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.

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.