Am I "cheating" on my grief when I dance with joy?

Dear friends,
I want to share something weighing on my heart.  As producer of the Good GRIEF Talk Show, I was inspired to launch a second radio show that would allow us to unabashedly discuss the authentic side of womanhood.  Called the Wisdom of Women Talk Show, last night was our inaugural episode.  Our guest was a well established Passion Party consultant and our topic was how to bring fun back into our intimate lives.  

The hour flew by quickly, and the broadcast was over before we knew it.  Afterwards, I reflected on how many times I had to mute my microphone so I could giggle like a schoolgirl at the delicate discussion in which I was a willing participant.  But truth be told, as a grieving mother, I felt like I was "cheating" on my grief by allowing

myself to have fun for the hour.  After all, my daily endeavors are all about helping to raise grief awareness.  So was I doing us all a disservice by spending the hour enjoying myself?  Would others think I'm "healed" or I've "moved on" when they hear a hearty laugh coming from the same woman who is a member of the Wailing Tent?  Shame on me for having fun after losing my beloved child!  Or not....    

The truth is, we are not "cheating" on our grief when we feel something other than sorrow.  Allowing ourselves to feel joy helps to balance the sadness and recharge our batteries.  And last night's inaugural episode of the Wisdom of Women Show featuring....ahem....passion enhancement products, was absolutely divine and it felt GOOD to laugh again.  And it gave me hope for the future.  Yes, I "cheated" on my grief last night and had a one-night stand with joy. And I plan to do it again every Thursday.  

This August marks the fifth anniversary of losing our daughter Aly in a car accident, and I'm finally making baby steps that go forward rather than backwards.  Along with this milestone comes the hot flashes and ever deepening wrinkles that announce to the world that I'm no longer a spring chicken, and more like an aged hen.  Yet, I shutter to think of the years that lay ahead unless I allow myself to balance the profound sorrow with joy and laughter.  It doesn't truly matter in what form I find the joy, as long as I partake in it.

So from one griever to another, I wholeheartedly invite you to join me in taking a respite from our grief every Thursday evening on the WoW Talk Show.  Yes our grief unites us, but so does being a woman.  We don't need to roar, we just need to recharge our batteries a little to help us balance the sadness.  And if a sassy new talk show helps us do that, then I'm more than ready.  

Join us every Thursday evening at 7 pm PDT on the Wisdom of Women Talk Show.  Listen live at www.alybluemedia.com/wowshow, or better yet call in to join our sisters in the conversation.  Much light and love to you all.  -Lynda   

Good GRIEF Talk Show with special guest Benjamin Allen 02/26 by AlyBlue Media | Health Podcasts

Good GRIEF Talk Show with special guest Benjamin Allen 02/26 by AlyBlue Media | Health Podcasts

My 10 Rules of Grief

GoodGRIEF Talk Show

A few weeks ago, different tragedies brought three new members to the grieving mothers club in my very own community.  My heart wept for them, knowing the darkness that lay ahead.  I was traveling when the devastating news reached me, stuck in an airport waiting for my delayed flight home.  A thousand miles away, there was nothing I could do to comfort these mothers as they faced a hell we know well.  Instead, I poured my heart out to them in a welcome letter of sorts, a blog entry I titled, The Wailing Tent.

Join us at www.goodgriefww.com

The Wailing Tent touched a tender nerve in many, and I received kind notes from women around the world.  Although we may be strangers from different countries or cultures, inside the tent we all speak the language of an irreplaceable sorrow that others simply do not understand. 

While no one would argue that life is full of loss in many forms, the dynamics of losing a child are unique, setting us distinctively apart from all other grievers.  One need to spend only a moment on the numerous Facebook groups to grasp the depths of sadness that torments every part of our body, mind, and spirit.

Yet there is only so much that can be shared through written blogs and Facebook posts.  Furthermore, reading and writing are one-way dialogues in which many nuances get lost, thus increasing the challenge faced by friends and family as they try to understand.  Is there a way we can help them appreciate the never-ending shadows we tackle daily?  A way that would also allow us to support each other outside the wailing tent?  My brain began to weave through a tapestry of possibilities in search of an answer.

