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, February 7, 2011

IN MEMORIAM, AGAIN: "recollecting" Henry

I wrote a post last month about losing Henry, my dear "foster terrier," on January 19th. At the time I was too unfocused to remember that I wanted to give a public thanks to Dr. Lisa Jutras and the St. Francis Animal Hospital on Route 60 in Vero Beach. Dr. Lisa and the team there could not have been more skilled or more tender in their handling of both Henry and his teary-eyed owner, and I am deeply grateful for their caring, capability and compassion. Do consider them out if you are needing a good vet.

In the aftermath of Henry's death I have been thinking about the deep and soulful connection we humans can have with the animal world. It's tempting to believe that those bonds, and thus the loss we feel when an animal companion dies, are less important than those with our fellow humans, but I'm not sure that's entirely true. I think that the very wordlessness of our relationships with beloved pets makes those connections special: without all the emotional and intellectual overcomplication human dialogue is so apt to create, we can meet "our" animals in a place that is deeply soulful. We meet them, too, in a place of service...a sweet exchange in which each ministers to the other in a pure and lovely way.

I hope it goes without saying that I don't mean to dismiss either the depth or the breadth of human relationships. Rather, I just want to acknowledge the different yet still profound bond we can form with the other species we come to love.

By way of lightening this rather sad subject, I've included a photo that I hope will make you smile: a glimpse of me during the period in which I had a stress fracture in my right foot, sorting the mail in bed with a guardian terrier at my side. In case you can't tell which is which, I'm the one without the good pedicure.
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1 comment:

  1. cj madiganFebruary 8, 2011 at 7:30 PM

    Thank you for pointing out the deep relationship many of us have with our four-legged roommates.

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