Love Letters to My Life #41: A new possibility opens up buried grief

Sunday morning on Garden Street

(We know the day we were born, but most of us do not know the day we will die. This love letter to my life is written on the day I've designated as my death day: the 17th of every month, and reminds me to be grateful for my joy-filled life.)    

Change comes in many forms from the slow creeping rise of oceans to the sharp cataclysmic fractures of the earth or fire-spewing volcanic eruptions. Aging is a slow form change, advancing cell by cell, obscured by the blur of life until time and the river sweeps everything away in one last heartbeat moment, leaving a barren but fallow griefscape for those left behind.

I am in Santa Barbara. It’s not where Richard died; it’s where we lived. Its streets trace our former life like lines criss-crossing the palms of my hands. I’m left wondering how I will make new paths in this deeply furrowed soil as I plan the return to our place, the place we claimed when love was new, where memories of shared sights and sounds, loves and losses, roll in and out like morning fog. 

This Thanksgiving season of his death is especially poignant as I walk through the inescapable past; every step a paper cut memory: the what-ifs and if-onlys, the words still unspoken, the remembered hopes and dreams of yesterday, the finality of change that has no tomorrow. 

With this possibility of returning with new skills and dreams as well as deeper wisdom, softened and strengthened by grief, I tug at the door so firmly closed years ago. The beauty of this place floods in mingling with the pain, the tears, the joy and heartbreak. Years of solitude and carefully controlled sorrow shatter into a what-now confusion as this place I adore invites my return, alone, without the love and the man who brought me here so many years ago. 

 All the things I know, all the wisdom I’ve gathered, cluster like monarchs on a somber day: colorless things waiting for warming sunshine before spreading their bright wings and continuing on their way. I know that sunny day will come to me also; I just have to walk forward into this gift of life, this one more chance to live in the only place my heart calls home.

Richard and baby Ava (now 20)

Been There Voices - Anita Perez Ferguson - How do you manage prolonged exposure to grief?

After teaching my weekly class at the Ventura Post Acute Care Center I wrote:

Your pain and sickness

Distress my spirit.

Seeing you erases

The smile I washed and ironed Especially for our visit.

How do you manage

Prolonged exposure to grief?

I cannot store up enough cheer to last the journey.

** Anita Perez Ferguson, Santa Barbara, CA, young adult historic fiction author

Click here for more about Anita and other Been There Voices  

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Been There Voices is about us, our lives, our successes and failures, our joys and sorrows, our lessons and our gradual, hard-won wisdom. We have survived and thrived throughout whatever has come our way.

The reasons are arbitrary and not intended to dismiss half of our population, however, this project focuses on the stories of women, and begins with fourteen women, well-polished grains of sand on the beach of life, tumbled by the waves of time until their light shines through, offering their stories, joys and sorrows, to the ocean of wisdom.

New purpose emerging from old losses

Ideas breaking on Cambria beach

12/19/2019 - this morning as I begin a new phase, I was called back to old threads that are being woven into a new tapestry. Ten years ago I was lost, alone, filled with grief from three years of loss. A stranger said four words that changed my life and set me on a path that now offers me a new purpose.

The blog post history about her four words is below, however, what I'm celebrating at this moment is the wonder of the Universe. I've reached an age where loss and grief are becoming more common ... mine and that of friends and family. Nothing will stop this relentless motion; however, it comes with new offerings to be accepted when we can, or rejected when we're not ready.

It's easy to be trite when dealing with heart-wrenching experiences. There are no words that will fix the wounds of grief. I have little to offer those who are suffering other my caring and the story of my journey. Since joining the legion of the wounded, I have slowly become softer, more vulnerable, and, gradually, more peaceful. I also hope I have become wiser and more understanding.

The past ten years have been a blur of motion ... moving, changing, trying this and trying that. Most weren't particularly conscious choices. Since returning from Mexico, it has felt like it was time to stop and reflect on where I've been, what I've learned, and what comes next.

Two days ago in my 18th love letter to my life, I talked about a new project that I was launching ... helping people make personal photo books ... a process I'm calling foto journaling. New projects are always exciting. However, sometimes the excitement is only momentary, so I've learned to let them steep for awhile to make sure they fit me ... my interests and skills as well as my values and intentions.

This morning, a random article** offered a question that demanded my attention: “Will it make the world better?"  Of course most ideas won't heal the planet or cure cancer, however good ideas will always help others in some way. 

As I contemplated how making personal photo books would fit me and help the world, it reminded me of a conversation I had with Richard before he died. I asked him if he was afraid of dying and he said he was only afraid of being forgotten. I had thought frequently about trying to capture some of his stories on video, but it was too late; he was too weak. 

