Going Back to Go Forward

October has been a whirlwind of emotions, filled with celebrations and a breathtaking trip to experience the fall colors. In addition, I found myself diving back into facilitating Grief Recovery, both with an in-person group and through several one-on-one sessions via Zoom. Each time I begin these groups, I feel my heart opening up to the reality that I still have work to do surrounding grief and loss. It’s a universal experience; we’re all grievers in our own right, even if we haven't fully acknowledged it.

As I help others navigate their grief journeys, I realize I must examine myself more deeply. Reflecting on this, I am acutely aware that life moves on relentlessly. I'm pushed forward, yet I can't help but look back and address those unfinished emotional pieces. We all experience a shared journey, and it’s perfectly okay to embrace that healing is a continual process that takes time.

During my recent visit to New York, I had the chance to return to my old neighborhood, which I had not seen in over 50 years. Having moved away in 1971, I was struck by how much had changed; in many ways, I barely recognized it. This return also confronted me with a part of myself that I had neglected or tried to silence, reminding me of the importance of embracing every aspect of who we are as we navigate our lives.

So I enter into November having all the feels as it is particularly poignant for me, as I acknowledge that this week marks the eighth anniversary of Evan’s accident and his incredible act of giving his organs to save several lives. I’m so proud of Evan for his sacrifice. That thought resonates profoundly in my heart, especially as I contemplate my own possible need for a kidney in the near future. I’m grateful to be able to process my feelings with tools I’ve acquired through my training in the Grief Recovery Method and as I help others. Every time I’m allowed to help others, I, too, am helping myself.

The Coming of Fall

As we transition from summer to fall, I find myself reminiscing while looking forward to an upcoming trip to the East to enjoy the beautiful fall foliage. However, there's a lingering sense of unease when I think back to the events that unfolded between September 3rd and October 9th of 2020. It was an incredibly challenging time, and just recalling those days brings back feeling overwhelmed and anxious. In that short period, I experienced the loss of my mom, received a cancer diagnosis, laid my mom to rest, underwent surgery, and embarked on a journey of recovery. Following the surgery, I had to undergo radiation as a precaution, which continued until the end of 2020.

Reflecting on that time fills me with disappointment, frustration, and anger. Nevertheless, I've taken steps towards healing by allowing myself to acknowledge and process these emotions. Through the work of grief recovery, I've learned the importance of sitting with my feelings, allowing myself the necessary time to process them, and then expressing those feelings in a safe space. Unfortunately, there's often a lack of understanding when giving grieving people the space to process their emotions. Many of us are told that we're doing great things for the community, but the truth is that we carry deep and long-lasting hurts. People often buy into myths such as "It just takes time" or "Keep your mind off it," or they try to fill the void with other distractions. At times, we may isolate ourselves because we feel like a burden, or we put on a brave face to help others while neglecting our pain and loss. It's also not uncommon for others to tell us not to feel bad, which only adds to the struggle.

I want to share that I am available to help. I want to be a heart with ears and allow you the space to heal your heart. You are not alone. I have an in-person group that will start in October, and for now, I will only be facilitating in-person groups. I’m available for one-on-one online only. I understand how difficult it can be to cope with such feelings, and I want you to know that you are not alone. It is essential to acknowledge that the adverse effects of grief can accumulate over time, so I want to encourage you to seek help when you feel ready. Remember, asking for support is okay - we all need it sometimes. Follow this link to Through a Glass Dimly for more info on groups and when they begin.

Reflections on a Cloudy June Day

The sky is covered in clouds today, reminding me that the weather is constantly changing. Even in sunny California, we can be surprised by a sudden rainstorm with big drops falling in late June. As I watch the clouds gathering today, I find myself feeling reflective. I am struck by how time has passed and how much has happened in the past year.

It's hard to believe that just one year ago, I was getting ready for a kidney biopsy on 6/30, struggling with the mystery of my declining health. And now, I'm preparing for an incredible adventure—a river cruise along the Danube and a tour of the beautiful settings from the film "The Sound of Music," which holds a special place in my heart as the first movie I ever watched. I've shared much about my journey and am excited about the new experiences ahead.

