Grief Advice from a Zen Buddhist Nun

 

My husband recently got me a book by the people who make Prevention magazine.  I think the title is Prevention Happiness Now because that's what the inside page says.  I think he got it at the grocery store.  It says on the front of it "Display until December 19, 2015," so as of this writing, it would probably still be available somewhere.  I tried to find it for sale online, to put up a link, but couldn't find any.

 

Anyway, it's a pretty good book overall.  I liked a lot of it.  It had one chapter in it that was about a woman who lost the love of her life 14 years ago and then became a Zen Buddhist nun.  Her name is Sister Dang Nghiem, M.D.

 

Some things she had to say in this chapter were pretty good.  She said:

 

Breathing heals; time doesn't.

 

"It's a myth to say that time can heal.  Time cannot heal.  Breathing and mindfulness can.  [Long after a traumatic event happens to you,] a sight, a sound, a smell, a taste, a touch can trigger the complete stress response as though it's happening all over again.  What saved me was the mindfulness of breathing.  Sometimes I would lie down to breathe and put my hands on my belly to slow it down and anchor my body.  Through breathing, you learn to slow the stress response, the fight-flight-or-freeze response.  If you can do that when going through a very intense experience, the next time you recall that trauma, you will do so with more peace, mindfulness, and clarity."

 

You can cultivate joy even when you're hurting.

 

"It's been 14 years since John died.  I still miss him every day, but I have learned to cultivate joy and peace in each breath, even though I feel that pain.  You have to do them both at the same time.  It's like a garden:  You have to take care of the weeds, but you also have to plant flowers.  If you only weed, you'll be exhausted and lose hope.  And if you plant enough flowers, eventually there will be less room for all the weeds."

 

You can keep the dead alive.

 

"When a person dies and you lose all your joy, then it is like you are making sure that person is as dead as possible.  But you can learn to call on the spirit of that person for help and learn to see him or her around you.  When I see a purple flower, I remember that John loved purple flowers, and I smile.  That flower, in that moment, becomes him."

 

Her words helped me a lot.  I know that I've been guilty of losing most of my joy, since my sister died and we lost other very important people.  But I also have felt that presence of the loved ones and have even asked them for help.  I remember when my husband was having his heart surgery and I was so frightened and I prayed to all of our dear departed loved ones and told them that if they see Dean coming toward them (coming toward the light) to please tell him to go back, come back and fight to stay alive, come back to me because I need him so much.  I don't think he experienced any of that during his surgery, but I had to say it to them, just in case - make him come back to me.

 

I also have felt the presence of loved ones in ways I've mentioned before - in signs, in inspiration, etc.  I guess I have to work on feeling that even more, and also cultivating more joy in general.  I have been trying, but many days it's very hard, as some of you might really, really understand if you've experienced a major loss (or several, like we have).

 

I just hope these words (from the book) help you as they are helping me right now.

 

May love and peace be with you,

Christine

I Believe in Signs of Love and Support from Departed Loved Ones

 

Happy Birthday, Kim, and thank you for the signs and the support. 

 

I know it might sound strange, but I do believe that our departed loved ones can send us signs.

 

For example, a day or so after we had to put down our very sick cat Dino, who we had for many years and loved so much, we were going to Toys R Us and saw the most bright and brilliant pink sunset (my favorite color, when it's not pale).  I felt that it was from him, telling us that he was okay.

 

Last winter, I had to do the shoveling, because my husband has had heart surgery and because we can't afford to pay anyone.  We were both worried because of my heart and my back not being strong enough, but when I stepped outside to shovel this deep snow...

 

     

 

...I saw this heart in the snow: 

 

I felt that it was a sign from all of the people we've lost through the years, telling me that they were watching over me and that I was going to be okay, and that they loved us.

 

Then, a few months ago, we were passing Kim's old apartment on the way to the health food store, which always makes me sad, but we don't try to drive around it or avoid it.  So, I was feeling terrible, saying in my head, "Kim, I miss you so much."  Then some adorable things happened while we were sitting in the parking lot, before I went in.