The pain of remembering that lost opportunity helped me realize that encouraging and making it easier for people to capture their memory stories before it was too late would make the world a little better. Perhaps, in a small way, it would help them keep their own memories, and their memories of their loved ones, alive in a tangible, shareable way.

**Interesting article: 20,000 People Just Explained How Creativity Works

8/31/2016: Almost seven years ago, a stranger who would soon become a friend, changed my life with four words. She also reminded me of the world of blogging, something that had slipped away during the years of illness that ended with the death of my husband.

This note is for Diane Walker, a remarkable artist/photographer, creative being and generous soul. Above is a small sample of her art from her Facebook page: Contemplative Photography by Diane Walker:

Facebook cover art by Diane Walker

I met Diane at a Miksang photography workshop taught by Michael Wood in Boulder, CO.  The workshop was already in the process of changing forever the way I see and take photographs but it was at lunch one day when I found myself pouring out my story and Diane said the four words that woke me up.

The words don't seem all that magical by themselves, but they were like a key finely ground to fit a particular lock. I told the story in my second blog post on this blog which I started within days of meeting Diane and seeing her blog. You can read it below.

Finding that old post, reminds me that we never know the effect we have on others with our words, our actions, and the example of our own lives. One of my favorite quotes comes from Bali ...

Someone out there needs you.

Live your life so they can find you.

What I want to say today, seven years later, is ... thank you Diane for your words at that critical moment in my life when I truly needed them. Thank you for the continuing example of someone living and growing in creative expression. Thank you for the kindness and beauty that you pour so generously into the world.

Meeting you was a miracle. I knew it then and I look at my life today in all its joy and fulfillment and it has your fingerprints all over it. Thank you so much for being you and for the gift of knowing how to fill my cup!

Coffee in Grass Valley in 2015

Blog Post: September 15, 2009 - 

My Cup Is Empty

We are sitting at lunch at Boulder's Pearl Street mall when my new friend Diane says, "Your cup is empty" and the words telegraph through my body and find their mark deep in my heart. And, as tears begin to flow, I realize that I am empty ... broken open, depleted and disconsolate, far from the dyed-in-the wool, rose-colored-glasses, cheerful optimist that I had been.

Three years of loss piled one upon another until I am sitting here in this strange state feeling utterly alone, homeless, rootless, without solid ground to hold onto. I suddenly know that I am an empty vessel and am not completely sure that I am not too broken to ever be filled again.

Mary Oliver's words from "The Journey" echo in my mind, "It was already late enough, and a wild night, and the road full of fallen branches and stones." My path seems confounded and blocked by the fallen branches and stones, and perhaps I will never be able to clear them. Sorrow, fear, pain and aloneness envelop me and I'm not sure I have the energy to find my way out. By myself, I feel too weak to grapple with this challenge and I find myself clinging to a past-relationship as if it's my only hope.

And yet, the simple act of admitting that I am empty seems to let me hear a small, new voice that says simply: "Begin, do what brings you joy, take one step at a time and tend your spirit."

What brought me to this place and introduced me to my new friend, who with just four words stripped me bare of my false-front of strength and independence, was a Miksang workshop about seeing in a new way and capturing those new perceptions through photography. Miksang is a Tibetan word that means "good eye" and is as much a meditative practice as a photography technique.

We had been using the technique for two days and, as always, the act of taking pictures, capturing small pieces of beauty, was bringing me joy but, in some ways, it felt like layering wallpaper over a wall that had not been washed clean of years of grime and debris. The pain was still swirling an indelible pattern below the surface. Admitting to myself my vulnerability to pain and loss seems like a first step in cleaning that surface. Perhaps now the Miksang practice of awareness and perception, the slowing down and taking each step with intention, will allow the joy of each perception to stick and gradually begin to refill my cup.

I feel a great sense of relief. I have been looking around rather desperately for a project, a mission, a way of serving, in actuality, anything that would distract me from the pain. Now I realize that I am not ready to go out into the world. I have nothing to offer because I am empty. Who I was has drained away and who I will be has not made an appearance. So now I am unformed, uncertain of anything except my emptiness and a willingness to walk toward spirit, a willingness to be filled.

Creativity Heals

This week I met a young woman who told me a story ... a sad story that happens all too often.

Her dad died when he was only 52, leaving his wife and five grown and almost grown children.  Her mom had been a talented creative giver ... one of those women who could make anything and was constantly giving it all away.  When her husband died, it took the spirit out of her and she stopped.  For almost twenty years now she has withered, losing precious time with her children and grandchildren, losing her health ... losing her self.  