I often reflect on the various transitions and losses I have experienced. My discussions about Grief Recovery hold significant meaning to me, as I hope that sharing my experiences may resonate with at least one person. It’s important to acknowledge that loss isn’t solely related to death; it can encompass a wide range of events that evoke feelings of grief.

My journey has been marked by numerous losses, such as relocating, changing jobs, losing pets, navigating an empty nest, and experiencing relationship shifts. Through the process of Grief Recovery, I’ve gained profound insights into myself, and I wholeheartedly believe that this program has been the most beneficial and impactful for my personal growth.

As I look back on the past year, I feel deeply thankful for the stability in my health. Despite the challenges of the year, I am grateful for the ability to continue traveling and for the personal growth I’ve experienced. In addition to the skills I’ve acquired over the years, both professionally and personally, I’ve also delved into the art of photography. Furthermore, I’m proud to have attained the title of Grief Recovery Specialist, with experience with online and in-person groups, which has empowered me to support and guide others through their healing and recovery journeys. There’s more to come, so stand by!

My Word for 2024

In the quiet of the day today, I began thinking about the year's end and my word for 2024. This year has not been precisely what I thought it would be, with my word for this year being "Inspire." My primary reason for choosing this word was that after launching my Grief Recovery in-person groups, I wanted to inspire others to process loss through the Grief Recovery Method. I was able to host three groups in 2023 and help so many folks with their losses. It was a great blessing. Seeing some of the folks who've gone through my groups and the transformation I see in them has been amazing. That is inspiring for me. Yet, in the meanwhile, some other things transpired in my personal life that left me feeling a bit defeated. I'm never sure what the results of my word for the year will be, but I always intend to be the encourager. 

In July of this year, after a kidney biopsy, I was given a diagnosis of Fibrillary Glomerulonephritis https://rarediseases.org/rare-diseases/fibrillary-glomerulonephritis/

It's a long story, but this was after months of tests, which finally resulted in a biopsy in June and a diagnosis in July after confirmation from the Mayo Clinic. With this in mind and a little research, I've stumbled across my word for 2024. Since July, I've been working with my doctor and a few other clinicians to get to a place of stability with my health. For me, this is a good thing. This disease is progressive with no cure, so stability is good. I've had a lot of emotions I've carried for the last year, much of it just in the previous six months. Recently, I didn't realize how much I was carrying until I had a massage, which left me in tears and exhausted from some of what I was holding. Some of what I was holding is the weight of this disease. Some of what I'm holding is cumulative grief that feels heavier during the holidays. Some of what I carry is just life, which doesn't always feel good. Part of my training in Grief Recovery is to be present. Sit with what makes my heart sad and, in time, give it a voice. I'm still processing all of it. 

So, with that, my word for 2024 is stable-not likely to fall or give way, as a structure, support, foundation, etc.; firm; steady. Able or likely to continue or last; firmly established; enduring or permanent. I'm praying for my health to continue to be stable. I also hope to continue to lend my expertise and training to other grievers to help them process their losses in the new year. If it's time to process your loss, please reach out so we can chat. I have groups starting in January.

 https://www.griefrecoverymethod.com/grms/dawn-kincade

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

A Zookeeper of Introverts

Today would have been your 33rd trip around the sun. I’m not going to lie; I’m sad you aren’t here. I’m sorry that you are missing all the things. Part of the process of the completion of our relationship with Grief Recovery is talking through our hopes, dreams, and expectations, and I’m grateful to have processed those things. Still, those feelings can surface on days like today, and I must face the grief of you not being here. I’ve learned a lot over the last two years, and I often feel like a broken record when sharing about Grief Recovery. I share because I know of loss, and everyone is walking out their losses individually. I can listen and be a heart with ears. I’m also grateful to have processed such a painful loss as Evan’s death. Pain does not equal love. Carrying painful feelings is not how love carries on. Sweet memories and funny stories, along with the love of family and friends, being truthful about what hurts, and not running away from painful feelings by doing things that help me not feel them. (overeating, drinking, shopping, and isolation) I’ve done that too long, which is part of the problem. So, at this moment, I am heartbroken, and I miss you. There is a hollow place in our family because you are not here. I can’t pretend it’s not there; part of that reality’s truth is to say it. Happy Birthday to you! You’re missed every day, especially at this time of year.

Giving my feelings a voice.

