It's October 23.  Autumn is in full swing here in the Northeast.  The air is chilled.  The leaves are nearing the end of their life cycle.   Their previously vibrant and warm colors are fading and turning to a dreary brown.  The cool breeze captures them, taking them from their trees, dancing in the wind as they gently fall to the earth.  

My mood mimics this transition to darker days and longer nights.  A draining of color. A dearth of energy.  I, too, grow weary and withered.  I know it's coming and yet I'm powerless to stop it.  

It seems fitting that Autumn is the beginning of what my husband calls my "dark months."  It begins in earnest today, whether I want it to or not.  It begins today because today is where my daughter's life began.  It's her birthday.  She would have been 14 today.  She's been gone 11 years.  ELEVEN YEARS.  How has it been that long already?

After celebrating her twin brother's birthday this morning, I went to the cemetery, Tinker Bell balloon and new Tink wand in my hand, to give my deceased little girl her birthday gifts.  I sang "Happy Bird Day" to her through the tears.  I twirled around, imagining she was dancing with me, laughing.  I found myself laughing out loud.  It would be so fun to do that again...  

I watched the leaves fall to the ground as the wind kicked up and felt my spirits fall with them.  My heart literally grew heavier.  She's not going to twirl with me ever again.  It's so wrong.  It makes me mad.  It makes me sad.  I miss her.

You'd think after 11 years of this exact same experience, the pain of this day would lessen.  Or at least last only a day.  But of course, that's not how grief works.  That's certainly not how the grief of a bereaved parent works.  Sure, I could stuff it, or ignore it, or distract myself.  Does that really serve me or her memory, though?

The overall pain of her death has changed.  It's not as sharp as it once was.  I've integrated it into who I am and all that I do.  That does not mean I've forgotten her, how much it hurt to lose her, or that I don't feel those sharp pangs of loss like I did the day she died.  It just means most of the time, it's not sharp. I still miss her every bit as much as I did the day she died.  I still love her every ounce as much as I did then.

That's why it's so hard.  

For me, the time period between Meghan's birthday and her death day (December 18) is always a difficult season.  Perhaps because the holidays are fast on the heels of her birth day.  It's my grief season.  Silly, really, because grief knows no seasons.  Grief is now embedded into who I am.  I am a bereaved parent and I will always be a bereaved parent. I will never forget her life, nor her death.  Most days, I am able to function like most other people.  Of course I think of her every single day.  I miss her every single day.  Yet, I'm able to balance that with the joys and demands of daily life.  Most of the time...

The dark months are not dark every day, although some days are certainly harder than others, like today.  Yet as the holiday season approaches, the way I choose to function, the way I need to function, increasingly diverts from the way I function the rest of the year. .  

There is a palpable progression to my mood, my emotional lability, and capacity to function.  As the anticipatory grief that surrounds her death day builds, I increasingly lose sight of the color in my life.  I feel as raw as the now naked trees must without their leaves to warm them.  

As the days and weeks inch closer to her angelversary, my ability to tolerate even the most minor of "issues" all but disappears.  My memory worsens.  I forget things more and more.  My mood becomes more depressed.  I withdraw.  I dial waaaaay back on social things.  I change my habits.  I lose my appetite.  I'm tired all the time.  I have no energy.  I don't want to go to work.  I don't want to have to listen to anyone else's "problems."  I don't want to party or celebrate.  I am much more likely to cry at the drop of a hat.  My "give a crap" meter is pretty much at zero.  I just want it to be over.  
But of course, it's never going to be over.  Because she's not coming back. 

So why now?  Why is October the start of my dark season?  Why is it different than any other day? Aside from the fact today is her birth day, and because she was a twin, I forever see one where two should be?  

It's mostly because of the rush of the holiday season.  You see, I can't stand going in the stores after Halloween.  I go out of my way to avoid it.  If I have to, I'm an irritable, tearful, exhausted mess.  Why?  Because the reminders and triggers are too great.  The holiday music.  The decorations.  The music.  The cheerful shoppers.  Parents who have their children, especially little blonde girls around the age of 3. The pretty little girl outfits.  Those can drain the energy right out of me in a matter of seconds every time.  I'll never get to buy her one.  I'll never Christmas shop for her again. All the dreams and plans I had for her will never be realized.  Nothing drives that home more than this time of year. 

