Day 304/365 Show Up

Some of you, especially those who have been reading this blog from the beginning, have come to regard me as somewhat of an expert on grief.

Well…let me clarify

I am not certain that I have had any revelations that literally anyone else who has experienced loss hasn’t had – but what I have done is share my thoughts and feelings about my father’s death (among many other things, as it turns out) with all who care to read about them.

As a result, I have been told that my gift is putting words to some universal feelings around loss and grief. I suppose in this way I am able to shine a light on the fact that as human beings who have loved and lost, we are never alone in our pain.

Many readers have told me that when someone they know experiences a loss, they recommend my blog to help that person process it. I have to admit this feels good. I like knowing that my choice to process my grief in such a public way has helped people (other than me), and perhaps will continue to help people even after I am done with my “365 days”.

I hope so.

At the moment, though, I feel that my words are completely inadequate.

My 45 year old friend, Melissa, became a widow one week ago today – a widow and a single mother of four.

I have written about how we do ourselves and others a disservice by comparing our pain (or our cause of pain) with that of others. I have said that grief is grief; loss is loss. We feel how we feel, they feel how they feel. Everyone’s feelings are valid and true, regardless of whether we perceive someone as having more or less reason to suffer than we do.  As with anything in life, comparing ourselves to others in any way does not serve us.

While I still believe that to be true, sometimes I just can’t help it.

As I watched the children’s faces as their father was being lowered into the earth, I felt emotionally gutted. I couldn’t help but think: I had roughly three decades longer with my wonderful father than these children had with theirs.

My pain was enormous. So…what of theirs? Can you even image?

As for my friend, she lost the person with whom she planned to spend the rest of her life (happily, I might add). The life she has, they built it together over the course of more than twenty years.  Everything in her home whispers a story about Jaime.

He is everywhere and nowhere all at once.

In some ways I feel afraid of (or perhaps intimidated by) the grief I imagine she holds within her. I am not proud of that, but I will own it, because I know my discomfort comes from a desire to relieve her pain, coupled with a deep knowing that I can’t possibly do that for her.

Her pain is hers to process, and she is so incredibly strong and capable.

That being said, I can show up for her anyway. I can show up even when I know I can’t take away the pain. I can show up to witness her in her grief. I can show up for the hard and messy and complicated stuff that lands heavily and mercilessly after the dust settles.

I can show up.


Day 293/365 Fear is a Needy Neighbor, Maybe I Should Fix Her Up

When you have dealt with fear a lot over a short period of time, there are some benefits – the biggest one being, it is not an unfamiliar sensation. You don’t have to go through that, “Oh shit, what is this feeling? inner dialogue.  You know...and you usually understand why it is being revealed in a particular moment or circumstance.

For those of us who have made its acquaintance somewhat regularly, fear becomes a bit like a needy neighbor with a penchant for “pop ins”.  We didn’t invite her over, but it is the compassionate thing to do to invite her in, to see if we can’t ease her suffering in some way. Sometimes just giving her that little bit of attention is all she needs. Other times she camps out on the couch for so long we’re afraid she’ll never leave…and boy does she ramble on and on.

My own needy neighbor doesn’t seem to do this much anymore – the camping out, that is. It helps that she doesn’t need to keep reintroducing herself. I know her pretty well, and she’s not all bad.  She does usually bring with her wine and desserts, and she spurs some interesting self-reflection, so I mean…she tries to be a good guest.

The other day my needy neighbor showed up unexpectedly (as she is want to do). It seemed like she was making herself pretty comfortable on my couch, when I grew bored with her chatter and decided to distract myself with a book. I picked one up, flipped through it and read this passage…

“When gripped by fear or anxiety, the reflex is to hold on, speed up, or remove oneself. Yet when we feel the reflex to hold on, that is usually the moment we need to let go. When we feel the urgency to speed up, that is typically the instant we need to slow down. Often when we feel the impulse to flee, it is the opportunity to face ourselves.” – Mark Nepo, The Book of Awakening

I don’t know about you but I can think of so many times in my life when I reacted to fear and anxiety by doing all of those things – holding on, speeding up, or removing myself. 

I know for a while I hung on to my marriage out of fear. I labelled it loyalty or commitment…but I see now that it was just my old friend, fear. I did not want to face myself. I did not want to hear myself silently screaming that I didn’t want to be there anymore…telling me that being afraid wasn’t a reason to stay.

What was I afraid of?

I was afraid of being seen as a failure, afraid of emotionally damaging my children, afraid of not being able to support myself, afraid of starting over.

Unfortunately being steeped in feelings of fear within a relationship creates a pattern – a conditioned response. Do you remember, I wrote a while back about creating an account on a dating site? How I panicked when I was asked to describe myself? I couldn’t go through with it. The only man I have allowed myself to want is someone who would never let me close. I hid there in plain sight – emotionally unavailable on account of wanting someone who is emotionally unavailable.

How clever of me.

What am I afraid of?

I am afraid of making the same mistakes. I am afraid of thinking I know someone and finding out I don’t. I’m afraid of rejection. I am afraid of that cold, painful purgatory we find ourselves in when love is replaced by obligation, and bitterness is all we can taste on our tongues.

Fear knocks on my door whenever I even think about risking myself in this way. She really considers herself to be an expert on the topic of love. She has twisted love and fear up in my head so insidiously that I almost believe they are the same.

But I know something she doesn’t.

I know that when the right person arrives, I’ll muster the courage to introduce him to her (it’s only polite, after all). I suspect he’ll make an introduction of his own – his fear, to me. Perhaps his fear and mine will keep each other company, and they will be less likely to pop in on us unexpectedly, and…

When they do show up…

I hope we will try – to let go when the urge is to hold tightly, to slow down when the urge is to speed up, and to stay…when the impulse is to flee.

To use our fear as an opportunity to face ourselves, together. 

Artwork Foraged and Photographed by Meredith Brower Photography.

Available at and at The Power of Juice.

Day 253/365 No Words

Chemotherapy is the oddest thing. My mother didn’t feel the slightest bit sick until they started trying to cure her…until they started pumping her with poison to make her well. I spend time with her almost every day, but sometimes (more and more often) I don’t know what to say…

Everything I say seems wrong.

If I am happily talking about things I’ve done or plans I’ve made, that feels wrong. She isn’t getting out much these days….certainly she isn’t planning trips or buying concert tickets.

When I find myself complaining about my ordinary, day-to-day woes, their triviality hits me.

My problems are small.

I suddenly feel small.



Sometimes I just sit quietly. I listen. I know that just showing up is much more important than finding the right thing to say. Nothing feels right at the moment, and no words will make it so.

Perhaps (I hope), ‘I love you’ can be heard the loudest,

when it’s quiet.