Soul Sanctuary

It's in a few days, we are really looking forward to this evening of grief conversations, movement and sound. All are welcome, join us. https://www.paypal.com/ncp/payment/QM8CSPHJB42KS

Grief doesn’t only show up when someone dies.

It shows up when a relationship ends. When a friendship shifts. When a family can’t accept who you are. When life doesn’t turn out the way you imagined. Grief is the natural response to any significant loss, and most of us are carrying more of it than we realize.

A few years ago I got a flat tire in an industrial area on the edge of a not so great part of town. Alone. Dark. Not many street lights. A little panic started to set in.

I know how to change a tire. I’ve done it plenty of times. But I couldn’t see well enough and I was alone with no one to hold a flashlight. Roadside assistance was 90 to 120 minutes out. So I did something that used to be hard for me. I asked for help.

I texted one friend. Called another. A third stayed on the phone with me until my friend arrived with a light. I changed the tire. Roadside assistance showed up just in time to use the impact drill on the last few lug nuts. I barely got dirty. And I got to teach my friend how to change a tire in the process.

Here’s what that night reminded me. In grief, just like in life, knowing what you need and asking for it is everything. If you need to be left alone, say so. If you need someone to talk to, call them. If you need a friend to just show up and hold the light, ask.
Your people will come.

I’d recommend the book Grief is Love by Marisa Renee Lee. She talks about asking for what you need in grief in a way that stayed with me long after I finished it.
That’s part of what Grief to Grace Collective is about. Showing up to hold the light for each other.

July 8th · 6–7:15 pm · Common Archetype Event Space, Beech Grove
$50 · A circle held by Page Park & Devi Mullendore

Comment LIGHT for the link to register.

Let's talk about anticipatory grief.

Anticipatory grief happens when someone we love is diagnosed with a terminal illness. We experience intense grief even before the loss itself arrives.

I remember when my mother was diagnosed with a brain tumor. The doctors weren't sure what we were looking at until they operated. Fortunately, that was 3 days later.

Waiting for the surgery to be done was agonizing. Everyone came and left and we stayed. Hours ticked by and still we stayed. Even the staff left and finally the doctor came out. A glioblastoma multiform. A tumor that has fingers that stick into the brain tissue. We got most of it, they said. We'll do radiation and see what happens. Nine months to the day later, she died.

My dad had been diagnosed with Parkinson's shortly after he retired. Stress made his symptoms worse. He was so stubborn. He refused to use his walker and got himself wrapped around one of the rolling kitchen chairs. He broke several ribs. Both of my parents ended up in the hospital at the same time.

We knew they were both going to die. We just never knew when.
Once my mother died, my dad was still living and struggling. There was barely time to grieve her before we were thrust back into caregiving.

What I didn't understand at the time was that I was experiencing anticipatory grief. I stuffed things down so I could go into caregiver mode. I didn't truly feel what I needed to. And here's the thing about emotions. They come back up if we don't feel them.

My mom has been gone 12 years. My dad 10. And the memories of that season of caregiving still wash over me. Grief comes in waves. That time is still part of what I carry, still part of my grief today.

Truly living is feeling everything, even the things we thought we already felt.

That's what Grief to Grace Collective is about. A circle to bring all of it, the old grief, the current grief, the grief you didn't know you were still carrying.

July 8th · 6–7 pm · Common Archetype · Beech Grove
$50 · A circle held by Page Park & Devi Mullendore

Link to register: https://www.paypal.com/ncp/payment/QM8CSPHJB42KS

Grief and loss come in many different forms. It's not just about the death of a loved one. It can be the loss of anything. A relationship. A friendship that shifted. A life that didn't turn out the way you imagined.

When I was younger, having a family was always part of my plan. When I got married, I thought I had made it clear I wanted children. My husband agreed. In reality, I don't think he ever did, but never told me.

In my twenties, when a friend's younger sister got pregnant in high school, I volunteered to adopt the baby. Having a family felt that essential to me. She chose to keep her child and it turned out beautifully for both of them. But I still carried the longing.
I had to grieve the loss of the child I would never have. I was thrust into caring for my parents, and once they passed, my brother passed too. By the time the estates were settled I was 50 and I knew that chapter wasn't going to happen.

What I have instead is something I never could have imagined. A foreign exchange student. Kids from my teaching career who have called me mom. A former stepdaughter who still thinks of me as her mother. And soon, I'm going to be a grandmother to her daughter.

And still. There is a pang when a friend announces a pregnancy. A quiet ache when I see a friend with her child. That hasn't gone away.

Here's what I've learned. Grief and gratitude can exist at the same time. One doesn't cancel the other out. I am deeply grateful for the family I have. And I still carry a grief for the one I imagined. Both are true. Both are allowed.

That's one of the things we'll be exploring in Grief to Grace Collective. The grief that lives quietly alongside the life you love.
June 24th · 6–7:15 pm · Common Archetype Event Space, Beech Grove

$50 · A circle held by Page Park & Devi Mullendore
https://www.paypal.com/ncp/payment/QM8CSPHJB42KS

Grief is like the seasons.

Winter is the overwhelming sadness. The kind that feels like it will never end. Like the ground is frozen and nothing will ever grow again. Winter can last minutes. It can last years. There is no timeline and no wrong answer.

At some point, winter gives way to spring. Slowly, almost imperceptibly. A little more light. Something starting to soften at the edges. You can't quite name it yet but something is shifting.
Then summer arrives. You start to feel like living again. You go out. You laugh. It feels strange at first, maybe even guilty. You do it anyway.

And then fall comes. A smell. A song. The way the light hits at a certain angle. Grief moves back to the front. Winter is coming again.

This is the cycle. It doesn't mean you're doing it wrong. It means you're human.

I've been in every season. Sometimes more than once in a single day. What I've learned is that the seasons are easier to move through when you're not moving through them alone.
That's why we created Grief to Grace Collective. A monthly circle to bring your grief, whatever season you're in, and sit with others who understand the cycle.

June 24th · 6–7:15 pm · Common Archetype Event Space, Beech Grove

$50 · A circle held by Page Park & Devi Mullendore
https://www.paypal.com/ncp/payment/QM8CSPHJB42KS

Ten years ago I stood in my kitchen surrounded by 9 dozen failed cupcakes and sobbed.

My mom had been gone two years. I was a few months away from losing my dad. A dear friend had asked me to make gluten free vegan cupcakes for her partner's 30th birthday and I, known in my circles for my baking, said yes without thinking twice about what I was actually carrying.

Batch after batch fell. Tunneled in the middle, dense, wrong in every way. If you know anything about baking you know when the ratios are off, there's nothing you can do. All 9 dozen went in the trash.

I showed up to the party in my sunglasses, handed my friend her money back, and left early. I hadn't made cupcakes. I had made grief cakes. Little replicas of exactly how I felt inside.
We all carry grief cakes. That hollow feeling when grief takes up residence in your chest and won't leave. And grief doesn't leave. It doesn't heal. We just slowly learn to grow bigger around it.

But here's what I've learned. We get to choose what magic we put on top. A little frosting. A few sprinkles. The sun coming up anyway. A hummingbird at the feeder. A storm rolling through. A baby being born. Life moving forward even when we aren't sure we want it to.

The hole is still there. The grief is still there. But so is the magic, if we look for it. That's what Grief to Grace Collective is about. A monthly circle where we bring our grief cakes, all of us, and sit together in the looking.

June 24th · 6–7:15 pm · Common Archetype Event Space, Beech Grove
$50 · A circle held by Page Park & Devi Mullendore

https://www.paypal.com/ncp/payment/QM8CSPHJB42KS