Grief can do that; it is a powerful force that drains our life energy.  When a loved one dies, it's like a door closes on the life that was.  Sometimes we sit in a chair facing that doorway, wishing it would open again, yearning for what was.  However, behind us, if we could only turn around, are new doorways opening  to new lives and new joy.  Sometimes a sense of guilt keeps us glued to that chair faced toward the lost past.  We are afraid of dishonoring the dead by turning toward a new life.  In some cultures, the wife is expected to throw herself on the funeral pyre.  We don't do that literally but sometimes people do it slowly, metaphorically, letting their life energy fade away like embers in an untended fire.

After my husband died, I read countless stories of tragedy and grief, and it seemed like everywhere I looked, there was one common thread leading toward new joy:  creativity.  People who were able to go forward and build new lives found a creative outlet:  for some it was creating a living memorial for their lost loved one such as  Candy LIghtner who started Mothers Against Drunk Drivers (MADD) after her daughter was killed by a repeated drunk driver or Cindy Sheehan who began to protest war after her son was killed in Iraq.  For others it was finding or renewing a passion for gardening, sewing, family, community, or art.  

Creating something new plugs us back into life, starts the juices flowing again ... heals us. I was one of the lucky ones.  A few weeks after my husband died, in an effort to escape the pain, I wound up in a digital collage workshop in a tiny fishing village just south of Puerto Vallarta.  That workshop changed my life ... and maybe saved it.  I recently published a book about death, art and the healing power of creativity in hopes that it might help others.


Joy after the Fire, when grief, despair and loss become the seeds of new joy and growth is available from iBookstore for iPads or as a downloadable pdf that you can read on any computer ... just click the Buy Now button.  Grief and loss comes to each of us ... finding a way to create something new seems to be the only real way to heal the wound.

Joy after the Fire

Bloggers! Free Review Book Available

If you are a blogger and have an iPad, I would like to offer you a free review copy of my book Joy after the Fire, when grief, loss and despair are the seeds of new joy and growth.  If you are interested in writing a review of this book, please send me an email at jwycoff at me.com with your blog url.  There is also a downloadable pdf of the book available for your readers.


Here's an overview:


Sometimes you can do everything wrong and still have things turn out right.  The common wisdom after a major loss is to not make any major decisions in the first year.  I not only broke that rule, I tore it into tiny pieces and tossed my entire life to the wind.  


While it's not an action I would recommend, it's the path I chose and it was a bumpy ride. This is a story of death and loss but it is also a story of miracles and growth.  At the end of the introduction, I write

Miracles await us.

Miracles wait for each one of us who makes the journey into the darkness, whether we go willingly or are tossed there by the vagaries of life. Regardless of what brought you here, whether death, divorce, disease or disaster, I hope you will join me on this journey and find for yourself the multicolored gifts and miracles of joy waiting for you in the deeply beautiful country of your authentic self, your very own Wonderland.

Rainer Maria Rilke, German poet and visionary, captures the essence of this book in two short sentences:

"Perhaps all the dragons in our lives are princesses 

who are only waiting to see us act, just once, 

with beauty and courage. 

Perhaps everything that frightens us is, 

in its deepest essence, 

something helpless that wants our love." 

Joy after the Fire was written to help others navigate the new territory that comes with loss.  At the end of each chapter, there is a series of questions that lead readers on their journey back to joy.

Joy after the Fire: It's a book!

It's a book!!

The past five years have been an amazing journey, even though it was not one I would have chosen.  The story of this journey is now available in my book "Joy after the Fire, when grief, despair and loss become the seeds of new joy and growth" available for iPads from iBookstore and as a downloadable pdf by clicking the BUY NOW button on the right.

Loss comes to each of us, and, in the beginning, it just feels like pain, grief and despair.  Gradually, however, the pain begins to lift and we can choose once again to live.  For me, there was no way to live my old life so I wound up in what felt like a free fall ... which landed me in an art workshop in Mexico that changed everything.

The purpose for telling this extremely personal story is to help others who may be experiencing loss.  I want people to know that there is definitely joy after the fire ... but it's not always easy.  The path to that new joy winds through a forest of self-reflection ... finding what brings you joy, stepping onto that path regardless of what the world thinks you should be doing, learning to be grateful for even the smallest things that gladden your heart.  At the end of each chapter and "interlude," there are questions to help you look at your life and your choices in new ways.

There is more about the book on the Joy after the Fire menu bar above and I would love to have you post your comments on that page.  Feel free to tell your story and tell us what has helped you.  What you say has the power to help others.

May your path to joy be filled with great friends and new insights about your own magnificence.