Christmas just doesn't hold the same magic and joy it once did. How could it?  I buried my daughter 3 days before Christmas 11 years ago. It will NEVER be the same.  
I know the triggers are there, I just choose to avoid them as best I can. Why subject myself to the emotional torture?  I can't stop how I feel.  I can't change how I feel.  I deserve to be able to honor my feelings.  And so, well, let's just say I'm grateful for Amazon prime.  It has made me a much more efficient holiday shopper. 

The fall also brings Thanksgiving and the religious holidays, for us, Christmas.  It's a time when family and friends gather and celebrate.  For a bereaved parent, it's a harsh reminder of who is missing and why.  I'm jealous of families that don't know my pain. Why me?  Why not them?  They can't fathom my pain.  I can't tolerate their joy for very long.  It hurts.  It just.... hurts.  

Family and friends can wrap you in love and understanding and there are wonderful ways to integrate your loved ones who have died into your holiday celebrations, and we do many of them.  Yet nothing takes away the fact they are gone.  No one feels that pain more acutely than that child's parents.  Unless you've lost a child too, there is just no way you can understand it.  Still, those who reach out, say they are thinking of me, say her name or share a story about her, gosh, I love that! 

One of the things that I lose sight of during these dark days is the impact it has on my family.  Aside from the fact I'm more irritable, less attentive to the household duties, and tend to let things slide (back to the "give a crap" meter), I'm emotionally less available to my family.  

My husband struggles with this, in part because he's very empathetic.  It's impossible for him to know what kind of day, or even hour, it is for me emotionally.  He wants to help.  He wants to "make it better."  Of course he can't fix it. He does a wonderful job supporting me, letting me know I am loved, and helping as much as he can.  He is not Meghan's biological father, so he has a different perspective. His pain is more so from the loss of his wife emotionally than it is the pain of a bereaved parent.  He never had the chance to know and parent her when she was alive.  He has said to me it's as if he loses his wife for 2 months every year.  He doesn't know how to cope with that, even though he understands why and it happens every year.. Now, he dreads the dark season almost as much as I do. He grieves for my loss and the impact it has on me. He grieves the change in our relationship and family dynamic for this brief period of time. This is an often overlooked aspect of grief on those who support the bereaved. 

So how does one navigate the dark days, whatever they may be?  It could be one day, a week, a season, or even an entire year, especially that first year after a loved one dies.  

I think honoring your feelings is the most important thing.  Don't be afraid of what you feel.  You feel what you feel, and that's okay.  At the same time, don't hold it all inside. Share how you are feeling.  Share why you are feeling it.  Seek support from family, friends, or professional counselors.  Join or attend a support group for the bereaved.  The Compassionate Friends is a great resource for bereaved parents, grandparents, and siblings.  

Take time to nurture yourself.  Take a day off.  Go for a walk outside.  Connect with nature.  Perhaps schedule a massage, Reiki, a pedicure, or some other body work.  Let yourself be cared for.  I plan for a massage at least monthly and more often if I can, especially during November and December.  

Develop a ritual of remembrance.  Today is made easier for me because we've developed new ways of celebrating the birthday.  I always bring her a balloon and a little trinket to the cemetery - I go alone and spend however much time I need.  As a family, we later (or before, depending on the timing of the day) put a number candle in a suet cake and sing "happy bird day", run around silly singing "Tinker Bell all the way" like she used to, and then we have a little cupcake picnic right there in front of her stone.  We decorate a pumpkin with a kitty face because she loved kitties.  This year her twin brother gave it a birthday hat.   We donate items to the local animal shelter, too, in her memory.  If I'm lucky, I see a heart cloud, an orb in a photo, or some other sign.  Today, it was a nice heart of blue sky among the clouds.  

​

We've created similar rituals around the holidays with candles and pictures and attendance at candle lighting and memorial services.  There is a new ornament every year in her stocking for the tree.  We buy gifts she would like and donate them to charity every year.  We visit the animal shelter kitty room named in her honor.  I teach a safety class in her honor every year.  I share her story, in the hopes others will be spared her fate.

Know that although you may have dark days, weeks, and months, recognizing them and what is driving how you feel is important to how you cope.  Where my dark months used to be nearly pitch black every day, they are now more of a light misty gray.  Sort of like cloudy days among the sunny ones.  

For me, it's not that every day is a bad one.  Most days in fact, are pretty good, peppered with waves of sadness, anger, or tears.  Certain days are of course, worse than others, and I now know what days are likely to be the worst and can plan for them, by choosing to take the day off or say no to social events.  I literally schedule time in my calendar to nurture my memory and my soul.  

I truly believe that the best way to heal is to be honest about how you are feeling with those around you.  Even if you don't understand what you are feeling or why. We needn't walk alone.  But we have to let others know we'd like the company and support along the way.  

