Loss.

Loss.  It's something we all encounter at one, or more, time(s) in our lives.  All different types of loss.  All different.  All the same.  All different.  All the same.

On the mild end of the coin, it could be an earring you loved.  A Frisbee. A cup that belonged to a treasured relative could break. 

Then...you get to the area of loss where love was involved.  You lose a friend.  A boy or girl friend.  Not because they died...but because the love died.  Or faded.  Maybe you lose a pet.  Maybe it was a pet you kinda liked...or loved with all your being.  Maybe you lose a sibling.  A best friend. A partner.  A parent. 

A child.  Several children. 

Maybe, the loss you are experiencing isn't even related to you...but is about someone else suffering a loss you have experienced.  And the pain of their reality becomes your own.

If you are a therapist, perhaps the loss you feel is from watching all the loss of all your clients.  Experiencing their tears as your own. 

It can be crushing.

disabling.

As human beings, I believe we were meant to live tribally.  We were meant to experience support.  Group compassion.  The loss of a precious member of the tribe, mourned by ALL.  Together.  All the tears of the loss...shared.  

Instead...we are tribe-less.  We must cry ALL the tears of the loss, whatever it is,....alone. 

Our culture tells us to stand strong.  Buck up.  Get a Grip.  Be positive.  Look on the bright side.

Ignore our pain.

Ignore the pain of others.

Walk on.  Away.

Quickly.

There is no time to grieve.

And no one wants to admit they are grieving as well.

"Be strong!"

"Be positive!"

"Visualize something happy!"

"Forget...."

"Please, please...forget.  So that I can forget too."

And yet....

the whisper that remembers never leaves.  ever.

We remember the precious pet.  The one that never left your side.  We remember the spouse who, in the dark, kissed like no other.  We remember the brother...who teased and tickled.  We remember the mother, whose sweet smell still wafts in the bathroom.  We remember the hopes and dreams for the child that never was.  Or was...but left too soon.  Much, much too soon. 

They will look at you with a smile and ask, "How are you?"  and a secret place behind their eyes begs you not to really tell them how you are.  How you really ARE. 

"I've been better..."  is a response they are not looking for.  "Fine"...is a response that is a lie. 

So you simply smile, locking the gates of tear flooded reality. 

Loss.  It touches us all. 

Speak about it.  Share it.  Own it. 

Loss.  We need to be reminded that we are not alone....when we speak of it, we offer support to everyone who has ever lost anything...and that IS everyone. 

Speak of it.  Cry about it.  Laugh in spite of it. 

Yes.  laugh through the tears. 

Because....they would want it that way. 

You know who "they" are. 

Yes.  They would want it that way. 

Wanting to give back...

You know...there are those people in our lives who always go out of their way to help others.  We all have them.  Sometimes, it's not just one person...but many who do little, and big, things to make the day brighter.  I've been thinking about this a lot lately.

Cause I'm married to a person like that.

If you've been reading for the past three years...you know all about him.  He's that guy.
The guy who held my hand through oceans of tears.  Who walked with me for hours as I tried to find my breath.  Who cheered me on as I told you my story.  Our story.

The father I always wished I had...my children have.

This is a man who not only spends his nights and weekends loving his family, but who spends his working hours nurturing and protecting the hearts of others who have known the bottom of the barrel.  He typically refers to his clients as his friends.  When I asked him why he does that...he replied "Because I love those people.  They aren't just clients.  They ARE my friends."

That's called being a therapist who cares.  Not just a little.  These people matter to him, like his own children...like brothers and sisters.  Mothers and fathers.  And he gives his soul to all of them.  For that small hour...their problems are the only problems in the world to him.  And his clients know that.  His friends know that.

What most of them don't know is that I hear him crying in the wee hours of the morning.  Crying and praying.  Begging.  He begs that the babies of the world who are being raped will be loved.  He begs that women who are beaten by their partners will be loved.  Will find a safe place to go.  He pleads that men, who are afraid of their own desires, will be brave enough to speak out instead of trying to kill themselves...leaving the people who love them behind.  He sobs...over his own grief.  The grief that he tries to muffle, because he doesn't think I can handle the burden.

I've noticed that he seems sunnier when we have longer days.  I've noticed that the rays of sunshine seem to lift his pain a little.  His eyes seem less burdened.  But...summer is short in Montana.  And winter is long.  As the days already grow shorter, I've felt my chest tighten a bit as I know the glimmer that is surfacing in his eyes again.  It's loss.  Loss of the sunshine.  Loss of the ability to feel it on his face.  Loss of the giving nature he finds in the long days of summer.  Loss of warmth.  Of light.

So...this morning...I heard him crying again.  And I knew it was because of a particular pattern.  Loss.  He's going into his own practice.  Which is exciting to both of us.  Exciting.  And scary.  It will be a good thing.  .  .the best thing for him...and the friends who walk through his door each day.  But...I'd like to give back to him in a way that will show him that the world cares as much about him as he cares about others.  I'd like to show him that the support I have found on line is there for him as well.  I'd like to give him the light he needs to feel joy on his face.  I'd like to give him a place of light in our tiny home.  A sunroom for Ty.  Where he can sit in the morning...even in the winter...and feel warmth on his face, surrounded by greenery and tropical plants.  I'd like to give a portion of what he gives others...to his daily life.  I'd like to ease the pain of loss a little with a gift of abundance.

We can do it together.  You held my hand through our loss.  I know you can hold Ty's as well.  Please click the Go fund me link on the side of this page, or visit here ---->http://email.gofundme.com/wf/click?upn=F0PHeOF0OgCLjus7brE3cffZYyhSi9ZYkIzgc8Xc3wox0UcOkhC101SUFWAoEQ7ciJC4VuCrqABFDOKYikUBu5YEDmgH2-2FtIJM5B-2Bep3bmtCDvlr5mRf7FsBY-2BgySfagqnCF0MW7YFErH0hDaGctJQ-3D-3D_9gT4VO-2FU0du27biN-2F-2BlZKNbMEbQ26Z2-2BWr9gFGfgb9SVy-2FcTSOHHwo5UQ8zKYWSzjySWT-2BdvUZfgKMpNRpj1Ebgp0bi3chQbPR7lym4AyAzao-2Bn3ygKWm8sp240yqQQDENZ1x-2FScBpHUGFNoCIUvKjQgOmF1phXlVe8eUs2wJHGpp5jqCqgBg5slamcYWuhhdKI40uOgvFEPlXzxVBgmauXtL746IqHP-2BFeIoApzEOs-3D and help me give back to Ty.  There are so few good men in the world.  Ty is one of them.  Let's give him the sun!

In honor of breastfeeding week...

As I sit here with my almost 11 month old rainbow baby nursing in my arms...I am acutely aware of how quickly time passes us by.  This poem spoke to me today...I know it will speak to you too. 

 Wean Me Gently

by Cathy Cardall

I know I look so big to you,

Maybe I seem too big for the needs I have.

But no matter how big we get,

We still have needs that are important to us.

I know that our relationship is growing and changing,

But I still need you. I need your warmth and closeness,

Especially at the end of the day

When we snuggle up in bed.

Please don't get too busy for us to nurse.

I know you think I can be patient,

Or find something to take the place of a nursing;

A book, a glass of something,

But nothing can take your place when I need you.

Sometimes just cuddling with you,

Having you near me is enough.

I guess I am growing and becoming independent,

But please be there.

This bond we have is so strong and so important to me,

Please don't break it abruptly.

Wean me gently,

Because I am your mother,

And my heart is tender.