Grief is a sacred journey


Healing My Heart at Hospicare

“I’m interested in volunteering at Hospicare,” I explained, my voice catching in my throat as I choked back tears. “I have experience teaching women’s health workshops and know how important it is to get bereavement support, so

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My Creative Dilemma: Push Ahead or Yield?

If I only push harder, I’ll catch a tailwind and launch my book. This month it will be finished, I said in August. I said it again in September. Burn those engines on high heat and surge

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Zapped by the Dalai Lama

I squinted in the harsh morning light and shivered in anticipation. Standing outside a hotel near Carmel, NY on a May morning in 1997, I felt like a celebrity stalker, but I was hungry for spiritual contact.

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Engaging and Letting Go: Holding the opposites of love and loss

“I asked Liz to marry me,” my older son David says on the phone. I hear the drone of engine noise, so I know he’s driving home from a weekend trip. “What did she say?” I tease,

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Flowers for the Living, Flowers for the Dead

  “Go ahead. Arrange and rearrange the stones on top of your beloved’s grave. Keep arranging those stones for as long as it hurts to do it, then stop just before you really want to. Put the

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Civil Disobedience against the Vietnam War at Peace Bridge, Buffalo, NY: 1967

I lean into Vic, tucking my shoulder under his arm. Feeling me tremble, he unzips his jacket and wraps it around both of us. I’d rather be in bed, pressed against his naked body, but instead I’m

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The Dalai Lama’s Templeton Prize

In March 2012, a friend sent a link to a Huffington Post article: Dalai Lama Wins Templeton Prize For Work On Science, Religion. I flashed back to forgotten details of the weeks before my husband Vic’s death

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Creating a Grief Ritual: Love, Loss, and Continuing Bonds

Sunday, June 3 was the fourth anniversary of my husband’s death. I put aside time that day to mourn for Vic and our lost future while honoring the gifts of our marriage and my emerging life. My

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Coming Home

Not long before midnight, I put on my miner’s lamp and tour the yard like a one-eyed Cyclops. It’s March 19, 2012, usually a time for snow on my hill in the Finger Lakes of New York,

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