​How do you cope with your dark days?  

Today, I had the opportunity to attend a healing retreat for bereaved mothers.  It was organized by a local support group for bereaved parents and was held at a spiritual retreat center.  It was especially for bereaved moms and I think there were 18 people including the facilitators.  It was billed as a day of hope and healing and that's exactly what it was.  

The day began with a bit of mingling before we were brought together for a quick introduction to the schedule of the day and a lovely healing/restorative yoga session.  The instructor was a bereaved mom who had special yoga training in working with trauma and grief.  Many of the moms said that it was in that yoga session they realized how much physical tension, stress, or dis-ease they were holding in their bodies for the first time and made the connection with it to their grieving.  The opportunity to identify it, consciously relax, and release it was such a gift. 

Yoga was followed by a group session in which we all had a chance to introduce our child to the group. Speaking for just about 5 minutes each, we lit a candle for our child and passed around a photo of them so everyone could "meet" them.  While the photo went around, we talked about our child.  Not just about how old they were when they died or what their cause of death was, but about their life, their personality, the impact their life and death had on our lives.  There were tears.  There was laughter.  There was some swearing in both anger and humor.  There was compassion.  There was no judgment, only love and understanding.  The kind that can only come from another bereaved mom.  Some of the moms had lost their children as recently as 4 months ago, some a decade or more had passed since their child had died.  They lost newborns, toddlers, teens, and adult children.  The opportunity to share, learn, understand their grief, and heal was beautiful.  The facilitators were heart centered and excellent because of and in spite of their own grief.  


Next, there was lunch and an opportunity to connect with those who shared similar losses or had other information for us.  Some of us gathered on the front stairs to soak up the sun and chat some more.  


The afternoon consisted of a wealth of self-nurturing and healing bodywork, including mini Reiki sessions, chair massage, and an amazingly relaxing sound healing.  The day closed with a circle facilitated by a woman who was teaching us how to connect with our children in spirit and included another deep relaxation session.


The day was exactly what it promised - healing and hope.  A chance to self-nurture. A chance to stop and listen to our bodies, our mind, our soul, and our spirit.  An opportunity for us to be open to receiving love and light, healing energy, and physical and emotional release.  


Moms can be pretty hard on themselves on any given day.  We are always helping and nurturing and caring for others, putting our own needs last.  In grief, we are even more likely to forget to take care of our own physical, emotional, and spiritual needs, and often, we don't even realize the toll that neglect takes on us on every level.  


The thing is, our children, on earth or in spirit, want us to be happy and healthy.  They don't want us to wallow in grief and pain.  They want us to remember their life, honor them, and yes, it's okay to feel the pain of grief, but through self-nurturing, you can better cope with the challenges of grief and release the pain and fear to open your heart and soul to love.  For love raises our vibration and a higher vibration brings us closer to connecting with spirit.  


I feel as if today was one of the greatest gifts I've given myself in my grief and it's been ten years.  It's an entirely different experience to have all of these relaxation and healing opportunities in one day than it is to have them individually over the course of weeks or months.  Of course any opportunity to self-nurture is good!  The take home message is that you deserve you time. You deserve time to both honor your child's life and loss while allowing your body to release the tension you hold as a result of the cloak of grief you wear. Taking care of you is vital to your health and well-being.  Your child would want you to be healthy, happy while still holding them in your heart and memory.  You can have both! 


Be sure to take some time to nurture yourself every day.  Even if it's just a quite cup of tea, a few deep meditative breaths, or a walk outside.  Find something that resonates with you physically, a once a week yoga class, walking or some other exercise, or a massage once a month.  Made it a priority to have a date with your soul.  You deserve it.  


Namaste.

Did you see the Nationwide Make Safe Happen Superbowl Ad?  If you have not, please beware it may be a powerful trigger for you.  How did it make you feel?  There is also a longer Ad that explains the Make Safe Happen program in more depth and is a little less emotionally jarring here. 

No matter how new or “old” your grief, anything that reminds you of your child, their death, or the way they died could certainly be a trigger.  That commercial no doubt blindsided everyone, but it may have been especially difficult for bereaved parents, especially those who lost young children, and especially if their child died from a preventable accident.

While it’s understandable that bereaved parents might be angered or upset by the commercial, it is my hope that they will be able to understand two things through their grief.

