So… is forgiveness really the answer? Let’s unpack what forgiveness truly is—and what it’s not.

Forgiveness: Not a One-Time Thing

When deep pain strikes, forgiveness can feel impossible. Maybe you’ve heard “forgive and forget,” but what if you’re not ready? What if you never will be?

Forgiveness is not about minimizing what happened. It’s not about excusing hurtful behavior or pretending everything’s fine. And it’s definitely not about bypassing anger, grief, or rage.

Forgiveness is about you.
It’s about choosing your peace over resentment. It’s about reclaiming your energy and your story. It’s not a moment—it’s a process. One that unfolds gently, sometimes painfully, and always in layers.

Why Forgiveness is a Radical Act

Here’s the truth: forgiveness is radical.

It defies the desire for revenge. It challenges the inner critic. It calls us to courage. And ultimately, it invites us to release what no longer serves us—not for the sake of others, but for the sake of our own freedom.

When you forgive—not to erase the past, but to reclaim your future—you say:

“I will no longer be defined by what broke me.”

You Don’t Have to Forgive Right Now

There’s no timer on healing. No pressure. No perfect way.

Forgiveness may come in fragments. It may start with forgiving yourself—for trusting, for not knowing, for surviving the best you could. That counts, too.

Let it be messy. Let it be slow. Let it be real.

Steps to Begin the Forgiveness Journey

If you’re ready to begin—or even consider—forgiveness, here are a few gentle starting points:

1. Acknowledge the Hurt
Give yourself permission to feel it all: the anger, the grief, the confusion. Naming your pain is the first step to healing it.

2. Reflect Without Rushing
Ask yourself: What did I lose? What do I need to feel safe again? What might forgiveness make space for in my life?

3. Forgive Yourself First
You did your best with the tools and awareness you had at the time. Extend grace inward before you attempt to extend it outward.

4. Set Boundaries
Forgiveness doesn’t mean reconciliation. You can forgive someone and still choose not to allow them back into your life.

5. Move at Your Own Pace
This is your journey. There’s no deadline, and no one else gets to decide when—or if—your forgiveness is complete.

6. Seek Support
You don’t have to walk this path alone. Whether it’s a coach, therapist, support group, or spiritual guide, allow yourself to receive.

Forgiveness Isn’t the End—It’s the Beginning

Forgiveness isn’t about closing the door. It’s about stepping through one. One that leads to peace, wholeness, and a deeper relationship with yourself.

You don’t need to have it all figured out to begin.

You just need the willingness to keep showing up—for you.

Lora Cheadle, JD, CHt
Email: Lora@LoraCheadle.com

Lora Cheadle, JD, CHt: Lora Cheadle is a former attorney turned betrayal recovery coach, inspirational speaker, and author of FLAUNT! Drop Your Cover and Reveal Your Smart, Sexy & Spiritual Self and It’s Not Burnout; It’s Betrayal: 5 Tools to FUEL UP and Thrive. She empowers women to rebuild confidence, self-trust, and joy after betrayal—on their own terms and in their own time. Discover more at www.LoraCheadle.com. 

It is unfortunate, however, that in our society we give little credence to the impact and weight that can accompany the death of a cherished pet.

As a therapist, I’ve spent many sessions helping clients navigate the complexity of emotion and pain that arise with the passing of an animal. And in recent months, my family experienced the loss of a pet – an adventurous and faithful dog named Oliver – eliciting my own feelings of sadness, loss, and grief. 

All of this has led me to wonder – what is it about the loss of a pet that is so unexpectedly painful? And why does this experience of loss feel different from the other types of loss we experience throughout our lives?

My aim in this blog post is to explore these questions and provide some helpful suggestions for those currently experiencing grief surrounding the loss of an animal.

The Unique Experience of Losing a Pet

Most of us have experienced the painful loss of important people in our lives; and it’s just as likely that many of us have also lost pets, whether it’s a cat, a dog, a hamster, or a horse.

Although these experiences encompass many of the same emotions, there is something qualitatively different about pet grief. In my experience, and in the experience of my clients, the loss of a pet is a layered and symbolic loss of that season of life we enjoyed with that animal.

Animals do not live as long as us. But in those brief years they are with us, we as humans experience significant changes and events in our lives – we may leave home for college, we may get married and have children, we may experience a season of depression or suffering, we may lose a parent or partner.

So much can happen and change in a matter of years; and often the only thing that is consistent in such a state of flux is our pet’s faithful presence. Their presence grounds us and provides us with a sense of stability and routine, especially during tumultuous times.

We form bonds with animals unlike any other bond, and their presence, loyalty, and love is one of the few things we can rely on in our lives. They become our companion and friend, giving our day-to-day lives a sense of joyful purpose.

So when our pet becomes sick or passes away, it shakes our sense of stability and reality. We come home and no one is there to happily greet us; we wake in the morning and notice an absence; our routine is altered as we are no longer needed to feed, walk, or groom our faithful friend.

The loss can make life feel unreal, unsettling, and confusing. So what are we to do when we lose a pet? And how can we ease and lean into the process of grief?

Ways to Honor and Navigate the Process of Pet Grief

Grief is a way to honor the meaning and impact our pets have had on our lives. And although not comprehensive, I’d like to offer a few suggestions for how you can navigate the process:

1. Reflect and express gratitude

When our pet gets sick or old, we often have time to prepare for their loss. In this time before or after their death, spend time looking through photos of them and recall your favorite memories of them. Reflect on and express gratitude for the companionship they gave you and the meaning they added to your life.