And then it dawned on me.  Yes, there is another way to collectively offer each other comfort while helping to raise grief awareness.  And I was already doing it, albeit in another form.  Recently I began hosting a local radio show as the voice of the small town I lived in.  I was learning about the new world of digital media, and…dare I say….enjoying myself.  But could I create a radio show, a voice, for grieving mothers?  A radio show that would reach all who speak the language of our sisterhood, while helping others to understand our journey?  Doubt permeated my thoughts, for who am I but one shattered mother?  A permanent griever who puts pen to paper to share my heart’s sorrows with the world on occasion.  But the idea of a radio show nagged me, beckoned me, and I continued to wonder “….what if….?”

And then this morning I received yet another heartfelt response to The Wailing Tent, and my thoughts conjured up Albert Einstein, the famed physicist who once said, “Strive not to be a success, but rather to be of value.”  And my doubt lessened as my determination for my sorrow to be of value grew.

Though the heartfelt language shared within the tent will never be fully understood by those standing outside, sharing our conversation on a public platform will help others better understand our unique journey, why the sadness permeates every facet of our life.  And by doing so, we help to raise grief awareness for not just those around us, but for everyone.  Who better to help the world understand that grief doesn’t follow a tidy little timeline than those of us who speak the language of the wailing tent?  If we offer each other a soft shoulder and warm ear, and work together to raise grief awareness through a radio show, then wouldn’t that be of value to us all?

Please join grieving mothers everywhere for the inaugural episode of GoodGRIEF Talk Show on Wednesday, February 12, 2014 at 7 pm PDT.  Angie Cartwright, founder of National Grief Awareness Day will share her story and then take live calls.  For more information, or to listen to the show, please visit www.goodgriefww.com. 

The Wailing Tent

Dear grieving mother,

Welcome to the sisterhood of the wailing tent. With profound condolences, I know this greeting will soon be forgotten, for your heart and soul have sustained a terrible blow. The shock known as "the fog" will accompany you for some time, greatly impacting your memory.  So I offer you this written welcome to refer to when your recollection falters.  

The wailing tent is an honored place where only mothers with a broken spirit can enter. Admittance is gained not with an ID card bearing your name, but with the profound sorrow freshly etched on your heart.  Membership is free, for you have already paid the unfathomable price.  The directions to the wailing tent are secret, available only to mothers who speak our language of everlasting grief.  No rules are posted, no hours are noted.  There is no hierarchy, no governing body.  Your membership has no expiration date, it is lifelong.  The refuge offered within its walls does not judge members based on age, religious belief, or social status.  You can hang your camouflages and mask outside, and if you can't make it past the door, we will surround you with love right where you lay.

The wailing tent is a shelter where mothers shed anguished tears among her newfound sisters. A haven where all forms of wailing are honored, understood, and accepted.  In the beginning, you will be very afraid, and will hate the wailing tent and everything it stands for.  You will flail, thrash about, and spew vile words in protest.  You will fight to be free of the walls, wishing desperately to offer a plea bargain for a different tent, learn a different language.  Those emotions will last for some time. 

Your family and friends cannot accompany you here. The needs of the wailing tent are invisible to them and, though they will try, they simply cannot comprehend the language nor fathom the disembodied, guttural howls heard within.

In the beginning, your stays here will seem endless. Over time, the need for your visits will change and eventually you will observe some mothers talking, even smiling, rather than wailing.  Those are the mothers who have learned to balance profound anguish with moments of peace, though they still need to seek refuge among us from time to time.  Do not judge those mothers as callused or strong, for they have endured profound heartache to attain the peace they have found. Their visits here are greatly valued, for their hard earned wisdom offers hope that we too will learn to balance the sadness in our hearts. 

Lastly, you need not flash your ID card or introduce yourself each time you visit, for we know who you are.  You are one of us, an honorary lifelong sister of the wailing tent.  Welcome, my wailing sister.