First, triggers are a normal and unavoidable part of grieving and you should absolutely talk about your feelings.   Get support if you need it.  It’s okay to feel that pain.  It’s okay to cry, to be angry, and to suddenly be brought back to the day and way your child died.  It’s difficult and it’s upsetting but it’s also a normal part of grieving.  No one wants to be blindsided by a trigger.  Triggers hurt, no matter what causes them.  Allow yourself time to process, to understand where those feelings you are having are coming from and why.  Remember, they are born of love.  The love you have for your child.

Nationwide did not make the commercial with any disrespect for bereaved parents.  Quite the contrary, they are sympathetic to your pain and want to spare others the same pain.  They did so with a boldly emotional ad that was designed to get people’s attention and make them aware of what they can do to protect their children, so no other parent need ever know our pain.

The ad brought up all the things we, as bereaved parents, struggle with every single day.  The fact that our child died.  The fact they will never get cooties, learn to fly, ride their bike, or get married.  We’ll never see them grow up or grow older.  Our children are like the boy in the ad.  They died and were denied their future… we were denied our future the way we imagined it would be.  It reminds us that our dreams were snatched from us.  This ad blatantly and unexpectedly reminded us of that.   That was not Nationwide’s intent, but it is an unavoidable side effect of their very emotional ad.

For some parents, you may have been reminded of how your child died.  Perhaps your child died of drowning, of a tip-over, from a car accident, or from poisoning or choking.  Perhaps the children pictured in the ad were similar in age or appearance to your child.  Perhaps the other images were relatable for you and it was disturbing.  Perhaps you still harbor guilt because you were not able to prevent the cause of your child’s death and this commercial stirred that up.  At a time when you were having an otherwise enjoyable time, perhaps with your grief on the back burner, only to have it brought to the surface and “ruin” your day.  Believe me, I get that.  I still carry guilt with me and I always will. 

Please remember, Nationwide meant no disrespect to bereaved parents.   It would not hurt so much if it were not for the fact we love them so much.  We miss them so much.  We’d give anything to have them back.  They get that.


Which brings me to the second point; I desperately hope that despite the pain and feelings that might have surfaced as you watched that commercial, that you don’t lose sight of the very important message the ad was trying to convey.  Nationwide wants to prevent kids from dying.  They want to tackle the fact that preventable accidents are the #1 cause of death to children.  They don’t want any other parent to ever know our pain.  They want to save the lives of children.

Yes, I’ve lost a child to a preventable accident.  Yes, the Nationwide ad made me cry.  Yes, it was a “buzzkill.”  It blindsided people, on purpose.  That’s exactly what happens when a child dies from a preventable accident, too.  As bereaved parents know all too well, one minute your child is fine and then, without warning, they are dead.  It happened to at least one parent while they were watching the SuperBowl yesterday. 

The Nationwide SuperBowl ad was also brilliant.  Why? It was raw, real, honest, and absolute truth.  It was creative and emotional. It started a conversation.  One no one wants to have.  Yet it’s one everyone should have.  One everyone needs to have. It hit at the fear of every parent; that their child could die.  Something we know all too well.

It made millions of people aware not only that preventable accidents are the #1 cause of death to children, but gave them a place to find information so they can prevent those accidents and protect their children.  They have a free website www.makesafehappen.com and a free IOS and Android app that allows parents to go room by room, by age, or by safety category to find out what dangers may lurk and how to prevent them from injuring or killing their child.  They give strategies and resources for prevention.  

That information may not apply to you, but there are millions of parents who need that information.  There are millions of children whose lives could be potentially saved with this information.  The SuperBowl was the best way to reach the most parents at once.   Nationwide was not the only company raising a social issue during the SuperBowl.  They were not the only one pulling at heart strings.  They just happened to be one of the ads that unintentionally hit bereaved parents the hardest. 

As many of you may know, I am a vocal child safety advocate.  I lost my Meggie when she was 3 to a furniture tip-over.  I started Meghan’s Hope to educate other parents about the danger of tip-over and prevention so no other child would die the way Meggie did.  Yet they still are, and in greater numbers than before!  I have partnered with Nationwide on their Make Safe Happen campaign because I can’t do it alone.  Because I believe we need to raise awareness and I know for a fact raw emotion can compel at least some people to action.  Because I believe with education and resources and a wakeup call, we can save lives.   

I’m sure if any of us had the knowledge and the resources to prevent our child’s death, we would have.  No matter what the cause of their death was.  Yes, we are still hurting, and in many ways, always will be. We can’t let our own pain cloud the fact other parents can be spared our pain. 