2. Talk about them

Our pets are very much like our family members. One way to honor them after they have passed is to recount favorite stories with others. Through our stories, they are given new life in our memory; and through the telling of these stories, we can also mend the emptiness left in their absence.

3. Create a meaningful burial

You may have the option to bury your animal or cremate them. The act of burial can provide you with a sense of closure and of putting your pet to final rest. You can spread ashes in their favorite part of the backyard, on their favorite walk, or somewhere that was meaningful to the both of you.

4. Be patient

Grief has no time limit. It ebbs and flows over weeks, months, and years. Give yourself permission to grieve, to feel the complex emotions, and to recognize that the loss of a pet is real and worth paying attention to. Take a day off of work, tell others about it, and, most importantly, take care of yourself. 

About the author: Kevin Culver, LPCC, is a professional counselor, published author, and owner of Resilient Kindness Counseling. Kevin has a MA in Mental Health Counseling and a BA in Theological Studies. With a background in spirituality, philosophy, and psychological research, Kevin provides a holistic approach to therapy that seeks to honor each client’s unique personality, worldview, and life aspirations. In his therapeutic work, he helps clients rediscover their humanity and create greater meaning in their lives, work, and relationships. He enjoys working with individuals from all backgrounds, but specializes in working with men’s issues, spirituality, and relationship issues. If you are interested in working with Kevin or learning more about his practice, please visit resilientkindness.com or email him at kevin@resilientkindness.com

Feeling grief was impossible for me most of my life. I grew up in the middle of a very large family, My mom had absolutely no capacity to hold her own grief nor to recognize or welcome mine. I learned really quickly to be strong, to be independent and not too needy. In order to do this, I had to turn away from vulnerability, including the recognition of my delicate sadness and sense of aloneness in the world. Since my early adult years, I’ve been on a mission to find the depth and meaning of this lack of ability to feel my own sense of loss.

My five-year-old self woke up to the stark reality that I was expected to take charge of my own growing up. It’s taken decades for me to recognize the lasting impact of that time on my nervous system. In addition, it was the impact of future traumas and aloneness that stacked up to create a well of grief and sense of aloneness. I had to wall it off inside of myself in order to function. I had no idea that I would continue to be impacted until I could return someday to heal it.

It’s taken me decades to feel and trust in the safety that I’ve needed, to find the intimacy between grief and aliveness. I have found it through warmth and care and the resonance from others. I am now deeply grateful for the gift of grief.

Welcoming grief has made it possible to breathe more deeply, to touch into joy and play, and find connection with people that matter most, including my very precious self.

Just what is grief?

According to Sarah Peyton, a neuroscience educator, grief is an emotional state of the nervous system that’s activated when we bump up against loss, death or abandonment. We often describe it as sadness or sorrow.

What does it mean to be accompanied in our grief? Sarah has a whole program guiding participants through warm accompaniment. She describes accompaniment as, “Being with another person or ourselves. Being present with our feelings, such as sorrow or any other emotional state we might be in, without trying to fix us. Just being present without trying to reassure us or to distract us from our pain.”

Just to be present in accompaniment often has a quality of warm acceptance and resonance.  Sarah describes resonance as being in living connection with another through relationality that is reflected in our voice tone and in our body language. It’s our ability to have a sense of seeing the other person. Resonance allows us to be understood, to be seen, to be known, and to be accepted.

We begin by naming the types of losses we’ve experienced, such as the death of a loved one. Or, there might be some event or interaction from the past that remains unsettled.  There might be accidents or illness, violence or unknown causes of death.

There may be the death of a beloved pet. I wanted to name that because often there are some of us who found accompaniment only through our pets, through the animals that have been in our lives. So the death of a beloved pet leaves a very distinct mark on our spirits and souls.  Maybe you have some sense of loss around your health, around relationships, friendships, family, perhaps through divorce or breakups or estrangements, maybe the loss of dreams that you’ve had, the loss of innocence, of careers, or jobs, the loss of a sense of place or home. Any of these losses can leave a mark on us, can be something we don’t know how to grieve. There is also the loss of faith, the loss of youth, the loss of hope. So just having your eyes glance through this list and wondering what is here for you to revisit in order to fully heal.

You might think about creating a grief practice that will help you capture the losses that are still lingering within you. But I first wanted to just talk a little bit about the neuroscience of language. Matthew Lieberman is a neuroscientist in social cognition. He researched how the brain can be calmed after it gets triggered or activated with feelings of fight, flight or freeze. He looked at what it takes to calm the brain to bring us out of these survival modes.

Lieberman found that when a person’s experience is named the brain begins to calm down. He tested people in MRI machines and showed slides of facial expressions. When the area of the brain holding emotions was lit up, he tried different methods of calming. The one that was the most effective was simply naming the experience or the feeling. 

At least every four seconds we are scanning our environments and asking ourselves, “Is there any danger in our world? Are we safe? Do I matter?  We’re asking so that the brain can react quickly and keep us safe. If we find ‘no’ to be the answer, if I am not safe, if I feel that I’m not safe, or that I don’t matter, the brain is so quick and smart it sends all the energy into the fight/flight response and we lose the functions of the rest of the brain. We’re just there for fight, flight, freeze to keep us safe, but we lose the capacity to contextualize the environment – noises or smells or things that we see, voice tones – and we lose our executive functioning as we’re in this triggered state until the brain can again calm gradually over time.

So I think to myself, what if my younger self’s experience had been named by a significant adult? If someone had said to my little 5-year-old, “Of course you are in shock, of course you stopped breathing when your siblings didn’t make room for your voice.  Are you overcome by terror and horror and grief?” Each day that your siblings ignored your needs, what if I was encouraged to feel the grief in my own body, to be seen for how painful it is for a little one to not be heard or feel they matter to the ones whom they are deeply attached? What if my experience had been named? I might not have felt the need to move away from myself in order to survive within my family.

