I used to be afraid to tell you more bad stuff was happening in my life because I don’t want pity, and because I thought for sure I was doing something to “deserve” all this bad stuff. On some level, I think I believed I had not become enlightened/empowered/aura-fied/chakra-fied/fully present/fearless/brave/spiritual/positive thinking enough to transcend suffering.

I wanted so badly in my journeys these last 4 years to find a way to transcend suffering. I really thought if I read enough books, meditated well enough, shared some insight with others who were suffering and maybe wrote a book, gave a speech, that would also help you transcend suffering… then everything would be better.

But, that’s not true. There is no such thing as transcending suffering. In fact, the very revolt against it only solidifies and intensifies its grip of angst on your soul.

I have not done anything to deserve 20 deaths in 4 years, moving 5 times, watching my daughter grieve her best friend, suffering through illness after illness after illness, pay cut after pay cut, job loss after job loss.

I have not done anything wrong. This stuff didn’t happen because I didn’t think positively enough. It didn’t happen because I’ve been living in fear. It didn’t happen because I’m not doing enough to attract all kinds of great things to myself, or because I didn’t practice The Secret or The Laws of Abundance or The Laws of Attraction or The Power of Now well enough to create A New Earth. It didn’t happen because I was unable to Return to Me or find The Gifts of Imperfection or create my own Translucent Revolutions after fully practicing The Four Agreements through a good Conversation With God. (Don’t get me wrong, I have read and loved most all those titles and they all helped me, but they did not help me learn how to fend off life’s lemons – no one can teach that).

All this “bad stuff” happened because I’m human, and this is the human experience.  This is just life. This is the life of someone who loves deeply, and thus has much to lose, much to ache over, much to grieve. God, who would want a life that had nothing to miss? Nothing to lose? Nothing to be afraid of leaving behind?

Instead of trying to find a way to live without loss – turn inward, put up walls of solitude and shut out anything that might possibly cause potential pain, I have chosen to keep buckled in on this rollercoaster ride and try my best to embrace both its dips and hills.

I have found the greatest thing I can give myself is compassion. Compassion for ourselves is allowing and softening into whatever feelings arise – good or bad – instead of shunning them away because they are “bad” or “uncomfortable.”

Thich Nhat Hanh says we should cradle our suffering like a baby, so, when I am hurting and angry, I try to look at myself like I look at my 6-year-old when she is in the midst of a full blown meltdown. On the surface, there is anger, pain, tears – underneath, there is sadness, sorrow, hurt, frustration, and a little girl just dying to be heard and understood.

We each have that child within, who just wants her pain to be seen and heard.

obyvatel/ stock.xhcng

It would be easy for me to turn into a mean, angry, violent person. I have so much hurt and anger inside for all the shit I’ve been handed. It takes everything in me to, instead, try to let it out – breathe through it, lean into it, feel it, and go through it, not around it. I have learned that allowing myself to be in the uncomfortable space of anger, frustration, self-doubt, shame, loneliness, and sorrow, is actually the only path through suffering. Lean in, not away. Soften into it. Have compassion for myself, instead of anger at myself for not being a perfect human being who has somehow magically found a way to live a life free of suffering.

So, instead of telling you to feel better today about whatever you are going through, I am going to tell you, go ahead and feel like crap. Have a pity party for one for a minute. Cry, throw a temper tantrum, punch a freaking wall. Then, pick yourself up like a child who fell off his bike, and wipe your tears away with compassion – true, all-encompassing, non-judgmental compassion that allows you to feel whatever you are feeling now.

I’d like to think life will get “better” eventually, but it may not, so I try to embrace whatever is before me – even the pain, because I know more joy is just around the corner, and all of it is part of this crazy, mad, happy sad beautiful life. For everything I have lost, I have loved a whole lot more.**

“I realized this little egg I’ve been sitting on, that I’m dying to hatch and share with you in the form of books, talks, workshops, blogs & more is not just about grief. I’ve realized it’s actually just about life.”

Ok, so, here it goes.

I have a confession.

I have been totally terrified for the last year to be myself, completely. I am inching back into the territory of the brave, and I am asking you to bear witness.

A year ago, I stood on a precipice of magnificence. I created a Grief Workshop for a huge grief conference, putting together a complete proposal with learning objectives (had to learn how to write those!), experiential learning tools, a curriculum vitae, guest speakers, and all kinds of other fancy stuff. In a matter of weeks, I did it. From start to finish, this task pushed me far beyond my limits and past them – and when I was done, I had something, complete, and, well, GOOD.

See, one of fatal flaws is I’m great at start things, notsomuch at finishing them. But, this time, I finished something. I did! I was brave, and made phone calls and asked people to help me, and they did! They wanted to! They wanted to help ME, help others! I showed people who I considered much further advanced in my field of bravery (LOL) my true heart, my passion, my truth…and you know what they said?

“This is work that needs to be done.”

“Yes, this needs to be shared.”

“Whether you’re accepted to this conference or not, I will support you and help you in doing this work.”

You see, I have something in me, that has come out of all this craptastic schiznit the last few years…and it’s amazing, I know it. It could change my life, it could change your life, it could change the world in so many ways, great and small. It’s a sort-of system that has unfolded before me for dealing with negative emotions and life challenges, big and small. In my view, it could be a missing piece in the GREAT BIG puzzle of life in so many ways.

