Brave Little (Former) Grim Reaper Girl

“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?!

A Different Kind of Near-Death Experience

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.

“What, Where, Who Have You Helped Today?!”

“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

Have You Lost a Loved One?

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

Cancer SUCKS, But…

obyvatel/ stock.xhcng

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”

I Confess, I Killed the Metaphorical Tea Kettle!

It’s taken me awhile to have the courage to write this post.

I have a horrific confession.

Do you remember awhile back I talked about my lovely little tea kettle in my post “Accepting the Unacceptable – Part II”?

I had not paid enough attention to my poor tea kettle, and thus a thick residue had built up inside her, which I was unknowingly serving my family in their brown sugar oatmeal and tea.

I used the sweet tea kettle as a metaphor for our unattended pain. Her unresolved issues were affecting my family (what were we drinking?!) just like unresolved pain within us affects our lives and loved ones, whether we see it, or not.

When we don't take the time to look within, residue builds up, and seeps into our lives.

At the end of my post, I made a bold conviction to pay more attention to her, so she could return to her rightful place as the Sole Hot Water Provider in our home, and maybe even move her up to the front burner!

I had left her on the back burner – a reminder that she needed attention, yet still I didn’t feel inclined to get my hands dirty, grab the baking soda and vinegar, and go at that residue within. She just sat there, on the back burner for days, and looked on longingly as I warmed my water in the big, bad…microwave.

It was much easier to just forget about her, and just find a new way to get my hot water.

But, one day, I put a pot on the front burner to boil some frozen peas for the kiddos, and walked away…probably to this computer to check this blog.

Of course, I got lost in writing as I tend to. (Insert sheepish grin here) I don’t know how many minutes passed, but then I heard a strange sound, and smelled a strange odor. It sounded like a balloon slowly fizzing its air out, and it smelled like…something was burning!

I rushed to the stove, expecting to find charred peas glued to the bottom of yet another ruined pot (yes, I admit, this is not the first time this has happened). Instead, I found…this.

Look what happens when we put ourselves on the back burner and don't pay attention! =)

I left her on the back burner, and she got burned.

The fire within literally burned her from the inside out.

Poor, poor tea kettle.

In case you were wondering, as beat up as she was, she’d lost her ability to whistle awhile back, so that’s why I didn’t hear anything before it was too late.

Now, I don’t know what to do with her.

But, damn, I’ve learned a good lesson about putting myself on the back burner, waiting ’til later to deal with the hard stuff, and making bold claims on my blog about how much I love my tea kettle and want to take care of her!!!!

I had to come and share my story with you, with a grin and a giggle, as yet another reminder to take time EVERY SINGLE DAY to put yourself on the front burner, go within, and look at whatever is there.

In the last three years, more oft than not, what was “there” was hard for me to look at. There was anger, regret, pain upon pain, sorrow and fear. Not so pretty. But, living with those things inside of me, eating away at my life daily, slowly seeping poison into my life, was more painful, more detrimental to myself and others, then doing the hard work of sitting and looking at the hurts, and releasing them.

1) Sit still. Be quiet. Close your eyes. Take three deep breaths in, and out, slowly.

2) With your eyes closed, gently bring your pain to the surface like a bobber on a fishing line rises to the surface of the lake.

3) Sit, look at whatever arises. Ask yourself why you’re hurting/angry/scared. Then, begin to peel back the pain like the layers of an onion.

When my Grandma died last year, I could not understand why I was so upset over her death. She was almost 80, had been ill for awhile, and was ready to die.

It wasn’t until I sat with the pain and asked myself in that still, quiet time alone, “Why am I so angry about her death?” Then, waited, to listen for a response from within…that I heard the answer that granted me great peace.

“I’m so angry she’s gone! But, why?! She was old, she lived a long, full life! Why am I so affected by this death – of all the ones I’ve had – hers made the most sense so far?!”

And I continued with this inner dialogue, “Why am I not mourning her like a Grandmother? Why do I feel like I lost…a…best…friend?”

And there it was. The truth that had been hiding under all my hurt, anger, and pain. I was not mourning a Grandmother. I was mourning a best friend. Losing her had been like losing any woman in my peer group who I call up for coffee and cookies on a Tuesday morning.

4) Give yourself permission to grieve.

As soon as I realized this, I felt a huge heave-ho in my soul, and a gush of a release of the pain. I gave myself permission to grieve her like a best friend. I didn’t need anyone else to give me this permission, or to recognize this and validate it for me. I did that for myself. And, in doing so, granted myself freedom. I was able to work through the grief, consciously, and move forward, treasuring the memory of a woman who I was honored to call a friend and a Grandmother.

5) The last step was finding a new way to meet for myself and others, the needs she had met for me.

So, in her honor, despite my tendency towards hermitville after all this loss, I forced myself to work on being a good friend to others, and creating more relationships like the one I had with her. I have also worked harder at maintaining relationships with my remaining grandparents – and creating “friendships” with them, too.

I believe my Grandmother is still with me, so I gave myself one last permission – to keep talking to her like I always used to. When I get quiet, and still, I hear her replying, “Hi Boobala!” just like she always used to. So, in truth, I have not lost anything in her passing – in fact, I have gained so much.