It’s not too late. I can now say to my inner 5-year-old self, “Are you feeling hopeless that you will ever be heard among all these siblings?” I can begin to wonder about what this is like to have our experience named in really simple ways. If a friend comes with an upset, we can begin to help with that calming by the naming of their grief or sorrow. We might say, ‘Of course you’re devastated by this loss or it makes so much sense that you could barely breathe.’ Do you need someone to understand what it’s like to live in your body and then your brain?

So making feelings guesses or repeating what someone has said sometimes that sounds kind of awkward but there’s something incredibly validating to know that the other person has heard you deeply. First, think about a loss or death and name the feelings that come up, especially noticing what’s happening in your body sensations as you focus on loss. You can also do this when a friend or family member reveals their feelings of loss.

References and Further Reading
Celeste Kersey, An Exploration of Death and Loss through the Circuit of Panic/Grief, Sarah Peyton’s 2024 Resonance Summit, https://sarahpeyton.com/2024-resonance-summit-epilogue/

About the author: Rev. Catherine Dockery, MA, is a People House minister and a trained facilitator in conscious aging, nonviolent communication and resonant healing of trauma. She has an MA in Public Administration and BA in Communications both from the University of Colorado at Denver. Catherine started The Center for Conscious Aging in 2015 where she conducts workshops, personal coaching and support groups for older adults helping them to understand their developmental changes and transform their lives. She has 10 years of experience in individual and group facilitation and presents on aging topics throughout Colorado. To learn more about Catherine’s services please visit www.centerforconsciousaging.org or email consciousaging1@gmail.com

So, I am pulling back for this post and giving my own experience of death and grieving, as a White, Protestant Christian, midwestern, middle socioeconomic American woman in her 50s. I know many Americans have different experiences which I would love to hear. But, this is the culture I know.

Throughout most of my life, I was fearful of death, which I assume is not a groundbreaking response. Because I was the youngest of my family, by far, my parents were older than many of my peers’ parents. My paternal grandfather died before I was born; my maternal grandfather died when I was 7; and both of my grandmothers died when I was a teen. We also lived several states away from my parents’ hometown so I did not know any of my grandparents well.

My maternal grandpa was vivacious, funny and a jokester – his funny laugh was actually recorded and played on a local tv show periodically to get others to laugh; he would take pictures of old women at family gatherings as they were just about to take a bite to eat; often, he pushed out his dentures at me when I was a little girl and chased after me with his teeth to make me laugh.

Apparently, he was a passionate man who also had some extreme anger issues – which I discovered later was most likely due to significant childhood trauma. All I was told was that he smoked too much and so when he was hospitalized for lung and heart issues at 75, I was told it was due to his life choices. He died quickly (in my young opinion) and I remember being at his open-casket funeral, walking back and forth in front of his casket looking at his body, thinking that he was going to jump up and let everyone know it had all been one big joke. He would just jump up and laugh his jolly laugh.

I really thought that. I remember thinking that I bothered someone by mentioning that, so they sent me back to the house for the rest of the funeral. I actually spent that time sitting in his room and looking at the furniture – there was a burn spot on a small settee that I thought looked exactly like a rabbit when you looked at it from a certain direction. That mattered to me later in life in my own journey with grief.

My grandmothers were both kind and caring women – but I had spent such little time with them that I didn’t experience much grief when they passed away in their late 80s. Both of them had been in nursing care facilities before they passed. I was saddened by their loss but I honestly was not deeply affected by grief.

I did not like visiting the nursing care facilities – there seemed to be a deep sense of loss surrounding everyone – like a longing for everything that had existed at a time and place that had passed years before. Those places haunted me because I could not sense time, meaning, connection, or purpose there. It was like everyone and everything was expected to pass on. So, when my grandmothers died, it felt expected, and somewhat cold. I don’t even recall my mother or father crying at their funerals.

Honestly, I felt for others when they suffered deep losses and thought I understood the depth of grief in those years before my son, Benny, died. Shortly before Benny died when my husband was an active-duty Marine, I befriended another mom whose husband was a Marine. She and her husband had a young son about the same age as the youngest of our three sons at the time. Over the first few months of our friendship, they told us about the tragic death of their older son. He was three when he was shot by an 11 year old playing with a pellet gun. He died in his mom’s arms.

Their loss seared my heart at the time and I tried to grieve with them on the special days, birthdays, holidays, the anniversary of his death, etc. I thought I knew death and grief. I thought I knew.

Then, two years later, my heart and life tore to pieces when we experienced the sudden traumatic loss of Benny.. Gratefully, that friend was there to help guide us through those devastatingly horrifying first moments, days and months. The culture of the Marine Corps at the time also supported us tremendously. I have always been and will always be so indebted to those people and that unique culture for that time. They surrounded our family and provided us with support to truly grieve. I don’t know if we could have survived without them. When we separated from them due to my husband leaving active-duty, I grieved the loss of that support again.

Now, over 20 years later, I understand grief. I am, however unwillingly, well-acquainted with death. And I am learning to understand how to support the various paths we as humans take to make sense of death, not only the deaths of those we love but also our own.

