loss – Page 7 – Janis Dehler

On a Winter Day: A Broad View

…eagle power of Spirit reminds us of our connection to the Divine in creating vision for our life…

Life is like a landscape. You live in the midst of it but can describe it only from the vantage point of distance.
Charles Lindbergh

There is something wonderfully bold and liberating about saying yes to our entire imperfect messy life.
Tara Brach, Radical Acceptance

On this cold winter day, we gaze out the windows facing north to the river, watching the chickadees, purple and yellow finches, cardinals, and woodpeckers scuffling for feeder space. We lose ourselves, entranced in the beauty before us.

Suddenly, it is quiet as we watch them all fly off into the bank of spruce that shelter our home.

We look up and see the two eagles fly in from the north following the Rum River to our house. As the river cuts left, so do they, with a tight bank, wings unfurled, bellies facing us. They fly a couple of loops and then continue south. They then return to the north and circle back and give us more north to south loops and exhibitions. An hour later I check, and they are still flying in circles overhead. I am reminded of the Blue Angels flight demonstration we saw years ago with the pilots looping, banking, showing us all their stuff as they proudly flew. Today, this display of flight feels more personal, close to the heart, inspiring, touching my imagination.

I ponder the eagle view of the world, the broad scope with intense focus, the vision that informs, instructs, reminds us of who we are and where we are headed. Our view on terra firma is small and can easily narrow in our day to day living. We get lost in the minutiae of our days, the details of managing our lives. We get lost in our busyness and the highs and lows of our experiences. When we take time to pause, we wonder, where am I headed, what do I need, what do I consider important and of value in my life? Am I living what I value?

We find that it is more often our losses, fears, and anxieties that bring us to our knees, our chair or cushion, our prayer or meditation, our journal. The times when we review the vision for our life born from our intuition, our creativity, and our imagination. We remember then and deeply question who we are and where we are headed. It is then we enter the interior landscape, the sacred seed of our existence, the light that shines within.

Just as turtle reminds us to walk slow on the earth mindful of where we plant our eggs— our creations, and bear reminds us to rest in this season, conserve our heat and energy for the coming spring and summer, so too does eagle power of Spirit remind us of our connection to the Divine in creating vision for our life, to boldly scan the horizon, take stock of where we are, look back to review and accept the life lived in its imperfections, then look forward and carry on.

What does it mean today that eagle came into my view? Maybe this pair was on their journey for food or just enjoyed the air currents in this day. While I can talk myself out of any meaning, I choose to trust what I felt in the first sighting of this pair—joy, delight, awe, and a reminder of a broad vision in my life, our life. Creating clarity for the journey, the values lived, the will to move forward.

At the end of our life, the full landscape will be in our awareness, but today I can also choose to look over the landscape of this day. Did I live what I value in this day? Did I bring full expression of self in this day? Did I bring kindness, compassion, and love in this day? Can I accept with loving kindness the imperfections, in this day?

As we enter 2022, we look back at 2021 with the challenges and the joys of living, the losses and the new life that came into our world, the disappointments and the surprises that added to our existence. None of it perfect, some of it beyond our comprehension, but all of it what we lived.

As we walk forward into 2022, we can choose to look back further and see all that has brought us to this moment, to this doorway. We scan the broader landscape of our life and say, yes, it is my life, all of it. Then, we look forward and walk through to a new year bringing all the wisdom and imagination that we have formed during our time here. We bring all of this to our new year. as we co-create with Spirit, each day, our future.

As always thank you kind reader for your presence here. Wishing us all, a new year of interior connection to the light within, moments of grace, full expression of self, faith in the future, and a vision that is formed in creative, intuitive, and imaginative self.

Happy New Year!

*the eagle photo is a free stock photo as in the joy of the moment we did not get one.

Where There is Despair, Hope.

All Hallows Eve is upon us. The veil between the physical realm and the spirit realm is thin, as I experienced it upon my mother’s death. A sacred and holy time when we feel the presence of all that is beyond our finite sense of reality. It is the eve before the day of the saints; those who have now become the ancestors; those who we look to for their inspiration and guidance; those who we will become as we in turn decay into food for the soil in a mutual exchange from walking this earth feasting on its abundance. The children dress as goblins and ghouls as they stand up to the dread and anxiety held for this final transformation. We bring laughter to this day as we allow the child within to face her fear.

In this covid time, dying feels closer as we witness the illness, the deaths, the fires burning across the world. Where do we find hope? Where do we find peace for our tender hearts? What do we bring to the alchemy we conjure in turning fear and divisiveness into kindness and caring?