I never felt so alive as when I was creating this workshop, and I made so many brave choices. But, then, I got scared again, and I crawled back into my turtle shell, had a really shitty year that I let push me further into the oblivion of my own shell, and I didn’t do a damn thing with that amazing thing I did.

© Razvanjp | Dreamstime Stock Photos & Stock Free Images

So, life, as it often does, handed me some more lemons (pardon the ole’ cliche) again, and said, “Neener, neener, Megan, what are you going to do with these ones?” It’s like Maya Angelou’s famous quote, “When you know better, you do better.” It took me a little longer than I’d like to admit, but this time, I knew what to do, and soon enough, I did finally start crushing and churning those lemons. As I did, another piece – maybe the final piece of the puzzle –  emerged. I realized this little egg I’ve been sitting on, that I’m dying to hatch and share with you in the form of books, talks, workshops, blogs & more is not  just about grief. I’ve realized it’s actually just about life. Period. It applies to every single person on this Earth. It can help you find joy in tragedy, or in the mundane, it can help you embrace sorrow as equally as bliss, it can help you discover your life’s purpose, it can help you face your fears and pain, it can help you be a more joyful parent, wife, friend, lover, partner, human. It is already helped me do all these. 

And I think I’ve figured out, that if I don’t do this…I will die. Seriously, I will self-implode. I may not die today or tomorrow, or even 10 years from now, but every day that I continue to live in fear of being brave and vulnerable, of being willing to try and fail…every one of those days, a slow poison will be eating away at me inside – the poison of not expressing my magnificence.

So, I’ve decided that STEP ONE of my new post-Anita-Moorjani “living fearlessly” attitude-in-action is to create some accountability for myself, and garner your support.  So, if you would like to see me hatch this egg and start speaking on the beautiful lessons I’ve learned the last few years, to help others live more joyful, fearless lives, would you like this post or comment on it, and tell me?! I’d like to know, would you come to one of my presentations? Would you buy a short e-book that would give you specific steps and tools you can incorporate into your daily life to help you deal with life’s challenges – to help you learn how to accept yourself and your life as it is, while also opening up that connection to the Divine and expressing all your amazing magnificence?

If the answer is yes, then please share below.

Then, do me a favor, and come back in a week, and ask me what I’m doing about it, before the Universe hands me more lemons to squeeze again, will ya?!

© Ashwin82 | Dreamstime Stock Photos & Stock Free Images

Bad things happen to good people.

I think we’ve all figured that one out by now, right?!

So, bad things are going to happen to you. Or, like me, LOTS of bad things might happen to you, over and over, with rare pause between crescendos of pain, and you may wake up one day and think, “Wow, really, is this life? Isn’t there something more than this to life?”

I’ve been asking myself that question quite frequently as of late, and I think I’ve figured out a key to finding peace and joy, even in barrages of hardship.

The question is, how to see beauty around pain? Or, as one friend said the other day, how do I see rainbows in the shitstorms? (Please excuse my language if you’re reading this, Mom and Dad, but, well, the profanity was elicited given the circumstances of late!).

I once quoted a story I heard shared by author Mark Nepo on Oprah’s Super Soul Sunday, and I’ll share it here again.

“The pain of life is pure salt; no more, no less. The amount of pain in life remains exactly the same. However, the amount of bitterness we taste depends on the container we put the pain in. So when you are in pain, the only thing you can do is to enlarge your sense of things . . . Stop being a glass. Become a lake.”

~Author Unknown

I think I’m figuring out that when bad things happen, if my “well” is full, I can be more able to see the beauty around the pain, and “enlarge my sense of things.”

Are you filling your well by spending time opening up a connection to the Universe?

Your “well” is your spiritual energy input. It is the time you MAKE for yourself to be alone, to be in nature, to be creative, to write or paint, draw or bike, read or cook – whatever it is that refills your well. It is your coffee can on a string to the divine. It’s always there, but if you don’t pick it up and open a connection to allow creativity and beauty to flow into, out and through you, you will feel stifled in your life. You will feel unfulfilled. You will feel stuck. And when bad things happen, you will feel that bitter taste of being a glass, not a lake.

So, just as we must perform daily maintenance around our homes, for our bodies, etc., we must maintain our spiritual vessel daily as well. Every day you feed the dog, your kids, your spouse, but do you feed your soul – your spiritual well?!

We have to keep filling the well, so when a shitstorm comes to try and drain it, we have spiritual energy reserves. We have to have enough beauty in our lives coming in and out through self-expression, creativity, books, music, meditation, friendship and connection, and anything else that helps us feel we are touching the divine, that we can still see that beauty around the pain when it comes.

As Mothers, parents, spouses, employees, we are often sending all our energy out, out, out, out, out, and never taking time to bring energy in for ourselves. So, we’re too busy or broke to take a vacation or spend time in nature? Don’t worry, you’ll have a vacation soon enough when you get an illness and have to stay at home for a week. It’s your body’s way of saying, “NEED ENERGY INPUT!!!!”