My studies of people and cultures have taught me that: (1) We can’t put death away – it is real. It has a 100% rate of occurrence across all peoples and all time. (2) We must face it and know it. I do not fear it anymore. I have confronted it in the eyes of my own dear son. I do not fear it. (3) Death is a part of life, but it causes immense pain, resulting in grief, not only in the dying but also in those who care for those who die. This pain can feel insurmountable. (4) Grief is part of life. It does not “finish”. It will grow and change along with those experiencing it. (5) If grief is ignored, it will keep trying to get the attention of those who experienced loss because it is a normal part of human experience. (6) We need human connections and communication for healthy processing of grief – and throughout human existence this has been facilitated by mourning and grief rituals. (7) When humans, through lack of awareness or through purposeful ignorance, avoid death and/or pretend it does not exist or will not affect them, they not only are fighting their humanity but they are also eluding the unfathomable richness of being alive, of experiencing consciousness for this small portion of time.

Throughout my studies of death rituals, I have felt increasingly connected to a larger family throughout time and across cultural divides to understand and cope with, as best as we know how, the pain of grief from the loss of our loved ones. We all have that in common. May we all remember that in these painfully divided times.

About the Author: As a mother of six sons, Lisa’s greatest joy in life is her family. Tragically, however, in 2002, she and her husband, Aaron, lost their fourth son Benjamin in an unexpected accident. From then on, Lisa experienced a long, painful struggle with post-traumatic stress disorder and deep grief. She was introduced to yoga as a daily practice to help her rest and reset her mind. After over 18 years of her personal growth as a student and a teacher of yoga, she continues to explore the relationship between spirituality, somatics and mental health. She is currently pursuing a master’s degree in clinical mental health counseling at Messiah University and is privileged to work with People House as an Affordable Counseling Intern. Upon licensure, she intends to combine her in-depth knowledge of spiritual practices, yoga, and meditation with clinical counseling techniques to offer holistic therapy to clients, focusing on grief, trauma and bereavement issues for parents.

The extensive support of the community and the rituals surrounding death serve as an example of how to care for the bereaved and communally process death.

When Maria was a young woman, her father, a local influential attorney and community leader, passed away suddenly at the age of 56, leaving a legacy of a large family and a prominent and valuable position in the community. The shock of his passing left all in the community grieving, and so began a days- and weeks-long ritual of mourning his death.

Because Igbo people are a majority Catholic group, much of Maria’s story of the beliefs and rituals surrounding the death of her father relate to the Bible. Maria described her community’s belief about rituals related to the ages of the deceased as stemming from Psalm 90:10, “Our days may come to seventy years, or eighty, if our strength endures; yet the best of them are but trouble and sorrow, for they quickly pass, and we fly away.” For this reason, a celebration of life ritual is valued for those eighty and older because they have reached the pinnacle of strength. If a person dies between 70 and 80, and the person is not in pain, it is also a reason for a celebration of life. If the deceased is younger than 70, it is more difficult for the community, especially if it was due to unexpected circumstances. Due to this, Maria described the impact of her father’s death as immense “crying and wailing” throughout the family and community.

Her father was mourned also by smaller sub-communities – the local group of attorneys in Lagos, the Catholic society, their home village. Each community along with their family hosted wakes, called “wake- keeping”, to provide the necessary honoring of his life. Wake-keepings are times of mourning and celebration imbued with singing, dancing, eating, drinking and remembering. Families often spend significant amounts of money providing the community with several opportunities to commemorate the deceased. This can be overwhelming at times for the family and so the community often contributes. In the case of the death of children, the community forbids the family from providing for the ceremonies and burial, instead providing for the family to bury their child.

Maria’s family accompanied his body along the trek toward the home village, where his final resting place would be. After several days of wake-keepings and ceremonies, the people walked behind the car with his body for four miles to the burial site near his village in Igboland. The Igbo people believe that if the body is not brought home to Igboland, the soul becomes lost and will never rest until the body is brought home.

After his death, Maria’s mother shaved her hair in steps, a small bit after each ceremony. Widows mark the mourning not only by shaving their hair but also by staying out of markets and other shopping areas for three months to one year, until the ikwa ozu or “second burial”. The ikwa ozu is a celebration of deceased loved ones which takes place anywhere from two weeks to one year after the death. It is another time of spiritual rites, songs, dance and expression which also serves as a support for the bereaved family members.

Maria reminded me that for the Igbo people, death is a time of transition – a home-going for the soul of the deceased to take their place as an honored ancestor.

All their celebrations and mourning rites do not avoid or diminish the pain of the loss, but rather honor their love for the deceased and their value to the community as a whole. Finally, Maria emphasized the importance of the concept, “Mbọsi onye kwalụ mmadụ k’ọkwalụ onw’ye’”, or “The day you mourn and weep for another’s death is perceived as the day that you mourn your own death – a recognition of your own transition.” Through this, the Igbo community demonstrates ancient understanding of the vital need for extensive social support during times of painful loss and transforms the fear of death into a time of transition from one part of life to the next.

Resources:
https://www.academia.edu/35168817/Continuum_Journal_of_Media_and_Cultural_Studies_Creativity
_in_calamity_Igbo_funeral_as_interface_of_visuality_and_performance
https://www.nigerianjournalsonline.com/index.php/JOCAS/article/download/1757/1717?__cf_chl_tk=d
7cyfDvs9_khWRQoI0TMc.5q69pxSxSiPQcHRU1OGR8-1686090299-0-gaNycGzNDFA

About the Author: As a mother of six sons, Lisa’s greatest joy in life is her family. Tragically, however, in 2002, she and her husband, Aaron, lost their fourth son Benjamin in an unexpected accident. From then on, Lisa experienced a long, painful struggle with post-traumatic stress disorder and deep grief. She was introduced to yoga as a daily practice to help her rest and reset her mind. After over 18 years of her personal growth as a student and a teacher of yoga, she continues to explore the relationship between spirituality, somatics and mental health. She is currently pursuing a master’s degree in clinical mental health counseling at Messiah University and is privileged to work with People House as an Affordable Counseling Intern. Upon licensure, she intends to combine her in-depth knowledge of spiritual practices, yoga, and meditation with clinical counseling techniques to offer holistic therapy to clients, focusing on grief, trauma and bereavement issues for parents.

