Notes from the Early Days of Bereavement

After several months in hospice care, my mom passed on March 25th, and life rearranged itself once again.

I write in these early days of bereavement to share initial reflections and enormous gratitude. I am so appreciative for many forms of support not only in these past few weeks but also (and especially) in the intense months before mom’s passing and in these times when everyday and systemic violence necessitate many forms of protection, nurturance, and guidance. You all ground and guide me in many ways.

Grief and loss are heartbreaking and surprisingly heartwarming. It’s amazing how held I feel by friends, colleagues, partners in caregiving, and family of many kinds. The nurturance that I’m allowing myself to receive is softening my heart so that I’ll be able to receive more nurturance from my mom as well—through her transformed form, as part of divine love, compassion, and connectedness. And I want to show up with a softer heart, open arms, and more ability to give and receive.

Ah, there are many lessons reiterating that life is about both/and—lots and lots of ands.

Things I’ve found surprising include:

• How I think about my own mortality … and talk with partners about how we want to live and die, what we want to show up for and not, and what we are learning and unlearning. My capacity for what’s life-denying is at a low. My lifespan feels especially short. And my desire for deep + meaningful + sustaining relations are at a high.

• How I can talk through choking up … and what might have felt embarrassing in the past really doesn’t rattle me now. At a speed and in ways I never expected, I find myself releasing past teachings to “button up and be shiny.” When others can receive my messy vulnerability, I feel more trusting and secure in relationship. Surely being present in vulnerability is core practice for community-building.

• How I have a burning desire to write … and there’s so much I want to create and feel a fire to do, but I also a lot less energy and more to do than ever. Here again, I am releasing past teachings around perfectionism and allowing myself to rest some, to write some, and to work on the many tasks of “the bureaucracy of death” some. I am learning to be more ok with lots of things left incomplete, in process, maybe never to be “done.” Again, I am learning that time swimming in the seas of grief, reflection, contemplation, and creativity are not only anchors and buoys but also shields against violence and all that threatens to pull me/us under.

• How I continue to think about my mom’s burial place … and I’d never thought much about resting places before. Thanks to my mom’s constant and wide-reaching web searches, she found Narrow Ridge Earth Literacy Center—an interesting site and collective working in rural East Tennessee toward learning “to read the earth” and reach toward right relationship. As I hope the few photos below show, my mom is burrowed in and cocooned by the earth, surrounded by the mountains and what will become pollinator garden. Truly, Narrow Ridge feels nourishing and life-giving. It gives me comfort that she’s in such a beautiful and alive place and will be up on this ridge line surrounded by wildflowers.

I am sure teachings will continue to unfold. Luckily (and again thanks to community!), I have books to accompany me on the journey, including The Wild Edge of Sorrow: Rituals of Respect and the Sacred Work of Grief by Francis Weller, Good Grief Rituals: Tools for Healing by Elaine Childs-Gowell, and Turning Toward Grief: Reflections on Life, Loss, and Appreciation by James Crews.

My working life is certainly slower, quieter. But I am slowly coming back to work a few hours and a few days at a time. Next week, I’ll facilitate my first writing retreat since mom’s passing. My hope is that I’ll allow more time for the writing that’s longing to come forth.

Thank you for reading and, alongside me, remembering my mom’s life.
Thank you for honoring the growth that comes from grief.
Thank you for inspiring possibilities.

With gratitude in these early days of bereavement,
Beth

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This post is written by Beth Godbee, Ph.D. (she/her) for Heart-Head-Hands: Everyday Living for Justice. Subscribe to the email newsletter for regular updates, including for upcoming writing groups, retreats, and coaching.