May you find comfort and peace in your grief and find a place in your heart to understand Nationwide meant no disrespect, no ill intent to parents who have lost their child.  They want to protect children.  They want to save lives.   They want to spare parents our pain. 

All opinions expressed are entirely my own, however Kimberly and Meghan’s Hope are partners with Nationwide’s Make Safe Happen Campaign and has received compensation materially or financially for the promotion of the Make Safe Happen Campaign.

Today, we were snowed in.  A blizzard kept us home for a snow day.  Not really all that surprising when you live in New England.  It snows.  Sometimes, a lot.  Today was one of those days.

Some people complain about the snow.  I used to be one of them.  Until the day after my daughter died.  In my grief and need to get out of the house, I went for a walk in the dark of the night.  It was snowing, the beginning of another significant New England snowstorm.  There was but an inch or two on the ground.  As I walked, I noticed the quiet of the night.  The peacefulness.  The purity and cleanliness of the freshly falling snow.  As I gazed toward the Heavens, wondering where my little girl was, if she could see me, if I could connect with her, the cold snowflakes mixed with my hot tears.  

I smiled.  Snowflakes are like kisses from Heaven, I thought.  Delicate.  Gentle.  Sweet. Soft. Pure. Full of love, light, and fresh from the Heavens.  The freshly fallen snow was as cleansing as my tears were that night.  I've never quite looked at snow the same way again. Like most things in life, it's all about perspective. 

Today, while shoveling the nearly 30 inches of fluffy white snow, I allowed myself to fall into the snow, backward.  I sunk into the fluffy, white snow.  I gazed upward at the still falling snow, giggling.  I felt so safe and peaceful enveloped in the softness of the snow.  It was mesmerizing. It felt like... love.  I listened once again to the silence of the snowfall.  I smiled and made the deepest snow angel I've ever made.  

So next time you are lamenting the snow, get in touch with your inner child.  Go outside. Take a deep breath.  Savor it's beauty and perhaps, make a snowman or snow angel.  Gaze to the Heavens and accept those kisses from Heaven!  Open your heart to love from above.

Not only is snow cleansing for the mind, the air, and the soul, one cannot make snow angels with out all those kisses from Heaven!  What a perfect recipe.  Love from the heart and love from above, all wrapped up in purifying peace. 

The one pictured here is one of my finer snow angels, made a few years ago near Meghan's Angelversary.  It's made of kisses from Heaven.  It's full of love.

One of the words you often hear tossed around when it comes to coping with the death of a loved one is “strength.”  We think we have to be strong for others.  We are praised for our strength.  If I had a dollar for every time someone praised me for how strong I was or am, I’d be able to retire.  

Here’s the thing.  It’s not about being strong.  “Strong” is a term to describe physical strength.  We don’t define our ability to cope with loss by our physical strength. How much weight I can lift has nothing to do with my ability to cope with the death of my child.  

What people are referring to is emotional “strength.”  Unlike physical strength, this is not measurable.  It’s an opinion or a perception.  People often perceive someone as being emotionally strong when they are not dissolving into tears constantly, or, if they are seemingly able to go back to work, talk about their child’s death, or take an activist or advocacy role after their child has died.  

You've heard one should never assume, right?  While it’s true, some parents are able to do all of those things, it in no way means they are over their child’s death or even doing well processing it.  It may simply be a coping strategy, so they can get through the necessary tasks of daily living.  They may have simply buried all those emotions and focused their attention on other activities to avoid having to face the pain.  Or, maybe they break down into tears, get angry and collapse and pull the covers over their head when they get home, when no one can see the real them.  

People label others as “strong” emotionally because when they think about how they would likely feel if their child had died, they can’t fathom being able to function.   It’s definitely meant as a compliment and sometimes nice to hear, but it’s not what it’s really about and often not even true.

Unfortunately, when a bereaved parent, sibling, grandparent, or close friend or relative is perceived to be strong, there are few offers of help.  Few acknowledge or recognize the pain they are still in and the difficulty they might be having coping with the day to day, especially around special or important days in their lives.  People often stop asking how parents are doing when they are perceived as “strong” because everyone thinks they must be doing well, since they are so strong, or because they are not wearing their grief on their sleeve 24/7 anymore.  Often, it’s just not true.  Those parents may receive less support than the ones who are perceived as a mess emotionally.  Yet they need it just as much, if not more.

Please, don't assume just because a bereaved person appears to be "strong" or seems to be coping "well", that they are in any way over the pain of their loss.  They may be further along in their journey and better able to integrate their loss into their life, but they will never, ever, be over it.  They will never, ever forget.  They will always appreciate it when you remember their child, their loved one, and their pain of missing them.