I find it curious that the most natural aspects of life are often not talked about the way they should be. Everyone reading this post, everyone near you as you read this post (for that matter, everyone) is a sexual person who has experienced/will experience death and sexuality. These natural experiences are guarantees in life, yet to discuss them is taboo. Then comes the even more troubling thought; how long after the death of a loved one should I wait to have sex? There isn’t a simple answer to this question. The answer is quite subjective, which isn’t surprising, but what is surprising is the symbiotic relationship that sex and death share. However, I’m getting a little ahead of myself, so allow me to back up.

Recently my partner and I lost our pup. She was 14; he adopted her when she was 7 months old, and for the last 5 years I had the pleasure of loving her. This certainly hasn’t been my first brush with death. I’ve grieved family, friends, colleagues I’ve admired, pets, even past lovers. This was the fist loss that I experienced with a partner, up until this event, my grief has always been…well, mine. Sharing the loss, the pain and the tears was really a profound experience that gave me some insight that I really want to share.

When it comes to sex there are usually two types of reactions when we grieve. We either cut ourselves off from sex, or we dive head first into it. Neither reaction is good or bad, what we do with that reaction is going to determine if we are expressing grief in a healthy or unhealthy way.

As a matter of fact, grief and sex have a very close relationship. I don’t mean to get too deep, but death gives many things. It can give closure, meaning, depth, release and many other things (both good and bad). To quote Francis Weller, “Grief is subversive, undermining the quiet agreement to behave and be in control of our emotions.” Our emotions fire off, in ways that we sometimes can’t control. Then again, why should we? Our relationships mean a lot to us, this release of emotion (in whatever way we express emotions) lets us know we are alive. There are places in our mind and emotions that we can’t get to without grief. If you’ve read my blogs, you’ve heard me talk about sex like this. Most of us are here on this earth because of sex, this want for physical closeness and release can culminate in life.

Healthy sex can take us to a place of abandonment, where we are able to access pleasure, rapture, surrender and connection.

Sex on a biological level can elevate our mood, trigger our pleasure center and release chemicals that make us feel better, which can lead to healing. Eros is life. I’ve worked with people who use sex to disconnect during times of grief, I get that. Sometimes the shadow of death stretches so wide and far that we can’t see anything else, we want to see something else, so we’ll disconnect, engage in more sex for that temporary relief. That can be destructive.: the line between escaping and seeing the big picture in smaller doses is thin. I did walk that line on both sides in my single days. Using sex to feel better was good, but it was only part of what was needed. I’ll expand on that in a second.

Now that I have my partner, it’s a very different story. We luckily had talks about death (our own, our family, our friends, our pets). We both vocalized how we deal with the inevitable and created agreements. So when our home was visited by death we had a blueprint, it wasn’t perfect, but it gave us a guide to follow. He is more logical and stoic, I’m more emotional and sentimental. We knew our strengths and where we needed support, and we were able to guide each other. I think the most insightful aspect was seeing how I projected my ideas of grieving to my partner. The way I grieve wasn’t the way he did. It gave me awareness. I don’t mind disclosing that we had a sexy-time night scheduled, we didn’t know what to do when that night came around. In the end, we didn’t know if we were up for sex, but we wanted intimacy. Holding, kissing, talking, touching, crying and sharing that space together. That intimacy helped us heal and the intimacy opened the door for Eros. If you’re reading this and in a relationship, talk with your partner now about death. It’s not taboo, it’s natural. Getting that blueprint will help both of you to prepare for a day that WILL come.

Remember when I said that during my single days sex was only part of healing? Well, that’s true. It gave me the break I needed and the pleasure I was craving, but it wasn’t all that I needed. I needed to talk to someone about my feelings, I needed to find a way to honor those who passed. It doesn’t matter if you’re single, in a relationship, or poly. Have a plan, have it in place before something happens. Maybe you do feel that you should abstain from sex. I get that, but don’t abstain from connection. That connection can be to yourself or to another. Self-soothe, seek touch, massage, intimacy. All the things that give life should be harnessed right now.

These taboo subjects are taboo because we are taught to fear these subjects, but we shouldn’t. They are part of life. They are part of us. Bring up this subject with yourself or with a partner. Should you need it, coaches and counselors are there to help you.

About the Author: Rick Garcia (he/him) is the owner of Cannabased Coaching & Wellness. Rick started his career in the healing arts as a licensed massage therapist in 2005. Looking for a shift he transitioned to HIV prevention and has worked in sexual health for 11 years. Realizing the gap in sexual health and sexual fulfillment Rick became a certified sex coach and sexologist so that he could help people explore their ideal sexual self while remaining as safe as possible. His sex coaching services are holistic and combine elements such as talk, somatic exercises, the MEBES model, cannabis and a variety of other modalities. When his wellness center opened he decided to have another arm available for massage therapy. To learn more about Rick’s services please visit www.cannabasedcoachingandwellness.com or contact him at cannabasedcoachingandwellness@gmail.com.