I’m home sick right now, because I have not been filling my well, and through a lot more “bad stuff” this last couple weeks, I’ll admit, I could not see ANY rainbows in the shitstorms because I was running completely on empty.

I’m working on filling my well, right now, by writing, to you, because this is my coffee can on a string to the divine. What’s yours?

The next time you’re washing the dishes, fueling the car, packing lunches for the kids, or doing some other sort of daily maintenance on your home or life, remember your well, and please, make sure you’re taking time to fill it every day, too. You don’t even have to leave your house to open up a connection to the divine. Plan a vacation, read a book, call a friend, paint a beautiful picture, jam through a workout, climb a mountain, or just do something, to remind yourself, this is a beautiful lake…er…world, we live in, no matter what happens.

“To offer no resistance to life is to be in a state of grace, ease, and lightness. This state is then no longer dependent upon things being in a certain way, good or bad. It seems almost paradoxical, yet when your inner dependency on form is gone, the general conditions of your life, the outer forms, tend to improve greatly…”

~Eckhart Tolle

I’m reading Marianne Williamson’s, “Everyday Grace” right now, and this quote struck me so profoundly when I read it the other day, I wanted to share it. Anita Moorjani, who I spoke of in my last blog post, spoke about this same sort of principle – that if we withhold our magnificence from the world, and keep it inside, it can turn into a sort of self-implosion that eats away at us from within, turning into disease and dis-ease in our lives.

I think Marianne is speaking of the same thing here. It’s all those little things we are afraid of sharing, because we’re afraid of being vulnerable, afraid of what others will think, afraid of making a mistake, afraid we’re not quite there yet. Each time we withhold a piece of ourselves from the Universe, every time we question an inner intuition to share our love and joy with the world, it’s like a small firework going off before it leaves the ground –  it still erupts within, but because it has nowhere to go, it simply burns itself up.

I know I’ve been withholding my magnificence from the world in many ways – out of fear of failure, fear of life, fear of joy, fear, fear, fear, and a bit of pain, too. I’m working right now on allowing it to come out and loving myself enough to trust that it’s important to share my heart, but it’s a daily process, and one that I’m taking with you.

Today, ponder on this thought. What are you withholding? What is that one thing within that keeps dogging at you, tugging at your heart again and again, asking you to let it out into the world and express it, believe it, dream it? What are you holding back? What could you give away? I’m not talking about going and clearing out your pantry and donating some staples to the local food bank. I’m asking you to look within and ask yourself what’s in there that’s dying to come out, but maybe you’ve been afraid to try? If you could live like Anita Moorjani does after her near-death experience – FEARLESSLY – what would you do with that thing within?

Is there one small thing you could do today to start expressing your magnificence?

Take a moment to consider it, then “fake it ’til you make it.” Act courageously, even if you feel scared to death. Try it. See what happens!

Anita Moorjani literally died and came back from the afterlife and was instantly cured of the cancer that had ravaged her body for four long years. Doctors could not explain what had happened when every test result came back showing absolutely no signs of cancer just hours after they had witnessed her organs shutting down completely. 

While she was in a coma, tiptoeing the line of life and death, she experienced an intense sense of freedom and clarity, love and joy that she could hardly put into words. She describes the experience as best she can in her book, Dying to Be Me. 

I read the last two pages of it in the Amazon preview and this part specifically ignited my soul today: 

“Finally, I cannot stress enough how important it is to enjoy yourself and not take yourself or life too seriously.” 

She goes on to say, “Although you know I abhor creating doctrines, if I ever had to create a set of tenets for a spiritual path to healing, number one on my list would be to make sure to laugh as often as possible throughout every single day – and preferably laugh at myself. This would be hands down over and above any form of prayer, meditation, chanting or diet reform. Day to day problems never seem as big when viewed through a veil of humor and love.” 

Wow. 

I have been taking life WAY too seriously! 

It’s hard to accept responsibility for this, but I think that my limited beliefs of myself, judgements of myself, etc. have been creating my little limited reality. 

Reading Anita’s words, I suddenly feel so much lighter, like I can take everything less seriously, and just look at life through eyes of joy and humor and have fun. Her entire message is that we are here in this life to HAVE FUN, enjoy life! Why do we waste so much time judging ourselves? 

“Boy, if I’d only known that we were supposed to come here and feel good about ourselves and about life – express ourselves and have fun with it!” she says. 

My life has felt so lead-blanket-on-the-heart sort of heavy the last few years, I have really forgotten in so many ways how to just have fun and enjoy life. 

But, I believe that my perception can shift this entirely. 

It’s so hard to explain, but I feel like I just woke up and decided to make a choice to enjoy life. I don’t need to sit here and ponder on yesterday or tomorrow anymore. I don’t need to search my soul for answers, or dig deeper into my heart for healing. I just need to be…happy. 

Thank you for this http://www.verybestquotes.com

My heart resonated when I read, “Life is not supposed to be a struggle.” For me, life has been such a struggle the last few years through so much death (at last count, 20 people in 4 years have passed on), financial struggles, life circumstances and hardships. The last few days, I’ve honestly been so unhappy and dripping quite a few tear stains on my sleeves, wondering how and why did I get here? Why are we still struggling so much? When will it get better? 