These steps apply to ANY “negative” feeling you encounter in your life – whether it is a deep, devastating loss, or a less intricate tangle with a co-worker that leaves you riled up at work. Whenever you feel “against” something, take a moment to stop and look within, and you will find the true source of your pain which leads to healing, release, and gives rise to move forward with better understanding of yourself and others.

Now, as for that poor tea kettle of mine, I’m at a bit of a loss. I think the metaphor must end now – because frankly, I think I’m just going to have to get a new one finally! I have definitely learned, though, to look under the lid every so often though, and pay attention to what’s within (and, um, pay attention to which burner you’re turning on before you walk away, Megan!).

Set Fire to The Rain

How do you rise from the fire when you’re still in the flames? 

 

I am hurting so much right now, it’s nearly unbearable. I’m not just in the flames, I am the flames. I am a raging fire of anger and pain.

Every time I say, “How much more can one person take?” Or, “How much worse can it get?” It gets worse. I get handed more shit. Yes, I am fully aware that there are 300 million people in the world who probably have it a lot worse then I do. But, right now, I have had three years of intense struggle, pain, and loss, and some days I just wake up and think, “I don’t know if I have any fight left in me anymore.”

Today is the one year anniversary of Kayta’s best friend’s death. For that, and so much more I’m dealing with right now, part of me would like to cry and scream all day.

There are two songs I’ve adopted as personal anthems lately. Adele’s Set Fire to the Rain and Kelly Clarkson’s Stronger. I keep hearing, “I set fire to the rain, watched it burn on your face,” and, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

I want to set fire to the rain. I want to be great. I want to be stronger. I want to rise from the ashes like a phoenix ONCE AGAIN.

But, right now, I just want some peace. I keep trying to meditate because I know that’s where I can find peace but when I’m this angry, it’s really hard to get quiet and go within. It’s almost like I don’t want peace, like I’d rather hold on tight to my anger. Maybe for the moment I am content to be angry. Maybe I just want to be a raging machine for a second.

My friend told me the other day that a word I beg for often, “Reprieve,” is actually a word for a stay of execution right before death. 

I pondered on that for second. Then I thought, yes, that’s actually quite fitting! I do want a REPRIEVE, because my life has been all death, loss, change, struggle.

Here’s the thing, I will come out the other side of this, like everything else. But right now, I am accepting what is – remember my infamous Eckhart Tolle quote that has been the soluble solution of my life?

“Freedom from suffering is accepting this moment as it is.” 

Well, right now, I am accepting this moment as it is, in part at least. I am accepting that I am angry.

Thich Nhat Hanh says, “You should cradle your suffering like a baby.” So, I’m trying to be kind to my suffering and not judge it or try to get rid of it.  Just look at it, comfort it, and say, “I’m sorry you’re suffering.” I’ve got ten posts almost written on this topic because I know it’s so important. But, it looks like I need to start taking my own advice in this moment…follow my own steps.

First step to dealing with anger/pain/sadness/grief?

“Any negative emotion not fully expressed in the moment it arises leaves behind a remnant of pain.” ~Eckhart Tolle

I didn’t need ole’ Eckhart to tell me this. I have freaking LIVED it for over a decade now. I don’t want to be struggling and suffering, and I know I’m the only one who can change my perspective to see the beauty of life around the pain again. But, I can’t get there ’til I get my anger and sadness expressed first.

So, I’m angry. I’m hurt. I’m sad. There ya go. Tomorrow, I may be a vision of peace again. But today, today I am a vision of pain, and that’s o.k.

I came on here and found two comments from a new friend today and it just busted me open and finally, I let down my tears into a swelling river and felt at least a bit of release, and now a bit of peace. That’s why I’m posting today. Because, it’s been my habit to self-sustain – not to depend on anyone else for help in times of need, not to “need” anyone or anything, to put on a brave face and get through it on my own.

But, a good friend recently taught me the beauty of asking for help, and so I’ve been trying to do it more.

On my first big “out me” post, Grim Reaper Girl – Part 1, many of you said, “I’m so sorry, I wish I had known…I would’ve…” One woman’s comments on that post stuck with me. 

Now, I keep coming back here to the blog thinking, “Ok, wait, maybe I don’t always have to be a vision of strength, maybe sometimes, I can be weak, and just ask…for…well…a reprieve.” 

Maybe the only reprieve I need to get through all this to find the “gifts in grief” again, is to be reminded I’m not alone. To hear, “I see you, I care.” I don’t want to “need” that. But, my own living truth is the words, “Why are we here? FOR EACH OTHER!” So, I’m living my words. I’ve given this blog as my gift to you, but you are a gift to me, too! 

I think I had this idea that I should always be a vision of strength for you. That showing my hurts and struggles would make me look…WEAK. But, actually, I’m remembering that it’s been my goal to emulate DEALING with pain. I don’t want to teach you to just put on a brave face and say, “I’m ok” when you’re not. I want to teach you how to express your hurts, cradle your suffering like a baby, reach out and ask for help, give yourself empathy for the pain you are facing, and then…THEN…after all that, we’ll start working on the “GETTING THROUGH the pain to the gifts on the other side” part.

(Wow, I feel so much better now! LOL! I guess I did just need to express it! First step is always “Express it!” Geez, Megan, haven’t you figured that out by now?!!!) 

Thanks for listening. I feel Stronger, and I think I’m starting to Set Fire to the Rain.

Please let me know you were here today?

~Me