I was raised in a home and community that would be described as Evangelical Christian, White with upper-middle socioeconomic expectations. We generally focused on the “blessings” we were given by God: life, love and, really, the American Dream. While I do not look down on all of it (there were some beautiful aspects), there was a sense of being shielded from the realities experienced by many in our country and around the world. We also were encouraged or expected in some sense to cover over our own sufferings and challenges, perhaps due to the unspoken but widely felt belief that all things work out for the good of those who follow God. Our churches rarely had crucifixes displayed because, as I was told, we did not serve a Savior who died but one who resurrected from the dead. As a child, I remember wanting to feel distraught about the death of Jesus on Good Friday, but struggled with feeling much of anything. We did rejoice on Easter, though, mainly with new clothes, big meals and Easter baskets filled with candy.

Again, while I do not despise the rituals in my home, I do regret being shielded from contemplating death. As a teen, I remember seeing a story about Día de Los Muertos celebrations in Mexico and getting a message from someone in my life that focusing on death like that was “ungodly” and a celebration of death and dying. With all of the skulls, it seemed almost scary to me, but there was also something that felt lively and engaging – human. I kept my opinion to myself for a few decades until my husband and I moved our family to El Paso, Texas, and we could connect with my husband’s Mexican heritage.

The beauty of El Paso is indescribable to someone who has not lived there and absorbed the Chihuahuan desert for what it is – arid yet lively. The colors of the desert jump out from the backdrop of cacti and rocks. Similarly, the celebrations of Día de Los Muertos display the vibrancy and human connection within that ancient culture.

Día de Los Muertos is an acculturated holiday combining Christian Catholic beliefs held by the Spanish conquistadores with the 3,000 year old harvest ritual celebration of Mictecacihuatl, the Lady of the Dead or La Muerte, in the Mexica/Nahua culture, also known as the Aztecs. The Mexica believed that Mictecacihuatl, sacrificed as a baby, grew to adulthood and married in the underworld. She and her husband, Mictlantecuhtli, ruled the underworld together and collected the bones of the dead to be returned to the land of the living and restored by the gods. The food and precious objects buried with the newly dead were intended as offerings to these gods to ensure their safety in the underworld. Mictecacihuatl is often represented with a defleshed body and with her jaws wide open, so that she can swallow the stars and make them invisible during the day.

The original Mexica celebrations of Mictecacihuatl, were ruled over by her which is why skulls and skeletons dominate many of the rituals. Skulls were viewed by the Mexica/Nahua peoples as representing the possibility of new life beyond instead of death. The skull, or calavera, is one of the key objects displayed on the ofrenda, or “offering”, a home altar dedicated to the memory of those who have died. The shape of the ofrenda is pyramid-like with three tiers, reflecting not only the pyramids of Mesoamerican cultures but also the tepetl, or “sacred mountain”, so common and revered in these cultures. In addition to pictures of the deceased, each ofrenda also contains items which also have deep connections to the Mexica culture.

Fragrant cempazúchitl, or Aztec Marigolds, are native to Mexico and the symbolic flower of death for the Mexica, because once it is cut, it dies very quickly. Candles placed on the ofrenda light the way for the deceased to visit while the path of fresh marigolds through the house toward the altar guide the soul through their scent. Copal, a tree resin incense used by several Mesoamerican cultures, is also burned on the altar to indicate the presence of the soul returning to the ofrenda.

Papel picado, or perforated paper, forms a decorative surrounding of the ofrenda of elaborate cut-out designs into sheets of colorful tissue paper which catch the wind and represent the returning of the soul to the home. This descends from the Mexica tradition of chiseling spirit figures into bark made from mulberry and fig tree bark to make a rough paper called amate.

Water, other favorite drinks like tequila, traditional Mexican dishes like tamales and mole, and favorite objects of the deceased also are placed on the ofrenda, for the deceased soul’s refreshment and enjoyment. Most research points to the historically Spanish origin of the pan de muertos, or sweet bread with a shape of the cross, also given for the deceased on the ofrenda. This represents the anthropological and historical influences of Spain and the Mexica on the rituals of the ofrenda and the Día de Los Muertos, and which also forms much of the culture in Mexico and El Paso, and my husband and sons.

My husband had not practiced the ritual of the ofrenda in his family of origin but, when we moved to El Paso, we rediscovered the ritual as a helpful and sweet way to remember our own beautiful son, who has blood connections through my husband to Mexica culture. So, while it is not my own cultural ritual, I have adopted it as a comforting way to reconnect our family not only with the memory of Benny, but also grandparents and others who have passed in the family. When assembled, it is a gorgeous remembrance and a colorful hope of a life we cannot always see, and a reminder to let go of our fear of death.

Resources:
https://dayofthedead.holiday/traditions/the-ofrenda/
https://www.gavilan.edu/news/2021/10/Whatisanofrendaanditssignificance.pdf
https://www.ofrendamagazine.com/articles/a-dia-de-los-muertos-perspective-my-path-with-
mictecacihuatl-lady-of-the-dead
https://theconversation.com/day-of-the-dead-from-aztec-goddess-worship-to-modern-mexican-
celebration-124962

About the Author: As a mother of six sons, Lisa’s greatest joy in life is her family. Tragically, however, in 2002, she and her husband, Aaron, lost their fourth son Benjamin in an unexpected accident. From then on, Lisa experienced a long, painful struggle with post-traumatic stress disorder and deep grief. She was introduced to yoga as a daily practice to help her rest and reset her mind. After over 18 years of her personal growth as a student and a teacher of yoga, she continues to explore the relationship between spirituality, somatics and mental health. She is currently pursuing a master’s degree in clinical mental health counseling at Messiah University and is privileged to work with People House as an Affordable Counseling Intern. Upon licensure, she intends to combine her in-depth knowledge of spiritual practices, yoga, and meditation with clinical counseling techniques to offer holistic therapy to clients, focusing on grief, trauma and bereavement issues for parents.