 

First, there was a little bunny - not a baby, but not full-grown.  He was so cute, munching on leaves from plants growing on the edge of the parking lot, by a fence.  I went inside to get him some shredded carrots from the salad bar.  I did see him again, but not while I was sprinkling the carrots around all over onto the plants (he was hiding, of course).  Both my best friend Barbara and my husband love bunnies a lot, so it meant a lot to me to see him and leave food for him.

 

Then there were two women talking in the parking lot and one of them saw the container I was holding, and said, "Oh, I thought you were smelling the purple irises that smell like grapes."  So, I went back and smelled them.  Actually, they smell like grape soda, not real grapes, but it was amazing.  I told the women that those were so incredible!  I wouldn't have even seen those women if I hadn't been feeding the bunny first.

 

Then, when I was getting out of the car to go into the health food store and Dean was driving across the street to get groceries at a regular grocery store (sounds silly, but he had to drive because he had to get bottled water, cat litters, and stuff), there was a beautiful rainbow in the sky.  Dean saw it from the car and I saw it from the parking lot, but we both would've missed it if not for the bunny, the carrots, the talking women, and the purple irises.  We both would've been inside our stores already.

 

I felt that all of these things were sent to me by Kim, to comfort me, to let me know she was okay, and that she was thinking of all of us, too.

 

A short time later, we were heading past Kim's place to go to the health food store again, and I was feeling very sad and wondering, in my head, why can't our dear, departed loved ones help us with all our pain, why can't they send us some love and support or something?  Why do Dean and I have to both keep feeling so much pain over our losses?

 

This time, in the health food store parking lot, we saw the brightest, full-across-the-sky rainbow that we had ever seen (other than in pictures).  Everyone was standing in the parking lot saying, "Wow," "Amazing," and thing like that.  Again, I felt this was a sign from the people we care about, because it was right when I needed it and asked for it, and it was so beautiful and brilliant, as if they all banded together and created it, for us to see.

 

I wish I had photos of some of these things, but I only have a flip phone and my husband's smart phone is cheap and doesn't take great photos, and I keep forgetting to bring the camera when we go out. 

 

Also, recently, about two weeks before Kim's birthday, Mum landed on an old Facebook post from Kim (so, from more than 3 years ago), and a couple of days ago I accidentally ended up on a chunk of email from Kim in my "old mail" folder (which contains tens of thousands of old emails).  Like I mentioned in a previous post, I suddenly got the urge to delete some old mail (I almost never do that, obviously - that's why it's so full), pulled down once on the scroll bar and landed on emails from Kim, even though that was so unlikely because of the small amount of them that were from her.  Also, a few messages down from the oldest one were a couple from her replying to me when I was saying "Happy Birthday Kim!" which today now is, too.

 

Now, some of you might be saying, "Well, that's just all coincidences," or something like that, but I choose to think it's messages from people, saying hello or that they care or that they love us and are watching over us. 

 

Maybe some of you reading this have had similar experiences, too.

 

 

Happy Birthday Kim - Thank You for Everything

 

Tomorrow would've been Kim's 45th birthday, but I wanted to write this now, in case I'm too busy tomorrow.

 

A lovely necklace that my best friend Barbara gave me (that I'm going to wear tomorrow) is a heart with an inner heart that flips.  One side is engraved "Kim" and the other side says "When someone you love becomes a memory, the memory becomes a treasure."

 

I wish I could say that I could just treasure the memories.  I mean, I do, but they also bring me pain.  It will probably always be that way, for some of us.

 

One thing I do feel is that I need to honor Kim's memory by trying to be okay, and by doing what I can to help her son and others.  This might sound strange, but I felt her presence early this morning when I was working on some of my work projects (more on that soon).  I felt that she was right by my side, giving me ideas and inspiration.  I've felt that before and also received what I believe are signs from her and other people we've lost (http://christinabambinasays.blogspot.com/2015/10/i-believe-in-signs-of-love-and-support.html).  I actually had a feeling of peace come over me today, and I feel it came directly from Kim.

 

Kim, it's not fair that you are gone.  We will miss you forever.  

 

This is just a song I love and a lyric that made me think of Kim today:

 

Journey - Wheel in the Sky

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MxGEVIvSFeY

 

Steve Perry had such a beautiful voice. 

 

The mornin' sun is risin' - it's kissin' the day.