Fondly,

The Sisterhood of the Wailing Tent

The Visited Planet

The holiday season is a time of heavy hearts for those that grieve.  To lift your spirits, I

offer you my very favorite Christmas story.  Could my Aly be the small but curious angel?  I would like to think so.  Merry Christmas and happy holidays to us all.  -Lynda Cheldelin Fell

The Visited Planet
By J.B. Phillips

Once upon a time a very young angel was being shown round the splendours and glories of the universes by a senior and experienced angel.  To tell the truth, the little angel was beginning to be tired and a little bored.  He had been shown whirling galaxies and blazing suns, infinite distances in the deathly cold of inter-stellar space, and to his mind there seemed to be an awful lot of it all.  Finally he was shown the galaxy of which our planetary system is but a small part.  As the two of them drew near to the star which we call our sun and to its circling planets, the senior angel pointed to a small and rather insignificant sphere turning very slowly on its axis.  It looked as dull as a dirty tennis-ball to the little angel, whose mind was filled with the size and glory of what he had seen. "I want you to watch that one particularly," said the senior angel, pointing with his finger.  "Well, it looks very small and rather dirty to me," said the little angel.  "What's special about that one?" "That," replied his senior solemnly, "is the Visited Planet." "Visited?" said the little one. "you don't mean visited by…..? "Indeed I do.  That ball, which I have no doubt looks to you small and insignificant and not perhaps overclean, has been visited by our young Prince of Glory."  And at these words he bowed his head reverently. "But how?" queried the younger one.  "Do you mean that our great and glorious Prince, with all these wonders and splendours of His Creation, and millions more that I'm sure I haven't seen yet, went down in person to this fifth-rate little ball?  Why should He do a thing like that?" "It isn't for us," said his senior a little stiffly, "to question His 'why's', except that I must point out to you that He is not impressed by size and numbers, as you seem to be.  But that He really went I know, and all of us in Heaven who know anything know that.  As to why He became one of them - how else do you suppose could He visit them?" The little angels face wrinkled in disgust.  "Do you mean to tell me," he said, "that He stooped so low as to become one of those creeping, crawling creatures of that floating ball?" "I do, and I don't think He would like you to call them 'creeping, crawling creatures' in that tone of voice.  For, strange as it may seem to us, He loves them.  He went down to visit them to lift them up to become like Him." The little angel looked blank.  Such a thought was almost beyond his comprehension. "Close your eyes for a moment," said the senior angel, "and we will go back in what they call Time." While the little angels eyes were closed and the two of them moved nearer to the spinning ball, it stopped its spinning, spun backwards quite fast for a while, and then slowly resumed its usual rotation. "Now look!"  And as the little angel did as he was told, there appeared here and there on the dull surface of the globe little flashes of light, some merely momentary and some persisting for quite a time. "Well, what am I seeing now?" queried the little angel. "You are watching this little world as it was some thousands of years ago," returned his companion.  "Every flash and glow of light that you see is something of the Father's knowledge and wisdom breaking into the minds and hearts of people who live upon the earth.  Not many people, you see, can hear His Voice or understand what He says, even though He is speaking gently and quietly to them all the time." "Why are they so blind and deaf and stupid?" asked the junior angel rather crossly. "It is not for us to judge them.  We who live in the Splendour have no idea what it is like to live in the dark.  We hear the music and the His voice like the sound of many waters every day of over lives, but to them - well, there is much darkness and much noise and much distraction upon the earth.  Only a few who are quiet and humble and wise hear His voice.  But watch, for in a moment you will see something truly wonderful." The Earth went on turning and circling round the sun, and then quite suddenly, in the upper half of the globe, there appeared a light, tiny but so bright in its intensity that both the angels hid their eyes. "I think I can guess," said the little angel in a low voice. "That was the Visit, wasn't it?" "Yes, that was the Visit.  The Light Himself went down there and lived among them; but in a moment, and you will be able to tell that even with your eyes closed, the light will go out." "But why?  Could He not bear their darkness and stupidity?  Did He have to return here?" "No, it wasn't that" returned the senior angel.  His voice was stern and sad.  "They failed to recognize Him for Who He was - or at least only a handful knew Him.  For the most part they preferred their darkness to His Light, and in the end they killed Him." "The fools, the crazy fools! They don't deserve ----" "Neither you nor I, nor any other angel, knows why they were so foolish and so wicked.  Nor can we say what they deserve or don't deserve.  But the fact remains, they killed our Prince of Glory while He was Man amongst them." "And that I suppose was the end?  I see the whole Earth has gone black and dark.  All right, I won't judge them, but surely that is all they could expect?" "Wait, we are still far from the end of the story of the Visited Planet.  Watch now, but be ready to cover your eyes again." In utter blackness the earth turned round three times, and then there blazed with unbearable radiance a point of light.  "What now?" asked the little angel, shielding his eyes. "They killed Him all right, but He conquered death.  The thing most of them dread and fear all their lives He broke and conquered.  He rose again, and a few of them saw Him and from then on became His utterly devoted slaves." "Thank God for that," said the little angel. "Amen.  Open your eyes now, the dazzling light has gone.  The Prince has returned to His Home of Light.  But watch the Earth now." As they looked, in place of the dazzling light there was a bright glow which throbbed and pulsated.  And then as the Earth turned many times little points of light spread out.  A few flickered and died; but for the most part the lights burned steadily, and as they continued to watch, in many parts of the globe there was a glow over many areas. "You see what is happening?" asked the senior angel.  "The bright glow is the company of loyal men and women He left behind, and with His help they spread the glow and now lights begin to shine all over the Earth." "Yes, yes," said the little angel impatiently, "but how does it end?  Will the little lights join up with each other?  Will it all be light, as it is in Heaven?" His senior shook his head.  "We simply do not know," he replied.  "It is in the Father's hands. Sometimes it is agony to watch and sometimes it is joy unspeakable.  The end is not yet.  But now I am sure you can see why this little ball is so important.  He has visited it;  He is working out His Plan upon it." "Yes, I see, though I don't understand.  I shall never forget that this is the Visited Planet."