Like the seed that sprouts in the crevasse of rock, the green of will and desire rises and flows, weaving and connecting, bringing the persistence of the living to this momentous time. Let us not shy away from remembering, acknowledging, and honoring all that dies while deciding carefully what we wish to carry forward. It is choice at its finest. Not through the idle movement of habit but through conscious awareness of all that we are and wish to become. Not against something but with, not away from but towards. Knowing that each moment of life is a moment of death as everything changes, cells die off, and memories fade. Forgiveness transforms resentment, love envelopes hate, kindness covers cynicism. Growth and beauty strive forward from the depth of darkness to the brilliance of a new dawn.

And so it is.

Tears From The Heart

The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears, or the sea. Karen Blixen

A friend recently asked if it is okay not to cry as others do. I have encountered this question in the past from clients and at times from myself. Tears are curious things. They can come unexpectedly, unwanted, in torrents, or gently and softly, and not at all. And then we wonder, why?

Tears might come as a simple moistening in the eyes, or gently fall while experiencing another’s pain. They might come quite suddenly in a joyful moment, and we feel our heart burst open. We can feel cleansed after a deep cry. Our body relaxes, softens, and as we breathe and quiet, we might become aware of a larger space within. There are tears after a profound loss that can feel as if we will drown. There are also the tears after humiliation, betrayal, standing up for yourself when all you want is to be angry and confront, and then out pour the tears. Then that feels humiliating. Sometimes tears come after prolonged laugher, the kissin’ cousin of tears, with at times moving into the weeping of deep pain that had been buried or ignored. It can feel as if we have no control, and we don’t. Not really. We can make ourselves cry but that takes some practice and may be a surface experience only. We can at times hold our tears back, bite them back, but then everything else gets all scrunched up and we tighten around the tears or the loss. We can feel like we have not cried at the appropriate time, like at a funeral. Then, a few weeks later, we are watching a Hallmark commercial or a movie or listening to a song and the tears flow, sometimes gently and at times into a sob. We may not find tears at all in a loss experience as our primary feeling might be gratitude or relief.

The tears after profound loss don’t necessarily flow freely. Not for me anyway. After I learned that my baby had birth defects and would not live, I was in shock and numb. I was brought to her in the NICU and on the way there had a panic attack. I could not breathe. Then I saw her in all the wires and machines, and she was beautiful. It was only later, back in my room, away from it all, during our priest’s prayer and blessing, as he placed his hand on my head, that the tears arrived. Even then they were painful but gentle. This loss contained a well of tears that took many tear sessions over a length of time to get to the depth of the well.

After my dad’s death, I went into action. There was funeral planning, a eulogy to write, family arrangements, making sure mom was attended to. It took a few weeks, and seeing I was starting to snap at my husband, for me to realize and own that the pain was being held in too long and I needed to take the time to go to the well. It was the same after my mom’s death except the first tears came in torrents soon after her critical stroke when I knew to my core where this was headed with the difficult decisions needing to be made.

Not having tears does not have to mean one is numb. It does not necessarily mean the heart is closed. The mantra from my childhood goes, “If you are going to cry, go to your room.” It has been hard for me to fully cry in another’s presence. I have had to learn to trust that experience as it does not come naturally. My daughter is my teacher. I marveled since she was young how tears could flow naturally and freely in pain or joy. I treasured her free open expression and realized how the witnessing of her tears opened my heart. Some cultures encourage and live out a very natural robust expression. For others it is stoic. We are a melting pot of an array of expressions, and we cannot judge one against the other. And certainly, we cannot judge ourselves in our experience. At best we bring compassion and curiosity.

My response to my friend’s question? It is all okay. Tears are not required. Rather than, why am I not crying, I might ask; Is there something I am not expressing? What do I wish to express? In what way now do I want to express myself? Create? Build? Write? Sing? Laugh? In what way do I best express myself? Then, after the question, return to the heart and listen.

Tears are healing because they flow from the heart and there is a myriad of ways to express from the heart. When we do allow expression, we feel not only a deeper connection to self but to the greening world around us, to the collective whole, to sacred Oneness. In our honest open expression, we come to an inner silence, the doorway to the Divine.

On This Late Summer Morn

A new work of art and a poem. Blessings on your day.

On This Late Summer Morn

On this late summer morn,
She sits where mind rests, prayers flow.
Wonder at the world of blame
Brings her head to bow.

