Redefining your life after grief
Following the death of a child, parents are consumed by grief. It takes all of our energy to make it through each day, much less think about creating a hopeful future and finding the resources to do it. Once we negotiate our way through the haze of the first couple of years of intense grief, life without our children is now the new normal and we’ve discovered we are no longer the people we once were. We search for a balance between honoring our children and moving forward in a hopeful, happy, and purpose filled life.
I know because I felt all of this firsthand. I am an introvert who processes internally. Support groups were never my jam, but reading and research are. The death of my only biological daughter at the age of five and the subsequent disintegration of my marriage, family, and network of support led me on an even deeper and more complex journey to redefining my life, focusing on creating one filled with happiness, joy, and purpose.
Once I’d traversed my own path I recognized I’d collected a quiver of tools that worked for me. I wanted to offer other parents the resources I’d found worked for me. Combining all of the theories I’d learned, the techniques I’d tested, and the resources I’d accumulated over ten years, I envisioned offering retreats for other bereaved parents.
Let the new adventure begin!
Once the funds had been raised, retreat dates were set, and airline tickets purchased I knew it was time to firm up the vision into a tangible program for the inaugural retreat week. Having reflected over my own journey and the steps I’d gone through to end up where I was, I knew the focus would be on Honoring the Past, Living in the Moment, and Embracing the Future.
My toes buried in the sand, the sounds of waves hitting the beach, and the wind gently tossing my hair I sat staring out at the bay with a notebook and pen in hand. We’d have a week to move through the past, present, and future in a way that brought joy, hope and permission to play and enjoy life without reservation.
Permission to play would be the easiest. Each day would leave plenty of free time for parents to do exactly what they wanted. I’d have ideas at the ready and sneak in a few curated surprises along the way.
The bigger question was, how would we deliberately and consciously tackle the overarching themes in a meaningful way each day? I thought back to my early days, no let’s face it, early years of grief after Alison died. What worked for me? What didn’t work me? Which tools did I pick up time and time again? What were the pivotal turning points in my process and what brought them about? The retreat curriculum is an answer to all of these questions.
Now another seven years later, I’ve had the honor of witnessing parents nationwide dealing with their grief - the “what if’s”, and the pressures of ‘other’ as they work their way through the curriculum I crafted,
As the week progresses through the distinct sections of Honoring the Past, Living in the Moment, and Embracing the Future, each of the three sections offers two concrete activities and tools. Every morning parents sit around the table with the activity and thoughts for the day. They gather together again at dinner sharing their highs and lows after having had the day to play and ponder.
What I’ve found time and time again working with bereaved parents is, only another parent ‘in the club’ can gain full trust when offering tools to parents. It’s a legitimate case of, “Until you’ve walked a mile in my shoes you can’t tell me…”. I feel this so deeply, I take great care in acknowledging that while my own five-year old daughter died, the grief of losing a child is through my own lens. I can only hold space for another parent to walk their own mile, pointing out which shoes and gear fit me.
This curriculum isn’t a “Do what I’ve done and follow my belief system”, but rather holding space and giving each parent the effective resources to carve out their own path in a way that works for them. It’s a journey of self-rediscovery in their new skins.
More than anything else, our retreats are a safe holding of space for grieving parents. They are:
a resource for them to hear they aren’t alone, no matter how physically isolated they are
accountability for their own process of embracing the present and the future
practical and applicable
permission to enjoy life, laugh, and pursue new and fun things
Getting there takes work. I did the work, and continue to do the work. It’s been seventeen years since Alison died, giving me the benefit of distance and hindsight. I can say with confidence, the work is worth it. Life can and is full of joy and purpose. Just like every other human, I still have bummer days and deal with life’s struggles. But there is also a vibrancy and an aliveness I’ve only discovered through making peace with death.