I have felt like I was sitting on a precipice…a choice to remain still and stuck where I am, or move forward into realization of my magnificence as Anita calls it. I have felt that going to her event this weekend would change everything for me, and I had no idea how.  

I thought that going to an event about a near-DEATH experience would further boost my ideas/understanding about death and dying, after four years that have been, for me, largely hallmarked by life-altering experiences of grief. I was hoping that maybe in attending and being around like-minded souls, I would be opened up to possibilities – the possibilities to express my own truths around these experiences I’ve had. 

But, already, I’m realizing, I was not brought to Anita’s reflections to bolster my ideas about death. I was brought to them to recharge my ideas about life and living. 

I have been sitting on a precipice of wanting to step into my magnificence, but I’ve been so scared, so afraid of standing up and speaking my truth. So many what if’s. What if they hate me? What will others think of me? What if I say or do the “wrong” thing? What if I don’t know what to say or how to do it? What if I’m not educated enough, smart enough, old enough…enough, enough, enough?!

ENOUGH! 

Anita’s entire message from beyond is based on this: we are always, already enough. We are never less than anyone or anything. We already are all we need to be. 

Just think how much suffering we’d be spared if we weren’t always trying to be more than we already are. How much suffering could you spare yourself if you loved your body, your relationship, your life, your finances, your children, yourself…just as they are now? If you weren’t always striving for things to be a better way?

I realize now that even my choices to eat healthy were coming from a desire to be better than, that stemmed from fear of disease or illness. 

My self-loathing of this beautiful body that just birthed a baby and is taking it’s sweet time to get back to normal has caused me suffering, and thus, at times, my desire to make it better, were not FUN! Why not just work out and be healthy for the fun and joy of it? 

Ah, a morning full of ah-ha’s! Just what I needed – a good slap of sunshine in the face!

I hope you will go read about Anita’s near-death experience and feel a boost of sunshine in your day, too. 

As for me, I’m not sure what’s next…I would really like to believe that I was brought here for something great, and through all the death and struggle, I wanted/needed to believe it was not all for naught, that someday I’d make something of it, share it with the world, and then it would mean something because it helped someone. 

But now I see, that maybe striving for excellence, was simply my way of trying to create happiness “somewhere out there”, when instead, I could just choose to be happiness here and now. 

Right now, I am the Mother of three beautiful children, and the wife of a man who stuns and slays me daily. I am dead-freaking-tired, my house often looks like it’s just been robbed even though I feel like I spend all day every day cleaning it, I’ve begun to feel that make-up is pointless, and I’ve recently fallen in love with organic convenience meals. I’d love to write a book, host a workshop, plant a garden, win the lottery, or start a foundation. 

I could, and might, one day do any or all of those things. Right now, I choose to be happy, regardless. 

I’m going to hit “Publish Post” on this, go grab my two little boys (my daughter’s at school) and kiss them, have fun with them, have fun with myself, and create as many opportunities as possible to laugh at myself today. 

I know the “tough stuff” is still there, but like Anita said, it all looks a little less buggy and scary, hard and undertaking, through the lens of laughter and light. 

Perhaps my kids came to remind me of that…as much work as they are, one little smile or giggle from them makes everything beautiful in an instant, no matter how tired or sad or scared or lonely or angry I am. I am so thankful for that daily reminder. 

Might I also add, that if you are in pain right now, like I was yesterday when I was feeling so frustrated with our constant struggle of late…you often cannot just flip a switch to choose to be happy without acknowledging, comforting, and expressing your pain first. I spent the day doing that yesterday, and I think that’s the only reason why I was able to receive Anita’s message today. So, if you are reading this, in a space of feeling negative emotions, hurt, or pain, I encourage you to read these posts before moving on to reading Anita’s. 

Accepting the Unacceptable – The Path to Peace in Pain

And Part II to that post is here. 

Blessings to you all, my friends. It’s good to be back (in so many ways)! Stay tuned, I will try to post about the event with Anita this weekend! 

~Megan 

He reminded me to use my voice…so I did, for him. ~ Christopher Lane’s Memorial Service 8/25/12 ~ Photo borrowed from Christopher’s Facebook page

I thought I was doing fine, since the Memorial. I doused that place in a good storm puddle of my own tears on Saturday, and I guess I thought that’d do me for awhile.

But, today, it came back. Listening to this haunting, powerful, poignant, bomb-hitting-your-house sort of poem of Christopher’s. I’ve never heard anything like it in my life. I hadn’t heard it before he died.  The first time I heard it was at the Memorial – so now, hearing his voice is like putting a stethoscope to a grave and catching the waves of a heartbeat.

His death has done so much to shake me up. I’m writing again…because he died. I’m unfolding my scared petals again…because he died. 

I often think, who am I to be so affected by his death? I can’t even begin to comprehend his family’s pain, his wife’s sickening grief.

And here I am, grief-stricken in my own way…but I’m figuring something out about myself.

I have chosen to put myself deep in the potholes on this road, right in the path of death’s river – because of something a bereaved parent, whose 15-year-old daughter passed away, said to me the other day.

piku / stock.xchng

“It is not ours to understand the ebb and flow of life and death…impossible in a dualistic, egoic body. I know grief…losing a child is my awakening to the Unknown. I do know that there is something that is called ‘Mystery’ that knows the way to understanding if we are just willing to not tell a story of it being any different than what it is.”