The Gift of Hope

No one ever says I want to grow up to write a book about grief.  But life has a way of throwing us a curve ball, and then handing us a mitt.  A few months ago I was invited to co-author a book featuring women from around the world who have all faced and endured a traumatic challenge.  Our task was to write about our difficulty and then offer a lesson to help others who are facing the same challenge.  It is touching for me to share with you that our book, The Missing Piece:  A Transformational Journey, was released in print today on Amazon.

It truly is an honor to be part of such a collection of tender stories.  One chapter is written by a woman who found herself completely bald by age nine, resulting in relentless bullying.  Others wrote about enduring physical abuse, verbal abuse, addiction, and loss.  But what makes this book so unique is that the authors share not only their personal struggles, but also how that struggle resulted in an unexpected blessing.

Jazzy is home from the NICU!

While being a published author is one of my own silver linings, this book means much more to me than seeing my name in print.  You see, one of the chapters in the book is authored by my little sister, Stacy Roorda.  Seven years ago, she was a happy, healthy wife and mother of two adorable little girls when, at age 37, she visited her doctor for aching in her arm.  The resulting diagnosis was shocking:  stage four breast cancer with metastases to the bone.  

An aggressive treatment plan was immediately established but quickly halted when lab

Jazzy, a happy healthy infant.

work yielded another surprise:  she was pregnant with her third child.  The panel of doctors stood firm, and the ultimatum was cruel.  My sister was unanimously advised to abort the baby immediately to save her own life.  Despite pressure from family, friends, and the best oncologists in the state, my sister couldn’t bring herself to do it.  

Her chapter, called “Pregnant with Cancer,” is a naked and honest portrayal of finding courage and holding steadfast in one’s faith while challenging medical advice meant to save her life. 

Despite all the pretty lights and glittery packages, the holidays can be a time of struggle

for so many.  But my sister’s story, along with all the others in The Missing Piece, encourage us to never give up despite the harshest of circumstances.  And no matter how you package it, the gift of hope is the most precious of them all. 

The Missing Piece:  A Transformational Journey, compiled by Kate Gardner and co-authored by 27 remarkable women from around the world.  Now available at www.amazon.com.  Happy holidays to us all.

Lynda Cheldelin Fell

lynda@goodgriefww.com

www.astrokeoflove.blogspot.com

www.amazon.com/author/lynda.fell
www.facebook.com/WisdomofWomen/

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