The Hard Work of Grief

The cold winter winds are starting to warm just a little through the warmth; I still get the chills from February breezes. As the year started, I began a Grief Recovery group. It has been my heart to use my training to help those who have suffered loss to communicate their undelivered emotional communications.

What I've learned is that grief is cumulative and cumulatively negative. As I've observed, all the classes begin with faces filled with vulnerability, despair, and deep sadness. At the onset, we discuss the old tools we use to manage our losses. I help them understand those tools to recognize them in not only their current losses but their past losses too. Then the remaining weeks are spent learning and activating new tools to help them understand and complete their losses. We learn about how time doesn't heal, but time and correct actions heal. We learn about how completion does not mean forgetting. When we take the steps toward completion, we make room for memories filled with joy, hope, and love.

I speak from a place of understanding. This last week it became clear to the participants that they have taken the steps and are moving towards completing their losses. I can see it not just in how they look but also in their lightness, and it's remarkable. I'm privileged to partner with these beautiful souls who have trusted me with their hearts. If you want to join me, I have classes in March and can help one-on-one too. Will you trust me to help you with your broken heart? Let me be for you "a heart with ears." Grief Recovery Dawn Kincade

Grief, Coffee, and the missing of Community

The last month I’ve been busy writing stories for work. It is by far one of the things I enjoy most about the work that I do. Yesterday while working on content for my stories I came across some old photos from many years ago. Old photos have a way of bringing to the forefront those things that have been hovering just below the surface, and today, those feelings came rushing back. It’s hard to express with any understanding of how the pandemic has brought with it the pain of loss and grief but multiplied to the 10th power. I was sharing with a friend recently that one of the difficult things about grief is that nothing is ever the same. Now, of course, that can be said about many things really, and that’s not to diminish how others feel. But I can say that one of the things that I needed was routine after Evan died. I needed to have something that got me up every morning as sometimes sleep was fitful, and my heartbroken.

One of my routines is getting up and going to Peet’s every morning for coffee and to see the carousel. Sometimes I can catch a sunrise or chase the moon as it sets. But Peet’s is the place I could go and oftentimes think about Evan. When I went in for my coffee in the afternoons, he’d sometimes sneak up behind me and say, Hey Mom!. It’s a place I could always find Evan or Alex back in the day, and it is, without a doubt, a memory keeper. It has always been a place that lets me know I am home. For me, it is essential not only for coffee but for my emotional and mental health. In the first few weeks of SIP, I remember going in and being teary as I thought about how they stayed open and how for me, it was a lifeline. Peet’s never closed. When sleep was fleeting, and I was up at 5 am, I’d go and wait for them to open. The first few months of this shutdown were hard for so many reasons, but the fact that something stayed the same was comforting. I know it sounds silly as we are in the middle of a global crisis, but as many are learning, much about this SIP has to do with grief and loss. The pandemic made grief that much more intense, and it continues to feel that way.

Peet’s holds memories of past employees who have moved on to other jobs or cities. It’s a place where I’ve made friends, and it’s a place where community happened every day. It’s something I REALLY miss. I miss the community. I wonder about some of the older folks I met who came to Peet’s for connection. I miss seeing them, and in the missing, my heart longs for Evan and for days that are long gone and fading. Just to write that is heartwrenching. Grief is not always gentle. It can come at you like a freight train or like a gentle breeze, but I can tell you that it’s not made this SIP easy or manageable. Thanks, Peet’s, for providing for this grieving, heartbroken momma.

You are essential to me!