She went on to say, “It is strange, but loss of this kind, if embraced, is truly the way of accessing something deep within us that would have never broken open.”

I could have distanced myself from many of these deaths. The night my Aunt died, I could have spared myself seeing her die. I could’ve stayed at home, not brought my Grandmother to say goodbye to her daughter, and just had a phone call to feel, rather than the aroma of death itself to haunt me. With many of the deaths since, I could’ve missed out on the last moments – I had all the best excuses in the world, but instead, I put myself right there, at death bed after death bed, for my own unique “near-death experiences.”

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about Near-Death Experiences, but in a different way than most. More and more people are coming forward, sharing the depths of wisdom to be seeped out of NDE’s.

I have been having my own NDE’s. Although I’ve never died and come back to tell the tale, I have been “near-death,” as in at its bedside, at its feet, in its hours and weeks and months preceding, in its final moments, in its post-mortem rituals, in its mortuaries, crematories, graveyards, obituaries and Memorials – too many times to count now.

I have meditated at the bedside of agony. I have whispered to the dying. I have sang a Hallelujah chorus’ into Heaven for a Christian. I have held Shiva for a Jew. I have felt the arm of my dying Grandmother on my shoulder from the other side. I have conversed with old friends in my wakeful dreams.

These “near-death experiences” have been my awakenings, as the death of her daughter was my friend’s awakening. They have thinned the veil between life and death, scooped out my soul into a cavernous, porous, eager opening, and reminded me of Who I Really Am, again and again.

Memorial services have become my platform (bet you won’t see that on Ms. America’s docket!) – the place where I, melted down to my purest form of Being, pour out ladles of unencumbered truth, transparency, heart and wisdom I could only have reached in the soils of grief.

And so, today, as I shouldered my bathroom wall like a dear friend, weeping into its arms at the loss of Christopher once again, I find I’m not grieving in this hopeless, senseless, aching, depressed sense of old. I’m just grieving. Grief does not have to bear merely negative connotations. It can bear that ‘Mystery’ – that opening to the divine – if we let it.

I trust that Christopher is still with us. I’m confused, and still trying to wrap my head around the “story” of his death – his young age, good health, lack of explanation for his death, and his beautiful family left behind. But, I know he is still with me, and I am at peace with his death, because I can feel him conveying that message to me from within. Still, it hurts, though, still I ache, and this is par for the course, no matter how much I’ve faced death, how “at peace” I am with it, how enlightened I may or may not be.

For the last three years, I’ve often been afraid to share how I feel, like I’m doing right now…so afraid you were so sick of hearing it again, and again. Sometimes, I post on here, or Facebook, and feel like I can hear my friends’ moans, “Another death for Megan? Oh geez.” I think those are my own insecurities. In truth, I know few people who would feel anything but empathy for the profound prickers of pain I’ve been picking out of my knees lately.

I’m realizing now, that I am who I am for a reason. There is no one like me. Only I have had these experiences, and only I have handled them through this filter of “Megan,” the girl who loves hard, feels deeply, bears her soul honestly, and thus…experiences loss on a profound level, folding in the petals in grief, but opening them again and again each Spring.

So, I’m not apologizing for who I am anymore. These experiences have shaped me and taught me Masters-degrees of wisdom. I may grieve but that doesn’t mean I am “depressed” or that anything is wrong with me at all. It’s just a process, one that is required of, and owed to the honor of every soul we lose in this lifetime.

My NDE’s have given me so much to share…and while the “stories” we tell ourselves usually bear only negative connotations to death, dying and grief, I believe I am living proof that opening ourselves completely to the great mysteries of Life and Death, bears promise in either direction. Why should we embrace one, and shun the other? Both are part of our experience. Grief deserves time, attention, honor and embracing, and a willingness to sit at death’s bedside – to embrace the loss experiences in our lives – while painful, can also give us a glimpse of “Heaven,” the one that we find glowing within, when we, like statues, are broken open.

“Christopher’s Legacy”

Written 8-26-12

Last night, I attended the Memorial Service for Christopher Ya’ir Lane, one of probably a couple hundred people who attended.

The service began around five and didn’t end until after 8. There were so many souls, who were given a voice by Christopher, or reminded to use their voice in his care, and so they did use their voices last night in his honor.

I could almost feel Christopher standing over each one as they spoke, validating their voices, as he always did, pulling up a chair in the audience to give a resounding applause at their efforts, great or small, nodding at the MC, “Just one more…” after the twentieth, or thirtieth person spoke. He would’ve wanted every one of them to speak, to give gifts of words that birthed in their hearts and burned in the flames of grief and remembrance.

A strange sense of peace filled the air of Oak Creek Canyon, under the sycamores, as the candlelight bloomed glowing branches of remembrance to light our words at the mic. I didn’t expect peace, in a space filled with hearts ajar and open, salt still mincing into fresh wounds.

This loss was so sudden and tragic, so immense and far-reaching – as one woman said, “A man stopped me today and said, ‘I’m so sorry for your loss.”

She replied, perplexed, “Who, me?!’”