My personal belief is that it’s not about strength at all. It’s about love.  

Let me say that again.  It’s not about being strong.  It’s about the depth of love we have for our children.  We don’t stop loving them just because they have died.  Their love for us was real and persists through their memory and the connection we’ll always have with them in our hearts. Everything I have done since Meghan died has been born of love.  The love I have for her.  The love she showered on me.  My love and caring for others, including those I don’t know, to the point that I don’t want any other parent to ever feel my pain.  Every word I've written, every word I've spoken, everything I've done with regard to Meghan, her death, and Meghan’s Hope is about love.  It’s how I continue to mother her.

It’s not about strength.  It’s about love.

Love is powerful.  Love is good.  Love will always prevail.  Love never, ever dies. We are not strong.  We are love.  

The start of a new year tends to catalyze two activities in most people. One is an introspective review of the previous year.  A look back on what has transpired, both the good and the not so good.  A chance to reflect on what was learned and how you have grown and changed.  

The other is a resolution to change.  It's usually something common like to lose weight or exercise more.  Perhaps it's to take that vacation or get a new job.  For others, it may be to organize themselves better or to write that book they've always wanted to write.

For the bereaved, especially the newly bereaved, the dawning of a new year can be a trigger for your grief.  The last thing you may feel like doing is celebrating and welcoming the new year.  

If you lost your loved one in this past year, this will be the first "new year" without them.  It might be an entire year of "firsts" without your loved one in your life.  If your loss is less recent, it can still be a reminder of another year that has passed without your loved one present in your life.  Significant family events and even just the day to day where your loved one has been missed.  The start of the new year may be a marker in time of your loss.  Wherever your are in your journey, you are.  And it's perfectly okay.

While everyone will grieve differently, it's important to realize that feeling sad, angry, or simply missing your loved one with a heavy heart is normal, especially on trigger days like this.  It's also okay if you want to go out and celebrate the dawn of the new year, too.  

What I am proposing is this:  a new year resolution for the bereaved. Choose one thing that nurtures yourself and one thing that honors your loved one to do in the coming year. It can be for one day or it can be a new routine or a part of your every day. Perhaps you can resolve to do one, some, or all of these things, or, perhaps, something entirely different.  It's all about what feels right for you.

1. Allow yourself to feel whatever you feel, whenever you feel it.  It can and probably will change from time to time, sometimes minute to minute.
2. Give yourself permission to have fun, laugh, celebrate, and enjoy life.
3. Be patient and gentle with yourself.  Grief is a lifelong journey.  Wherever you are on your path is where you are.  You can have both laughter and tears, sometimes at the same time!
4. Choose one way to honor and celebrate your loved one(s) who has died this New Year's Eve.  Wear a photo button, light a candle at midnight for them, raise a glass in a toast to them and all they brought to your life, whatever resonates with you.
5. Resolve to find ways to incorporate your loved one into your life this coming year.  Perhaps it's to celebrate their birthday in a special way, to wear a piece of jewelry of theirs or that reminds you of them, to make a quilt of their clothing to snuggle up with in the cold, or create a digital picture frame of your favorite photos.  There are so many things you could do. These can be therapeutic and healing activities for anyone recovering from loss. 
6. Find a way to nurture yourself on a regular basis.  Taking a quiet bath, try sitting quietly or meditating, treat yourself to a massage, Reiki, or a spa treatment, try yoga or dancing, go for a walk outside, take some time for you. Self-nurturing is important to healing.

Wherever you are in your grief journey, I wish you a peaceful new year, full of love, light, and healing as you walk your path out of the darkness.  I'd love to hear what you plan to do to nurture yourself and honor your loved one in the coming year.

Peaceful New Year!

Grief keeping is an important part of coping with grief.  It can help your heart to heal. It can help make others around you aware that you are hurting and missing your loved one, even days, years, or decades later.  You will probably see a lot of grief keeping in the coming days.  It's a wonderful thing!

Because of the limitations of this blog editor (unable to post video), I have embedded a short video I wanted to post here, along with the blog post I wanted to place her in a post on my personal blog.  You can access it through this link http://lovelightlaughterandchocolate.blogspot.com/2014/12/visitor-from-heaven.html

I hope you find it helpful.  The song it is set to is beautiful.  It's called Visitor From Heaven, by Twila Paris.  The words speak to the essence of what a bereaved parent feels.  They are full of love and hope.  

Peace.