One of my favorite metaphors for the beauty but brevity of life is the cherry blossom. During spring, the delicate flowers of the cherry blossom tree, or sakura, represent the aromatic and vibrant beauty of life. In a few weeks, though, their abundant blooms flutter to the ground creating a snow-like carpet for spring, whispering to us the truth that life is breathtaking and fleeting.

The Japanese tradition of viewing the sakura at full bloom, called hanami, was formerly a time of prayers and offerings but is currently a time of celebration and family picnics. When our family lived in Washington D.C., each spring we looked forward to visiting the grove of flowering cherry trees, donated by the Japanese government over a century ago, surrounding the Tidal Basin at the Jefferson Memorial. Our sons played under the fragrant blooms, and we had picnics and took gorgeous pictures. I did not know why I felt a deeper appreciation for this site until a few years later when I researched the meaning in the cherry blossoms.

The beauty yet brevity of the cherry blossoms illustrates a Japanese idiom, mono no aware, meaning “the empathy of things” or the wistfulness one feels when contemplating the passing of life and time. A scholar during Japan’s Edo Period (1730-1801), Motoori Norinaga, believed that Japanese literature should reflect this concept:

“To know mono no aware is to discern the power and essence, not just of the moon and the cherry blossoms, but of every single thing existing in this world, and to be stirred by each of them.”

Thus, the concept and the hanami, or viewing of the cherry blossoms, should awaken in us a powerful sense of the exquisite value of life because of its impermanence.

Upon hearing of this interpretation of the cherry blossoms, I understood why their ephemeral beauty spoke to me. In 2002, my 14-month-old son, Benjamin, passed away in a tragic accident. Everything I knew to be real and my sense of self imploded in one moment that day. The beauty that was my son disappeared from my tangible reality. I was shattered and took years to reassemble my life. Only now, nearly 20 years later, am I feeling like the gold-repaired kintsugi pottery, broken yet sealed back together in a new way, revealing a new kind of beauty. Benjamin’s life was so very brief, yet the lessons I have gained from his life reverberate down through mine.

The beauty of spring and the cherry blossoms can bring meaning to our lives, helping us learn from the impermanence of things yet inspiring us to cherish the beauty in each moment.

Through Benjamin’s death, I have endeavored to help others process the impact of loss and discover their own sense of meaning. Death, especially when it is sudden, unexpected, or traumatic, can interrupt the natural progression and expectations of life so much so that those left grieving struggle to pick up their shattered worlds and piece them back together in a functional way. Recent research in the field of bereavement has unearthed the concept that grief is a gradual process of meaning-making as the griever attempts to restructure their world after the loss. Making meaning of the loss is a necessary part of processing grief and various cultural practices around the world have developed around this human need.

Many rituals, practices and endeavors have supported me to recreate meaning in my life after the loss of my son: my path toward becoming a therapist being one of these endeavors. This does not mean my grief is “healed” or in some way gone. To the contrary, these practices help me to process my grief throughout my life as my grief grows with me.

In my upcoming series of posts, I will explore different rituals, practices and cultural concepts which support grievers across the world to formulate a sense of meaning within the impermanence of life. Come along with me as we contemplate mono no aware and discover our human family’s ability to create meaning and find beauty in the brevity of life.

Sources:

1. What Do Cherry Blossoms Represent? https://www.jal.co.jp/my/en/guide-to-japan/experiences/cherry-blossom/what-do-cherry-blossoms-
   represent/index.html#:~:text=Fallen%20cherry%20blossoms%20or%20petals,cherry%20petals%20for%20the%20emperor.%E2%80%9D
2. Mono No Aware in Japanese Literature: https://osusumebooks.com/blogs/news/mono-no-aware-in-japanese-literature
3. Doran, G., & Downing Hansen, N. (2006). Constructions of Mexican American family grief after the death of a child: An exploratory study. Cultural Diversity and Ethnic Minority Psychology, 12(2), 199–211. https://doi-org.ezproxy.messiah.edu/10.1037/1099-9809.12.2.199
4. Pearlman, L. A., Wortman, C. B., Feuer, C. A., Farber, C. H., & Rando, T. A. (2014). Treating traumatic bereavement: A practitioner’s guide. The Guilford Press.

About the Author: As a mother of six sons, Lisa’s greatest joy in life is her family. Tragically, however, in 2002, she and her husband, Aaron, lost their fourth son Benjamin in an unexpected accident. From then on, Lisa experienced a long, painful struggle with post-traumatic stress disorder and deep grief. She was introduced to yoga as a daily practice to help her rest and reset her mind. After over 18 years of her personal growth as a student and a teacher of yoga, she continues to explore the relationship between spirituality, somatics and mental health. She is currently pursuing a master’s degree in clinical mental health counseling at Messiah University and is privileged to work with People House as an Affordable Counseling Intern. Upon licensure, she intends to combine her in-depth knowledge of spiritual practices, yoga, and meditation with clinical counseling techniques to offer holistic therapy to clients, focusing on grief, trauma and bereavement issues for parents.

He was known for often saying, “everything is possible”. While he was alive I would brush it off when he said it, likely trying to tease him; now I wish I hadn’t. After he died, everyone around me was quoting it and I found myself getting annoyed, then angry. When I stopped for a moment, I realized I was REALLY angry! But I was directing my anger in the wrong place… maybe I was trying to find a place for blame. When I started to look at my anger, I was shocked at intense it had grown. I remind myself, it’s just moments. All I need to focus on is getting through now. For someone who has had to work on anger, I know how tempting it can feel. But in my grief, I try to remember that no matter how hard a moment gets. If I lean into the belief that “everything is possible”, I give myself enough space to pry away from the anger and move just an inch closer to true acceptance. The progress is slow, but it’s moving.  