The man continued, “Yes, you’re an artist in Sedona, right? Then you knew Christopher Lane? I’m from Albuquerque and we all knew Christopher Lane there.’”

The night began with songs and friendship, and then Christopher’s beautiful wife, Akasha, took the mic. We all held our breath a little, waiting to exhale at the sight of her – what would she say, how could she speak? Here, the counterpart of a conspicuous, vociferous beauty – just as breath-taking in her shyness, and the quivering pauses between her phrases. She struggled to find any words fitting of a man who spit them with fire and eloquence, power and purpose, but her words were perfect.

She began by sharing a drawing and letter Christopher’s 8-year-old son wrote for him…Daddy, I miss you, what was wrong with you, I wish I could just give you a hug, I wish you could still read me stories before bed.

That letter was the hardest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.

As she read, I glanced at my husband, who knew Christopher much more as an acquaintance then a friend, and saw his eyes overflowing with tears. I thought of our two beautiful children, and the one blooming in my belly.

Then Akasha began to speak about her husband. Her words came in waves, and after each sentence, she inhaled and exhaled long deep, shivering breaths…

“This doesn’t feel real. It feels like a dream, or a movie.”

“I can just hear Christopher now, ‘So I had to die for you to finally get on a mic?!’” We all laughed.

Then, she continued, “God, I was so lucky to be married to him. I knew him 10 years and nine months, and I was a princess for every one of those moments.”

She spoke of what a doting father he was, and really, he was. There are few men in the world like him, that open up the Pandora’s Box of the world for their children daily, conveying magic and mystery in the mundane, parenting through powerful grace, gentle devotion, and quiet strength.

Every word she spoke made me think of my own husband, because every word she spoke could also be true of him. He lives his life for the kids and I. He adores our children, and would hurdle planets and platoons to bring back any small piece of Heaven on Earth for us. He’s a Christopher sort of Daddy in his own way, and I have always been thankful for this, growing up with a Dad who provided more financial strength, then emotional.

Every one of Akasha’s words will stay lit like a flame in the window of my soul. But, this sentence stayed with me the most.

“I loved you so much, Christopher,” she said. “And if I could go back, I would’ve loved you even more.”

And if I could go back, I would’ve loved you even more.

For Kory & I, 15 deaths in 3 years has certainly been enough to make us cling to each other like jellyfish on a surfer’s leg. It’s certainly been enough to singe indelible impressions on our hearts, marking the fragility of life. We’ve attended Memorials for children, friends, grandparents, aunts, second Mothers, second Fathers – and with every one, we’ve been painfully reminded, in fact, drenched in an overwhelming feeling of thankfulness for what we have. We know better than most, how quickly things can change. I know regret in so many ways, I’m like a diamond expert explaining the 4 C’s – cut, clarity, carat and colors – of regret.

Akasha’s words made me grip my husbands fingers in mine tighter still though, and vow to myself – in memory of Christopher, in honor of a love that gave her power to stand at that microphone he had owned with such exuberance, after losing the love of her life –  to love my husband, my children, my anyone…more.

I’ve made an invisible list in my mind of how many different ways I want to live my life as a small tribute to him. I figure, if I could be half the human being he was in my lifetime, I’d be doing ok.

The words from one of his poems, which they shared a recording of last night, hit me, “No longer should we be allowed to speak to another poet unless we have answered the question, ‘What, where, who have you helped today?’”

That’s the basis of my new commitment to life. What, where, who have you helped today?

Christopher helped someone every day.

I help my kids every day, and my husband, and that’s a lot, but like Akasha, I look back and think, could I have done even more? I don’t know, but, I’m going to try.

When I got home late last night, I was reminded, even in all my immense self-doubt of late, that being a full-time Mom is a pretty amazing thing, too. I returned home to find my own little letter awaiting. My five-year-old daughter had written it while I was at the service.

I guess the real message is…do as much as you can, with whatever you have, wherever you are.

___________________________

If you do nothing else with your day (besides reading this post, thank you!) PLEASE watch this video – you WILL be inspired to live and love more. 

Christopher Ya’ir Lane’s Most Powerful Prose

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Christopher all week…since I heard the news that he passed away in his sleep Saturday night. He was 40, a devoted young father to two boys the same ages as my own children. He was not ill, he biked to work every day, ate an organic diet, worked in a health food store, lived a life of service to others, inspiring thousands along the way, and yet still, he went to sleep one night and just didn’t wake up.

I’ve said it before, and sorry to sound like a broken record, if I do, but…no matter how many times I go through this grief process, I still feel sucker-punched in the gut by it each time.

Christopher was a dear friend, who I had the honor of working closely with this last year, promoting his youth and Alzheimer’s poetry projects. But, I didn’t even know his favorite color or band, how old he was exactly, or where he grew up. I’d known him for 12 years, shared dreams of writing and becoming over coffee a million times, but I guess our friendship was puckered up perfectly inside a nice little “writing/service related” box, and never in all that time did we once pass the time with a cup of the 5 W’s – who, what, where, when and why’s of ourselves.

I knew his wife, but we never hung out together. I knew his kids, but they don’t know me.