On this late summer morn,
The sky dark from falling ash,
Our lungs fill, the sun remains
Hidden. Even he fears the heat.

On this late summer morn,
Thousands fleeing a war-torn country, 
Our hearts fill, the moon remains 
Hidden. Even she cries with the knowledge.

On this late summer morn,
Delta dead are piled into trucks,
Our minds fill, the stars remain
Hidden. Even they wonder at the folly of it all.

On this late summer morn,
She recognizes all that is sacred, 
Sees the beauty in all creatures, all life,
Her heart opens with the embracing of it all.

@Janis Dehler

Remembering Hellmut

One hundred of us stand or sit.
Tables with water, breezes bringing
Coolness to our sweat drained bodies.

Our attention focuses as one man’s life 
captures our imagination. Memories
of kindness, cello, trees, choir, painting.

Our hearts hear the message, feel the 
pull to not leave this earth without living.
Create while we birth, work, love.

Long time friends, spouse, children, family
saying goodbye to one who has left 
his mark in all who stand at his earthen home.

My gaze moves to all that surrounds me,
cool, calm water, lilies, phlox
blooming in this late July heat. 

Soil dried from lack of rain; flowers laced
when placed at his side; ashes leaning toward earth. 
A haze of smoke from distant wildfires fills our nostrils. 

We laugh, we celebrate, we feel gratitude
in our current moment of living. We ponder
death and share from this truth. 

In loss we feel love. In dryness we experience moisture.
In memory we experience renewed spirit. 
In death we are pulled to the living.

Service

Over the thirty plus years I have supported individuals in loss, I have had moments of feeling filled to the brim with grief stories. In those moments, I fantasized about being of service in a different way, through things like selling flowers or opening a store focused on selling art and craft objects. Both fantasies involved a storefront, a product, a customer who was searching for beauty, who smiled when she/he found what they were looking for and would walk away feeling like they had removed themselves from whatever life was surrounding them, having enjoyed a few moments lost in scent, beauty, and inner peace. Instead of realizing that fantasy, I would take a few days off from work, refresh myself, attend to my own losses, and then re-enter feeling more able to be present to another’s grief.

After being retired for two years, I have been thinking of making myself available to individuals who need a place to sort through their spiritual and emotional experiences. How that would happen and when is a story for my next blog. Ironically, just as I made my final decision to put myself out there, my daughter needed help working her food truck, Icy Icy Shave Ice, at a four-day dog show up here in Cambridge. Two of our grandkids whom she employs were out of town on a vacation trip and that left only her 14-year-old son, plus training in a couple of his teen friends.

I was a bit apprehensive at first as I don’t handle heat and humidity well and we have had both in the extreme. It was a blast. Our daughter guided me and trained me in. At times I took orders and money, other times I ran the ice shaver, poured the syrups, and then the final topping with a napkin and a spoon before handing it all off to the customer with a smile, a thank you with a wish for a good day. At the end of the weekend, I was exhausted but would not trade it for anything. How many in their 7th decade get to work a food truck? I am thrilled I had the opportunity.

It has all brought me back to my 15–16-year-old self, shy, with a first job at Altenburg’s Dairy in Steven’s Point, Wisconsin. I worked the front counter while the ice cream was made in the back. I was self-conscious, afraid of making a mistake, and not getting the order to the customer fast enough. I remember the kindness of the customers as they watched me work. One gentleman gently encouraging me to slow down as no one was in a hurry. Helping me learn how to work with taking my time and paying attention.

Over these last four days of working in heat, humidity, and bouts of rain, I was keenly aware of peoples need for refreshment. At first, they would arrive, tentative when ordering, asking which flavor, the decision of ice cream added or not, and questions of which Is the best flavor. Then as they watched the process and were handed their Icy through the last window, there would be a smile, at first for the beauty and then for the taste. It all gave an enormous sense of satisfaction as over the days we began to recognize people as they returned, bringing friends, ordering for others, smiling in anticipation when they ordered as they knew what was coming, and disappointment when they arrived and we were closing.

During these days, I was once again reminded of a woman who served me multiple times in her cafe in Santiago, Spain. The image is imprinted on my soul as I was moved by how she served us from the preparation at the counter, walking around the counter, then stopping before our table with a bow, a gentle “Gracias”, and offering us our tea or coffee individually in cupped hands. While it came to be expected, it was a sweet moment of blessing that I will not forget. I witnessed her kindness, attention to detail, and presence that made all the difference in our daily returning to her not only for her food but for her sense of being. Her offering was above and beyond the food I was paying for.

