon—his name an echo of eternity, his spirit a flicker of divine light—was taken by the same earth that cradled him. A boy so full of wonder and possibility, his laughter seemed to carry the whispers of angels, and his eyes bore a brightness that spoke of a world yet to be explored. How cruelly the tree, a symbol of life and strength, became the instrument of loss. Yet, even in this, there is something profoundly human—a mystery of suffering, a question directed at the heavens. Aeon’s absence leaves a silence that reverberates louder than words, a reminder that love endures beyond the grave, bearing witness to the unbearable and transforming it into something eternal.

Dan’s loss reverberates with the universal human experience of suffering. And speaks to my heart about the nature of true comfort.

What a contrast. The comfort he shares is so different than the notion we’ve absorbed, that comfort is solely about ease and convenience.

No! Dan’s words echo that true comfort is found in love’s endurance through all of life’s challenges and reaches beyond the grave.

At the heart of this episode is the unwavering belief in the transformative power of love, weaving through history and the struggles of marginalized voices who have fought for equity and justice, at great personal cost.

Love is the only force powerful enough to make a duet of wonder and grief ~ words from the poem, Adrift by Mark Nepo.

Perhaps isolation is an epidemic because we've been conditioned to think we are less than we are – that we and others don’t have the capacity to be with all that life brings.

Love, loss, pain, and joy are all part of the human experience. But we’ve absorbed a lie that we and others can’t handle the complexity of life. This leads to hiding emotions, which keeps us segregated from ourselves and others.

Isolation.

I found out Chip died at midnight. By 7:00 am, 9 women were at my door ready to support me however possible.

That afternoon, I could hear them huddled together, whispering. I yelled out, “Nothing about me without me!”.

They were trying to help, but didn’t recognize that talking without me sent the message that I wasn’t able to be with my own life and denied me the community I needed for this desperate time.

How have you experienced this in your own life - times when you or others have tried to "protect" someone from the full range of emotions?

What could it look like to embrace the complexity of life's joys and sorrows together?

What intimacy might this create?

Because…

“The way you see any individual in your mind is the best they can ever be in your presence.” - John Overdurf.

In this episode, I share more stories and metaphors of how I’ve seen and experienced John’s words.

Join the conversation on death, loss and grief as the Grief Heals substack: http://griefheals.substack.com

A sweet friend and client sent me, "The Hidden Messages of Water," by Masaru Emoto. The treasure I received from the author and water is

Love and Gratitude

https://a.co/d/bSAS7zQ

This has me thinking about the radical invitation of grief.

What if grief’s invitation is to

Slow.

Down.

When I get slow. I mean slow enough to notice that I breathe. Slow enough to notice that I see.

Every time I get slow, Love and Gratitude emerge.

Even when I’m entering my deepest losses, love and gratitude arise when I get slow.

Grief has a powerful tendency to arrest us, to slow us down in a way that can feel overwhelming.

I wonder if it feels overwhelming because we don’t have a place to hold it in a culture that prizes productivity above people.

On the other hand, a storm might be called overwhelming, though there is a sense that storms are part of the natural world and won’t last forever.

We somehow know that there is a flow and calm becomes storm and storm becomes calm – like it’s part of the same cycle.

This book has me thinking about the cost of moving fast and reflecting on what that has meant for me and those around me. It also has me looking at slowing down in new ways.

As you listen to this episode, I invite you to consider:

How has grief invited you to slow down and become more present?

How does slowing down help your communication and interactions with yourself? Loved ones?

I believe that saying yes to grief's radical invitation, opens us up to a deeper understanding of ourselves, our connections, and the beauty that lies within our experiences.

Have a listen here and please share it with a friend!