Don't try to talk yourself, or anyone else, out of grief

And in particular, don't try to talk me out of it.

Your cooperation in this matter is appreciated.

After Marilyn died (not her real name), I grieved. I cried and cried. I went through every text message we had ever exchanged, asking what I could have done. I coped in unhealthy ways.

A lot of times it seems like the only person who understood was my mom, who has been a hospice chaplain. One of the most helpful people at the time was a man who had made a suicide attempt a few years before. He helped me to understand that there was nothing I could have done.

People told me to get over it. One particularly nasty neurologist told me that my grief was a rationalization for unhealthy coping. This did not magically improve my coping skills - I promptly got worse.

No one who isn’t Jewish seemed to really understand why I was so upset about October 7. We all grieve in our own ways, and for some of my pre-existing Jewish friends, I think that attempting to go on like things were normal was the way they found to deal with the day and the war. Not for me. But I found company in my new family… hello out there! Some of the most peaceful moments I’ve had in the last nine months have been in the presence of my new Jewish family, especially at events organized by Jewish storyteller Jennifer Rudick Zunikoff. She hosts zoom gatherings where people share their stories of October 7 and following and then we discuss in breakout rooms in a very loving, kind way. If you have not been to one, I highly recommend. I’ll share the info next time. Obviously they are open to people who are not Jewish!

I’ve been grieving some lately. Nothing giant has happened, and I am fortunate in so many ways. But people near and far have lost. My good friends have lost beloved pets, husbands, and fathers in recent weeks. It is hard to watch. It reminds me of how the ones I love will not live forever.*

“Let me respectfully remind you: life and death are of supreme importance.”

That’s part of the Evening Gatha we say in Zen.

So much of Zen is about not squandering your life by living in the past or the future. Both are fantasies. Completely unreal. We are making up the past one second after we live each moment.

Sometimes I grieve for imaginary futures that didn’t happen. I read somewhere that we always imagine that the future would have been better, but there’s just as good a chance that it would have been worse.

My work with Elis for Rachael has helped me tremendously. It’s amazing to be with people who understand grief and loss and do not try to talk you out of it or shame you for hurting. We are supportive of each other. One of my longest standing friends invited me to the group, and really understands. It’s nice to have a few people in your life who you don’t have to keep on a happy face with.

Sometimes I am sad because I didn’t close my Move ring on my phone that day. I feel like it is cheated of some duty it wanted to perform in motivating me to walk, even though I love to walk, even though it was 100 degrees half the day and pouring rain in a thunderstorm the other half.

Maybe it’s just that things have calmed down enough that I can feel things I haven’t had time or energy to feel.

I hope that those of you out there who are dealing with grief, loss, and sadness have the love and support you need. I hope you can be kind and patient with yourself. There is no expiry date on grief. You just have to keep opening it and smelling it from time to time, like half and half that may or may not still be good in coffee.

*Fortunately, Loviefluffy will live forever.