I knew Christopher. I knew him when I was 19 and had just moved here, and had no friends. He was one of the first friends I made. He ignited ambition, vigor, and fire in me from the instant I met him. I knew him and admired him when he was working at the same restaurant I worked at on the morning shift, and I on the dinner shift, and occassionally we’d pass in the halls and share dreams and ideas again. He’d just published his book, and I thought, “Oh, if I only I could be like that one day…” (I’m still working on that one, Chris.)

I knew him this last year, since we reconnected and became the truest of friends we’d been all along. I volunteered to help him promote his poetry programs because his passion for all people, including me, was so infectious. He saw it an opportunity for both of us, and wanted to support furthering my writing career vicariously as we promoted his programs. The gift was all mine. Witnessing his selfless spirit, inspiring and connecting with young teens, and AD patients that most of society has already dismissed as half-dead…it was the most amazing, inspiring thing I’ve ever witnessed in my life.

I don’t understand why I’m so sad over his death. It’s not like we hung out all the time, like I’ll miss his daily presence in my life. It’s more that I just feel an ache that I’ll never see him again, that I can’t understand why he’s gone, that it doesn’t make sense, that this has robbed a mother of her husband, two children of a father, a community of a legend.

I have felt haunted by his memory all week. The first night, I dreamt that he found me and told me he was still alive, he’d faked his death and just moved to Ft. Collins after all. I guess that was my subconscious playing out my unwillingness to accept this tragedy.

On top of all that, yes, this is death number what, 14 or 15 in 3 years for me? And it is really, really getting old. I’ve peaced and pieced, and meditated and prayed, belief-ed and believed my way through these few years with violent devotion, diving head first into the pain to scrounge up some jewels within. I’ve embraced the pain, the feeling of being a Grim Reaper Girl, with death following me eveywhere I go. I’ve come to peace with death and my own immortality, in a way most people will not ever accomplish in their lives. I’ve faced every angle of death and grieving, I’ve found peace in the knowing that life goes on after death. I’ve turned my tears into teaching.

Yet, still, another death comes, and I am a paddle-less boat in an thrashing ocean. I have the wisdom now to know Christopher’s spirit could not be killed, and I have the openness now to feel him around me so I don’t have to feel the painful isolation of separateness from him. I have the tools to help me grieve through a seven step process I’ve developed myself and am trying to work up the courage to start sharing/teaching to others. I have a husband who has learned through 14 deaths how to hold me and touch me when I’m sad. I have a community who is sensitive and aware of the ridiculous heaps of pain I’ve had lumped on me the last few years.

Yet, still, I sit here feeling helpless, hopeless, devastated, alone, and aching.

Awhile back, at death, what, number 11, a friend shared with me a list of things all dead people want the living to know and #10 on that list was, “We were ready to go.”

I can’t understand how Christopher would have been ready. He had so much more to do. He had children to raise. No matter how beautiful the afterlife is, how much he had fulfilled some amazing purpose on this Earth, how did it serve this Earth or anyone, any greater, higher purpose, for him to leave two little boys, a wife, and an aching community behind at the prime of his life?

I see myself, looking in, and I know these are those all too familiar steps of grief…I’ve been in denial, I’m walking through anger, I’ve definitely felt guilt, and shock. I’ve had good days and bad. Days I thought, Ok I can move on now. Days I just want to sit around and dwell on this all day long.

The best I can do is allow myself to feel it all.

Maybe I didn’t know his favorite color, but I knew what burned in his heart so brightly that he had to share it with the world, with people no one else had the time to care about. I knew what it was to be inspired by him, to be considered his friend, to be a partner in his work of service to others. I knew him as a Dad, a poet, a friend, a mentor, a writer, an author, a waiter, a coffeehouse mate, a husband, a father, and so much more. And yes, I am grieving him, because just a couple weeks ago he told me to keep this big Bible of a Writer’s Market book he lent me to make sure I kept moving forward after my dreams, and for believing in me, I will never be able to stop feeling grateful for him.

One of Christopher’s students, now an extremely accomplished poet and teacher, thanks to Christopher’s ignition in his life, Myrlin Hepworth, wrote a gut-blowing tribute to Christopher and shared it on Facebook tonight. A few of his words singed my spirit and stuck to my heart like bugs to a fly trap.

But, most of all, these words rang true…as they are stretched straight from the guts of my own grief right now. As this former/supposed/thrust-upon “Grim Reaper Girl,” I’m so afraid to say how I feel anymore, so sure you’re certainly weary of the broken death-record of my life…but this is the truth.

Part of me wants to hide and mourn Chris quietly and selfishly, to deny, to fear, to be angry, to thrash at the world with my own agony. But I know those of us who knew Chris are all suffering the grief brought on by this loss and that we must struggle together, stand and smile, tears spilling from our eyes if they may, remembering our friend, celebrating our friend, allowing the world to say farewell to our friend as we step forward as we must to go forth and honor his legacy.

So, I’m standing with Myrlin, and many more, to say in plain sight, my whole body aches with grief, because even with all these losses I’ve had of every sort, shape and size, this is the first Christopher Lane I’ve ever lost. Christopher was to so many a man who swept in, ignited a spark in you, then sat by gently stoking the flame ’til it blazed into a fire. He built a safety net beneath you, then told you start climbing – higher, higher. He didn’t tell you, “Go get a dream.” He mirrored back the one he could see in your eyes, then fed and clothed that baby like his own precious child. He saw my dreams, and gave me new ones I didn’t know I had. He was a gift to this Earth, like a rare just-discovered endangered species we never knew we had. I ache for his family, his children, his community, the many “kids” he parented, and myself.

