Finding Meaning

In the time since I last wrote, I think I have been busy with what is sometimes referred to as the sixth stage of grief, Finding Meaning. I say ‘think I have’ as that seems to be where I’ve landed, but much of the time just felt like treading water. Flailing around and trying to breathe.

When Jackson died, EVERYTHING changed. While in the initial disorientation and devastation, I knew this was true at some level. I had no idea what it meant in reality. I did not know that all that once mattered was now in question. I did not know how to even imagine a future. I did not know it would mean I must first grieve the future I’d been planning. I did not know it meant I must first find the will to stay here, on this earth, to even consider what is next. But it has meant those things, and moment by moment, day by day, I have found my way to a new future path.

From the very beginning, I noticed the dearth of grief support and the general collective discomfort of talking about or engaging with grief and grieving people. Openings to be in grief, to grieve, often felt timebound and limited. This scarcity and insufficient support for grief tugged on me. Eventually, it began to feel like a calling, and in the last few years of flailing and breathing, I have accrued some experiences and learnings to support me in sitting with others in their grief.

I completed half of a master’s in counseling psychology program, including clinical time, dropping out when I knew it was not the path for me any longer. The time in the program provided me ample opportunity to write, perhaps why I haven’t here for so long. Those papers were like excavation sessions into family of origin and childhood experiences. I have learned that grief stirs up old wounds – our bodies, inundated with the weight of the new grief, shifts and squirms and awakens those places within us where we have undigested, unprocessed stuff. School was a brilliant opportunity for me to work with all of that old content. I have no regrets about going or about dropping out. It served me well in many ways.

While still wanting to work in the realm of grief, but not as a therapist, I have continued immersing myself in ways of being with others who are grieving. I’ve trained as an end-of-life doula, a certified grief educator, and through a legal program in Oregon, am training as a psilocybin facilitator. I have read and listened to a lot about grief. I have sought support from several others who work in grief to see how they do it and to continue my own healing work.

It has been five years now since Jackson died. An anniversary that feels significant, like a milestone of sorts. We survived this long! Though, more subtly, it felt like a moment to pause and notice, to take stock. Somewhere in being with this anniversary, I felt the calling in me get louder. It is time to move on to the next thing. It is time to live into the me I have become in the aftermath of loss.

When David Kessler wrote Finding Meaning and indicated it was a sixth stage of grief, he intended it as an acknowledgment that although for most of us grief will lessen in intensity over time, it will never end. But if we allow ourselves to move fully into something meaningful, we can transform grief into something rich and fulfilling. Through meaning, we can find more than pain.

A young friend of mine recently asked me in a text what brings me joy. What a beautiful question to ponder. I didn’t respond to her immediately. In fact, it was nearly two weeks. When I did, I shared how much I had appreciated thinking about that question each day. What is bringing me joy? My response was a list of mostly ‘small things’ that may not seem significant. The sunshine on my face while out walking Mia. The faint sent of the sea when down at Golden Gardens. Hard laughing with a friend about something silly. Watching a man doing crazy gymnastic moves at the park across from my house. Sitting on my back porch chatting with Eiseley. These small thing moments, when noticed, when acknowledged, provide a reprieve from the pain we carry. There is meaning to be found there, too.

At the end of August, I closed the consulting business that I’d had for over 20 years. Today, I am opening the doors for a grief doula practice. Grief Momma. For me, isn’t about how I get around or through grief, but how do I live with grief and continue to move forward in my life. How do I create more capacity in my life around the grief that will always be in me? My intention is to support others in the process of their grief, to walk with them as they navigate the difficult terrain of their own loss.

It feels strange to say that I feel so grateful. That the thing that nearly irretrievably broke me, has led me to something that feels so fulfilling and full of joy. But it is true. And in each step on the path that brought me here, I have felt guidance, love and support from Jackson.

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It has been a while since I have written something for this space. I have thought about it often; ideas crossing my mind, paragraphs composed even, as I walk Mia, my dog. But the capacity, the juice, to sit down and write just hasn’t been there. I wonder about this at times. Mostly though, I’ve just waited for a moment when it felt like time again. Today seems to be that day.