Generally, over time sorrow turns into joyful memories. Feeling pain and loss is normal. When grief becomes debilitating, you should reach out to a therapist, counselor, or pastor, who can help guide you through the grieving process.
When we lose a loved one, the difficult part is trying to learn how to function without them. The relationship is so ingrained in our daily habits, we have to train ourselves to learn new behaviors without the loved one around.
We plan for the birth of a child, for our children's weddings and for our retirements, don't we? Then why don't we plan for one of life's greatest transitions?
It was such a gift to realize that I was not alone. So many women have miscarriages, even ones who have healthy babies now. It is nature's way. And it can also be a cleansing process to have a healthy pregnancy going forward.
Nothing seems to shock us more than a diagnosis of cancer. I suspect it's terrifying because, deep inside, each of us knows it could happen to us. We pause when a friend or family member is stricken, our frightened minds turning to mush. Oh, no, we think. Am I next?
I am honored to have worked with these families, and to have been able to take their journey with them, out of the darkness and back into the light.
I detest the news. In fact, the news has become so frightening to me, especially now that I have a son, that I often avoid it. I know it's not the responsible, civic thing to do, but sometimes, it's the only way I stay sane.
Guilt was only holding me back from moving on in life. I know my parents would say I'm crazy for having felt that way, but what kind of newly "only child" wouldn't? It's hard to accept the fact that I am technically an "only child" now, but that is truly my reality.
I didn't get to meet Robin. Yet, like so many of you, I felt like I knew him. I'd had the privilege of peering into those sensitive blue eyes on TV or in the movies, and I believed that I'd plumbed the depths of his soul.
cried during my Tai Chi as I felt the energy of the mountains and Robert fill me. And I played with my horse and danced. And found I could be whole. And found I could be shattered.
Diane, 28, is a legal assistant in Danbury, Conn. This is her story. Growing up, I saw my family as being loving and healthy. Then I found out my b...
I'm not sure why I walked into Barnes and Noble that afternoon, except that the "self-help" aisle seemed like a logical place to be as I pushed the wheelchair of my four-year-old son who had just been diagnosed with a rare, degenerative brain disorder.
Grief may be private or it may be communal. Either way, it is a personal emotion, experience, and era that you either choose to share or not.
For me, there is no cemetery. I sit on the stairs facing the bookcase on the landing where my father's ashes are beautifully boxed. Usually, I have a Coke and a couple of French fries in hand. Sometimes, I'll play an old Earth, Wind & Fire CD from my dad's collection, maybe Sammy Davis Jr., or Barry White.
This film dares to ask unsettling questions and portray graphic dimensions of the tremendous risks people are willing to take, and the horrifying suffering many undergo, just to take a chance on gaining US citizenship.
Grieving isn't new for me, and it's been a long, long road -- this journey of saying goodbye to my father. Ronald Reagan called his Alzheimers the "long goodbye", and he was right. Since the day my mom called to tell me the news six years ago, it's been an incredibly difficult, painful but often beautiful experience.
One of the greatest lessons in life is that everything is impermanent. All things come and go. We live in such a structured society, where everything is broken down into steps or organized in a rational way. But there is no rationalizing grief.
Fred's journey through grief is a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. He has been able to maintain a healthy, loving sense of connection with Rose and at the same time engage in living in the present, and allowing his life to flourish.
I find rebirthing to be excruciating. I am consciously participating in its unfolding. That is part of the pain. The awareness. The consciousness. The involvement. It is not going easily or quietly or calmly. It is agony. Filled with bottomless voids, and oh so many memories. Memories of the past and of what could have been. But will not be. And I struggle to make new memories.
There are still moments of sadness, moments when I yearn for the physical presence of my daughter. I have learned that joy and sadness will be part of my experience for the remainder of my life. However, I have also found my peace in a forever-changed world; that has been empowering.
What do I do with this dream? And now these thoughts? What part of the past is dragging me down? What part of the past can I let go of?
As a bereavement counselor, it is my job to help create a safe space to give voice to the unspeakable, and to companion others in their grief journey as they travel into the wilderness of their soul in search of their own inner knowing and truth.
I could pretend, but that pretending cost me. I could be reasonable, but telling that lie was exhausting. Now, when I read about grief, when I attend conferences that talk about grief, I think about those early days. I think about being reasonable. I think of how ridiculous that is.
Time keeps marching on -- relentlessly. Passed nine months, and it's halfway to ten months. I feel like I am in a Space Shuttle launch countdown seque...
Mom was hysterical. Equal parts angry, touched and relieved I wasn't with child. "How can I be mad?" she asked, I had hoped hypothetically. She loved it. But she was definitely kind of mad.
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