I will miss his light in my life.

Thank you for letting me share him with you.

Who broke your heart when they left this Earth? 

Was it a parent, a grandparent? A sister, a friend? Was it a a child who began to grow inside of you, a child you held on this earth, a child you loved and lost? 

Was it more than one person – was it many who left all at once? 

Does your heart still hurt when you think of them? Do tears catch you unawares, months, weeks, even years later? 

Have you moved on with your life, yet still, you feel the empty space within that they left, nagging at you – always there – no matter where you go? 

Announcing the “Have You Lost A Loved One?” Page

This is a space for you to honor those you have loved and lost. This is your garden, to give acknowledgement to the blooms that rose in your heart, then returned to the Earth.

Please, share your story, in as many words as you like, and use this space to acknowledge and honor all the things you loved about the ones you lost, all the hopes you had for the future that have vanished with their parting, all the sorrow you still feel within as you wake each day to live life without them.

I will be here, reading each one, and doing my best to respond as quickly as possible to each one.

To learn more, share your story, and to honor your loved ones, head over here now. 

Blessings,
Megan

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Cancer sucks. In fact, if I were honest, and willing to be profane, I would give Cancer a solid tongue lashing right now. I would fling multiple curse words at it because it has burned its hot branding into the lives of my loved ones far too much in the last three years.

In 2008, Cancer began an endless stretch of its slimy paws so close, so encroaching, and so frequently into my life, it felt like it’s sole purpose was to greedily rape my soul and break my heart a million times over. As of just a few weeks ago, Cancer has touched, and killed, six close loved ones in three short years. All but one of them were under the age of 52.

But (yes, there’s a “but!”), with time, I was able to take Cancer’s “Pandora’s box” of pain-infested manure and work it compost for my life’s flower garden. For me, this practice brings purpose to pain.

At the time that my fifty-year-old Aunt (my Dad’s younger sister) was diagnosed with Lung Cancer in ’08, we were not very close. She had been a solid, staple figure in my life, but I had always ached to truly know her at a soul level.

Even in the midst of her chemotherapy treatments, biopsies, and a brutal battle for survival, my fears of the unknown – of death and despair, and the discomfort of trying to get to know her better – kept me from making time to get to know her. I am ashamed to say, I didn’t visit her once that entire year.

But, in early 2009, after a short remission period, the Cancer returned with a vengeance and finally kicked me square in the rear, hard enough to knock the fear right out of me.

Suddenly, I was overbearingly reminded of the all-too-familiar taste of regret – a feeling I had known too well after my two-year-old nephew died. I hadn’t seen him for two months before his sudden death – a regret I would live with for eternity.

What Would I Regret More? 

I was scared to see my Aunt suffering, but the question of regret tormented me daily. I wondered, would I be sitting at her funeral thinking, “I wish I had known her better,” or would I be weeping in the back corner because I had, well, finally found a way to know her?

My Aunt Debbie holding my daughter

I didn’t have much money, and I had a two-year-old in tow, but I threw out all my excuses, and finally went to see her several times before her death. The gas money to drive two hours to see her just magically appeared, and bringing my daughter with, which I thought would certainly be a terrible idea, actually created the best memories I have with her.

We only had three months together, but that was what her Cancer gave us…time. Death can come in so many sudden, inexplicable, horrific forms that leave us filled with questions and regret. But, Cancer almost always gives us at least a little time with our loved ones.

When she did pass in March, I made another choice to push past my fears, and go be with her, and her family, in her final hours. I whispered in her ear, “It’s ok, you can go be at peace now,” and when I finished the sentence with, “We will miss you,” it had a new meaning it wouldn’t have had a few months before.

After she died, I spent a week putting together a photo slideshow of her life for the Memorial Service – it was my small way of trying to honor her.

I grieved her deeply, and tortured myself slowly through the placing of the photos of her life.

torli / stock.xchng

But, as I sat in the back of the Church, making sure the slideshow went off without a hitch, a pipe burst in my hardened heart. I wept profuse puddles of tears for what I had lost. I had found a way to know her – my only regret, was waiting ‘til the last minute to try.

I HATE Cancer, But…

I hate Cancer. I loathe it, despise it, curse it, bemoan it. But, it has swept me to the death beds of five souls to make last-ditch memories, swear my unending love, unleash my tears, and relish in final shreds of joy with each one.

I can’t really say Cancer has been a gift in my life, because, well, this is Cancer we’re talking about. But, I can say, with a great deal of inner work, I was able to transform my hate in Cancer’s aftermath. For those of us left behind, that’s about the best we can do, I think.

“Sorrow, fear, and depression are all a kind of garbage…You can practice in order to turn these bits of garbage into flowers. It is not only your love that is organic; your hate is, too. So you should not throw anything out. All you have to do is learn how to transform your garbage into flowers.”

~Thich Nhat Hanh, “You Are Here”