I have always struggled with grief, both professionally and personally. As a therapist, I worry I don’t have the right questions to ask or the perfect words to soothe my heartbroken client.

Now I’m seeing that it’s ok to not have the words, that sometimes there aren’t any, and the only way to assuage any loss is to hear the stories of those who grieve. Because that’s what’s been lost, a piece of their story, and one way we can stay close to those we love and lost, is to recall their story – never losing our shared narrative.

If there’s one thing that my grief is challenging, is my belief that vulnerability is a strength – because I don’t always feel so strong. Part of my interest in putting these thoughts to words is to lean into my vulnerability and hope others will learn to do the same. It’s a part of our never-ending quest for our meaning and purpose; to feel and move through. Truthfully, it’s cathartic and heart-wrenching. Both of those things can exist together… and both feel empowering. I hope we can all learn to gravitate towards the power of our stories and embrace the vulnerability of our losses. Because like my friend always said, “everything is possible”.

Samantha Camerino (she/her) is the owner of Nomad Therapy Services. She uses a “Person in Environment” approach, addressing not just the individual, but also exploring the environmental, societal and historical components that may be impacting self-growth. She has nearly a decade of experience working with persons struggling with an array of challenges such as depression, anxiety, anger, low self-esteem, trauma, et. al. Currently, Samantha conducts sessions in the office or online, and she also encourages ‘walk & talks’ and meeting in outdoor settings. If you are interested in learning more about the Nomad approach, visit her website at www.nomadtherapyservices.com or email her at samantha@nomadtherapyservices.com.

She lived a long and fulfilling life, centered on family, church & teaching. Her life was also one of great suffering, surviving childhood trauma and the loss of two children early in life. Mom was also a cancer survivor, and outlived my father by 15 years.

My mother was born into poverty in rural Pennsylvania, the daughter of Irish immigrants. Her own mother had crossed the Atlantic, alone, at age 16. She was sent for by family who had come earlier. I’ve tried to imagine the desperation that would drive a young girl to come to the US on her own, but it’s a challenge, since I have never wanted for anything. Mom saw to that.

Mom’s father was prone to anger & abuse, mostly toward her mother. She told me that her childhood was a lonely one, as she was an only child surrounded by adults. Mom said she confronted her father when she was 16, and told him he had to stop the abuse, and he did. She became fierce and protective.

She graduated high school at 16, college at 20, and went to work for Westinghouse as an engineer, toward the end of WW2. She was the only female on the staff, and she said her boss protected her from any harassment by her male colleagues, though she certainly could have defended herself. Westinghouse offered to pay for her Master’s degree in Engineering, but she declined, preferring to return home and teach high school mathematics.

My parents provided for us kids a life of structure & security. In fact, it was very rigid, with alarms going off at 5:30 am, dishes washed & dried before anyone left for school or work, and dinner at 5 pm every night. We dared not be late for dinner. I got straight A’s in school, and I think my brothers did, too. We would not have dared to bring home anything less.

As I grew into my preteen and teen age years, my relationship with Mom became one of conflict and disagreement. She was an unmovable force, unwilling to listen to or respect my budding thoughts and ideas. I became alienated and afraid, and after I left for college, I never lived at home again. I rebelled against everything she stood for, and that rebellion is still going on, in both conscious and unconscious ways and is a part of my ongoing work –to free myself of this reactivity and learn to just be myself.

I think my true grief began then, with the realization that I would never have an open and honest relationship with my mother. I have grieved this loss my entire life. It makes my loss of her even harder. There are no more chances to heal our relationship.

Mom & I did reach an accord, but the cost was high: We didn’t talk about deep things, making true intimacy impossible. We didn’t discuss religion or spirituality; politics was a minefield. She thought my child raising ideas were completely misguided, at best. All I could do was set limits, which she respected. So we had a relationship of love, at a distance. We could not accept each other’s truths. 

My attitude toward my mother began to shift when I became a parent myself, as happens for many of us. I began to really appreciate the stability she & Dad had provided. I also knew I didn’t want my children to grow up with the guilt, fear, and shame imposed on me by their strict religious beliefs. It has been one of my life’s challenges to unlearn these barriers to my inner truth and Self knowing.

Grief is a stealth bomber; it comes and goes, arriving when an idea or image reminds me of her, then receding for a time. I have kept her thick glasses, and they fill me with a sense of poignant sorrow, seeming to represent our shared human struggle to see. When grief arises, it often seems like it will overwhelm me with its intensity. The tears come in huge sobs, and I feel as though I’m being ripped in two. Other times, it is a deep sadness, sorrow driven by what we never had, and now, never will. 

Then, especially during meditation, I experience a sweet sense of peace and can feel the love of those who have passed before me, knowing they are “Out in that field beyond right doing and wrong doing” as Rumi calls it, where we can let go of needing to be right and instead, are one with the All That Is.

Faye Maguire, MA, LAC, is a People House private practitioner working with youth and adults, using a transpersonal approach to therapy. Counseling is her second career, after being a business owner for nearly 30 years. She enjoys working with people experiencing life transitions, grief and loss, depression, anxiety, trauma, addictions, relationship issues, and figuring out life’s direction, using a holistic approach. Please contact her at 720-331-2454 or at fayemaguire@gmail.com for more information.