November's cool, crisp air brings a melancholy of watching the warmth of summer cool into fall. October is always packed with birthdays and days of Indian summer. Alex and I share a birthday month, and it's always endearing for us to have that thing we share. Some of my favorite people share a birthday month with me, and I love that my birthday comes at the beginning of the month so that my party-happy Enneagram Seven can have an entire month of fun. But all the fun must make way for other feelings, even the hard ones.

Over the last year or so, I've done a lot of grief work. Grief work is hard. It brings with it truth and reality. For me, that fact could not be more accurate than November. Although I've done significant work with grief and have had the privilege of helping others, which in turn has helped me, November is a melancholy month for me. Completing losses means delivering those communications that in your relationship you wish had been different, better, or more, and your hopes, dreams, and expectations for your relationship. The truth in those communications is where pain lives. Last year, I worked on completing those communications with Evan, and in turn, I felt that the poetry slam would not be happening and that it had extinguished its lifespan. Writing that now feels different than it did at the time. For me, it felt like a betrayal to Evan. As if we were leaving him behind, I may need to write a P.S. to him about it as I write this. Because it may have been that what I was leaving behind was the pain. Some of that became evident the year before, but almost everyone was trying to help me process my loss and came to rally around me and our family.

So that brings us to today. November 2023. Seven years after Evan's death. It is a lifetime, yet a moment, and I'm sitting with my feelings about this and unsure how to articulate my heart. I've felt a lot these last seven years, and still, as this month approaches, the melancholy moves in, and I sit with it. No one feels like I do about Evan, which is okay. Everyone experienced him differently, and they are experiencing that loss at 100%. Milestones happen daily with us as a family and with his friends. I feel those losses and have learned to process them independently and through a lens of gratitude that I get to share those milestones with others who loved Evan, too. Time does not heal. Time and correct actions heal. Nothing can replace my losses. Keeping busy doesn't heal my loss. These are myths that I've been taught throughout a lifetime, and they haven't helped. Part of the process of understanding is sitting with those feelings and giving those feelings and ponderings a voice, and in doing that, I honor Evan's memory and the short life he lived. I love and miss you, son.

Just Waiting

I started this year with the word "Inspire." Initially, I believed that the year ahead looked so hopeful as I began to help people with their losses and, in turn, reinforced for me the calling I felt to help others and be an excellent listener—a heart with ears. Things seemed to be going along great with me starting my Grief Recovery Groups. I felt that I could share the process with people and, in turn, help others as I continued to hone my skills as a guide and inspire others with undelivered emotional communications.

In early February, I went in for routine bloodwork, and the results of those tests started my care team to look at reasons for some discrepancy; they proceeded to schedule several scopes and other things to figure out the cause. Most of those tests returned negative, which is positive, but I still didn't have a diagnosis. In early March, I was diagnosed with CKD, Chronic Kidney Disease.CKD I am at stage 3, and after many attempts to stabilize my blood pressure, I'm moving toward the numbers I need to be at with medication and some lifestyle changes. In many instances, patients can maintain for a long while in stage 3 just by correct medicines and healthy lifestyle changes. One of the most challenging things impacted by this is that my energy and strength were at an all-time low. I don’t let much get me down or stop me from doing anything if you know me. I’m a doer. This diagnosis has been overwhelming as I just finished having cancer in 2020, and now, to have another diagnosis with such long-term effects has been challenging for me. Even with all of this, my bloodwork has still not bounced back, and in the next week, I'll have a kidney biopsy to get more specific answers as to why my kidneys aren't functioning correctly.

During the last year, I've learned much about how grief and loss affect us emotionally and physically. There are podcasts I've listened to and books I've read that talk specifically about how our body keeps the score regarding grief and loss. As you might guess, this journey with my health has been emotional for me. Health losses can be hard to process as so much information comes at you; sometimes, it's too much. Much of what I help people with in Grief Recovery are the things in our lives and relationships we wish had been different, better, or more, and our hopes, dreams, and expectations as we all have them. It's in these places that we find the most heartache and brokenness. I'm looking to process my health losses using my training in Grief Recovery. I can tell you that this was not how I planned to go into this new year, with my health leading in all my decisions. As you might guess, this has caused great apprehension in me. I appreciate any prayers as I wait for answers.