Back here at the dog show event, Murry was the newest 14-year-old teen friend to be trained in and was stationed at the final window. I watched as Murry instinctively took the bowl from the one pouring the syrup, set it carefully on the counter on a napkin he had placed before him, gently topped it with coconut whip cream and a fruit garnish, added a spoon, then with cupped hands around the bowl, bowed to the window and the customer as he handed it all off with a smile and a final, “Thank you”.

I have no doubt that these little acts of blessing were being felt and carried away by the customer with their Icy on their lips. It is joy for me to see my daughter’s business being run with the same attention to kindness and care that so deeply moved me in Spain. Making the syrups fresh with her own hands, conscious of sustainability in her paper products, caring about what the client orders as well as their satisfaction, assembling all with attention, and sending the individual or family off with a final bow, a heartfelt smile and a final, “Thank you!”

In the end, it is what we really offer when someone comes for grief counseling or for a tasty treat. It is in our intention, our presence, our desire for their happiness, and a moment of connection.

Healing Waters in Turbulent Time

In ache of body and 
clouding of mind, with Moderna 
doing her work in me,
	I form an offering 
to self and community, abating 
the pain of future loss.

Lake Superior, the mother of 
Lake waters, rests in my heart as
I breathe in the sound of waves 
	Soothing my spirit,
Massaging the ache in bones
Like rocks skipping on water. 

This Siren beckons us to her, 
Flaunting her frilly foam skirts. 
With one toe touching her frigid being, 
	We run back in laughter.
We are drawn to her shore 
but today we dare go no further.

It is enough to hear her, to see her from
Solid footing, to allow her to caress and soothe
tired spirits too long hidden in square boxes, 
	Behind the ubiquitous mask.
She bestows pain and death when
We fail to be aware.

When we are swept away by waters 
of the mind that stay turbulent, 
unable to rest on calm safe shores, 
	Fear and hate rise.
We seek to lay blame on other
Rather than be aware of our complicities.

As we witness the beauty and danger 
Of these sacred waters, 
	We are reminded,
This magnificent world also holds unseen 
Assault whether virus or human and we 
Dare not ignore that ability to also take life.

Just as we say no to a virus and do what we 
Are able to diminish its grasp on our people,
	We must say no to hate 
For all our people on this land. 
Our mother earth, our mother waters, 
She holds us in her wisdom.

May she guide us on our way.

A Unique Flavor

This week we are up on the North Shore of Lake Superior. The previous week we were in Upper Michigan sleeping along the shore of Les Cheneaux (the channel Islands) in Lake Huron and drove by and played in Lake Michigan. It feels both a privilege to be in the presence of such bodies of water and humbling at the enormity and power of each while we experience them with their own unique vegetation, shoreline, and personality.

Between these lake visits, I attended a funeral for Walt, a man who had been both a client of mine and a hospice patient. A large gentle man, bound to his wheel chair and oxygen, who deeply grieved the loss of his wife the year before. It took almost a year for Walt to go out to his workshop alone as he was always with Sharon even while he was out tinkering and inventing. He is now resting in peace next to his beloved and the thought of him brings a smile as he touched the hearts of our whole team who grieve his passing. As I write this, I pause as it is challenging to paint a portrait of this man not knowing the day to day life he lived previously. I can only say it was his gentle tears, his inability to put his feelings into words, it was his smile, his loss of his beloved lab, Mitzi, along the way, his passion for good toffee, his decision to bring the outdoor cat in the house after Mitzi died and the cat’s partner died and admitting he didn’t really like this cat but felt sad for the cat’s loneliness in its loss, his deep appreciation for all the attention he received in his illness and loneliness, and in the end maybe it was the peace we all felt when leaving his presence that brings such life to his memory.

I purchased two books this week that are entertaining me between bike rides, hikes, fishing, and exploring along Highway 61. The books are by Kathy Rice, owner of the now closed Pie Place Cafe in Grand Marais, MN. Delightful cookbooks with many of their famous and favorite recipes of salads, sandwiches, soups, fish, and of course pie! I loved that she wrote that she did what she had a passion for, which was make pie. We share that passion. I could have a bumper sticker that reads, I brake for pie. Each recipe begins with a portrait and a story of an individual who entered Kathy’s cafe. Some were local and some from other locales but each captured her imagination in some way with story, art, personality, and life history. Many became life long friends.

