THE GRIEFGLOW MANIFESTO: WHY THIS BLOG?

This blog finds its roots in the losses of my life and my slow, stumbling, but steady path towards healing. Of all the resources I explored when I was newly bereaved and deep in grief, the most powerful ones were those that simply shared someone else's story. The least helpful were those that either tried to fix or change me, or communicated with such mutedness and sadness they seemed to make my own sadness worse. In reacting to such times, I came up with something I called the GriefGlow manifesto, which goes as follows. I am pleased to share it and some glimpses of my journey with you. So, the GriefGlow Manifesto: Because grief is never black and white. Because healing is hard enough without coloring everything around us gray. Because we're just sad, not broken. Because we are a community, even when we feel the most alone. Because a picture is worth a thousand words when we have no words to say. Because we don't need to be changed, fixed, taught, or hurried. Because being vulnerable isn't the same as being powerless. Because our story isn't over. Because the world is as beautiful as it is painful. And because though a little bit of beauty can't change the pain today, it may help us toward healing tomorrow.



Monday, June 7, 2010

FIRST STEPS, LAST STEPS

This short poem by American poet Ed Meek made me cry the first time I read it. It seemed to describe my own father before his death: his physical fragility, his emotional courage, his unspoken readiness for the journey to come.

Look at the way the poem links the first steps any of us take, those steps "of a child paddling across the floor in slippers," with our final ones. Maybe the poet is suggesting that however painful a loved one's dying seems to those of us who are left behind, the transition is nevertheless one of wonder and growth for the person taking it.

AT THE END
by Ed Meek

He was so old his bones seemed to swim in his skin.
And when I took his hand to feel his pulse
I felt myself drawn in. It was as faint
as the steps of a child
paddling across the floor in slippers
and yet he was smiling.
I could almost hear a river
running beneath his breath.
The water was clear and cold and deep.
He was ready and willing to wade on in.
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