In the end, we become a smattering of who, what, when, how many kids, where did I work, who is left behind and on and on in a dry list offered as some form of identity in the newspaper or funeral program. Reading Kathy’s portraits of individuals she has met, I realize each portrait of a life she offered us could be the obituary for that life lived. Kathy captures, as best she is able, the soul of the individual through her words. It puts me in mind of Heather Lende (heatherlende.com) who was introduced to me by my sister, Di, and who is, among other talents, an obituary writer for a local newspaper in Haines, Alaska. Heather’s obituaries paint a portrait as do Kathy’s words. I would say each has a passion for people and take the time to open their hearts and minds to that one before them or the one who is being grieved for by a loved one.

Kathy states “the soups flavor will vary according to what you choose, but that is part of the fun.” Thoughts: What am I choosing this day, this month, this year, this life, that flavors my life? My grandson loves making soup and throws in many questionable items without a recipe. Most often it works, sometimes not. It takes courage to choose but if we do not choose others choose for us. To paint a portrait that captures the essence of the person we have to have the courage to see and portray what the individual might perceive as a flaw. Maybe that is what creates the wholeness of a life. Maybe it is merely that particular “spice” that adds the flavor to a life well lived.

Les Chêneaux, Lake Huron

Lake Michigan

Lake Superior

A Blessing and Blooming

The pavement rose bushes are in full bloom and the waft of rose scent in the air feels like an intake of blessing on each breath. I missed the peonies as rain hit hard on their opening. The lilies are in bloom with splashes of color everywhere.

The last couple of weeks have simply been hard labor with scooping a few ton of rock into our landscaping around the back of the house. What seemed insurmountable in the beginning is now two thirds complete, one shovel of rock at a time. My body still holds a few aches from the job but also pride in accomplishment while realizing the enjoyment of sweaty dirty focused labor. The job was made fun with two grandkids to help us, keeping us focused and laughing in the midst of it all.

During the week, I called Margie, a newly bereaved late 70’s woman whose husband died a month ago and has been told she needs to vacate her rental as fast as possible as it is being sold. Distress, tears, disbelief, stuff to be sold or given away, no time to grieve, panic, all this I heard as I visualized Margie trying to move a ton of rock with very little support. I remember those first weeks of deep grief and the fog we move through as we try to find our bearings with a brain not functioning well as we forget things, have a hard time focusing, and find ourselves melting in tears at the small reminders of our loss. We can feel buried under an insurmountable weight.

For many of us it is the people surrounding us who help us with each shovel load, helping to ease the burden, keeping us focused, and we are grateful. At other times we find ourselves alone in our grief, sadness, and confusion. Whether we are alone or surrounded by loved ones, we ultimately find we must look within to our own resources, that which guides us daily. Finding in our own stillness the quiet moment releasing the waft of roses arising from our own heart, that which is connected to all life and loving and living and that which draws us forward to live and grow into the only thing to which we can become, ourselves in full bloom. Our own wholeness of being.

Simply Because

We sit at the dining room table eating our breakfast on a Sunday morning. The geese are flying in, following the river from the north to our house then they turn and head back up the river. Is it spring or is it not? That is the burning question these days. The goldfinches are in their full yellow splendor. The eagle makes a swoop down the river to our house and then she also heads back to the small island and to her nest. The deer across the river are more visible as they dine on the promise of new grasses with hopes for a heartier fresher meal.

We believe it is fully spring despite the heavy layer of snow. Each day we can do more outside, today leaving the storm door open to take full advantage of the warming slant of the sun into the doorway.

Those who are grieving are telling me they are needing a break from the long winter, wanting to move their grief into the soil of the garden, planting something that offers color and promise of harvest, digging with their own hands, heart, and soul. This last storm left Dan with a stroke of which he is making some recovery with a long journey ahead. This last storm also dropped a barn roof on a barn of 100 milk cows. A devastating loss for a farmer. Dan is working hard to regain use of his body. The farmer is assessing his loss and with help restoring his barn and herd. This is our human resilience, our movement toward light, health, spring. Restorative spring.

Could we be like the geese and simply move toward the rays of spring light and warmth, simply because? Or the warbler who makes her nest ready for her new young, as it is time to do so? Could we merely stand in gratitude for this new day of snow, sun, puddles, and returning geese because it is a new day of life?

In the words of poet Mary Oliver, let us..

Pay attention.

Be astonished.

Tell about it.

As we allow the day to enter us fully we feel the day in every cell of our being. How can we not sing it out, draw it out, share the joy of the story of our life even if it is in the quiet of our own heart. Even if it is the warbler who alone understands our song.