You just need to hang out at the post office or Twitter for a little while to learn that folks only feel comfortable speaking out when they’re happy or angry. In our culture, anger and happiness are considered strong emotions- solid fortresses from which to come out swinging. Sadness, confusion, and loneliness are seen as weak – houses made of straw – things others might feel uncomfortable witnessing and thus might feel the need to blow down. To fix. And none of us – not one last one of us- wants to be fixed. We just want to be heard. So we hide. We stay quiet about our “weaker” feelings until we’re happy or angry again – at which point we feel safe coming out. This is a shame because the world ends up feeling like it’s made up of nothing but manically angry and happy folks, since they’re the only ones talking. Since we only share “strong” emotions, the world becomes but a stage – made up of folks offering their most solid, bullet-proof, black and white sound bites instead of real grey people, trudging through- figuring things out slowly. That world gets lonely for a real live grey trudgy person.
Thank God I live in upside down Momastery/Jesus land where weak is strong and strong is weak. Thank God.
Mindy died.
I’m so sad right now. I’m very, very sad about our Mindy. I think I might be grieving. I’ve never grieved quite like this before. This is new to me. It feels horrific and holy. It feels awful and so precious that if anyone tried to fix it or take it or explain it away or make it better I might attack her and then never speak to her again.
I just wrote four more paragraphs and then deleted them all. I think I just wanted to tell you that I am very, very sad. And that this sadness, like joy – is a necessary, beautiful part of our human journey. Sadness, like death- is not failure. We can stop avoiding it, covering it up, stuffing it down. We should talk about it more. We should not snatch it from each other. We should just sit with sadness together.
We talk about happiness and anger because those two are like shields. Sadness is tender so we hide it. But the tender places are the learning places and the holy places. And so I am honored to feel this sad and lonely here on this Earth without Mindy on it. I think when your heart hurts this much it means you opened it wide once- and that is something to be proud of.
I love you and I am honored to be sad with you.
Glennon
Author of the #1 New York Times Bestseller LOVE WARRIOR — ORDER HERE
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160 Comments
I am so sorry for your loss. I knew nothing about Mindy until I read this post, but it is clear she touched, and touches, so many people.
I wish I’d read this post before Christmas. Our three-week-old son died 17 months ago. This holiday season, the second without him, was harder than the first. I spent the better part of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day celebrations crying in my room, generally not being present to my four-year-old daughter, and I have felt wracked with guilt on top of the crushing grief. Thanks for the reminder that I don’t have to get it together. I was there for my daughter in the important moments.
I’ve always thought I was broken. Like I didn’t have what everyone else had that made them able to conquer things life like a normal person. So I spent a long time covering my fragile heart—with a million and one things that just made me even more fragile over time. But I’ve run out of energy. I’m tired. I’m so tired. And I think the worst part about being sad is wondering if you will ever be happy again. Or if any of the happiness you ever felt was real anyway. “Not one last one of us wants to be fixed. We just want to be heard.” That’s all I’ve ever wanted—to be heard in my sadness. But the truth is, there are always too many other voices drowning me out with their anger and their happiness to feel safe enough to speak to the heart of my sadness. Thanks for understanding what this crushing, often debilitating sadness feels like. Because how do you describe it if someone hasn’t felt it? Thank you for saying what I’ve never been brave enough to say.
Me, too, Sophie….always a core of sadness in me that I can’t pinpoint. Your words spoke for me, too. Thanks.
Me, too.
G, I am so sad today. I haven’t been functioning properly since the beginning of November when I found out my grandma was nearing the end of her life here.
I spent a week attending to her before her death, feeding her, keeping her hydrated, reading her beloved Bible to her and singing hymns with her. It was a holy time.
Then I flew home and spent a couple weeks in bed crying. Then I flew back and spent the entire plane ride (coast to coast) trying not to hyperventilate (because flying is scary) and/or burst into tears (because everyone else was headed out to see family for Thanksgiving, and I was headed out to see family for my grandma’s memorial).
I came back, and shouldn’t I be productive again? I’m back. It’s over. A part of me is yelling at me because I’m not over it “yet,” because I still cry every day, some days more than others.
Today was a “more than others” day. My family watched me through the window this morning, when I came back from walking the dog. I found it was just too much to keep walking, and so I sat down on a pallet and cried. They knew I probably didn’t want to have company, and they were right.
A part of me keeps telling me that I’m just making it worse by dwelling on it. I don’t understand why I’m so torn up. It was “just” my grandma. I just am, and I just can’t seem to find it in me to keep going as if nothing is wrong.
I wonder if I’ll always feel like this. I wonder how I will survive the inevitable day when I no longer remember the sound of her voice. I wonder if my friends are sick of hearing about my grief and wish I would just move on already. I wonder what is WRONG with me.
Sometimes my grief feels holy. Sometimes it just feels wrong, horrible, awful, unbearable. Last night I dreamed that we were all sitting around Grandma in her blue chair (mah blue chair, am I in mah blue chair? I’m glad I’m in mah blue chair, she would say, her memory fading, but still comforted by the knowledge that she was in her favorite spot) and we knew she was getting ready to go, to simply disappear from existence, and we didn’t want it to happen, we were trying desperately to hold her, and she wanted to stay too, but then she did, she just disappeared, she was just gone.
I woke up at that exact moment and thought I would drown in grief, instantly aware that it’s true, she really did disappear, she really is gone. The grief felt not holy at all. Just wrong, just bad. I could barely breathe.
I guess this is all normal, all part of the process. All normal, all okay. It doesn’t feel okay.
But it also doesn’t feel okay to say that in public. When I write about Grandma (like, every day since I got back), I feel like I have to end on an uplifting note, craft the story just so, edify my readers. It doesn’t feel okay to just say: I’m sad. I can’t believe she’s gone. I’m crying. I cry several hours a day. I miss her. I don’t want her gone.
Without then saying; But it’s okay. She’ll live forever in my heart. She’s in a better place. Don’t worry, I won’t trouble you with my grief for much longer. You don’t have to read about my grief. It’s okay.
So I say those things. Glennon, thank you for being brave enough to not say them. To not pretend it’s okay when it’s not. Thank you.
It’s not okay. I miss her.
Amen.
What a wonderful tribute to your grandmother that she is so missed, so loved, and lives on in your heart and thoughts. Don’t downplay your grief, Heather. Losing someone who’s been a major part of your life since your birth is no small grief. I touch pictures of my grandparents…just put the tip of my forefinger against their images and blow them a kiss…makes me feel like I can still physically connect with them.
You stole the words from me. I have been searching for those words since October, when my father/best friend/last surviving family member on my father’s side passed away. I AM SO SO VERY DEVISTATINGLY SAD!!! I am not ok. I HATE everything that ends up with a happy ending…just like you. I, also have been pressured to “move on”…by myself…but only because others expect this of me. I have been told that I am not the mother that my children deserve right now…and I’m like, duh! Like I didn’t already know that! Like I’m not already feeling so very guilty over that fact and wish so much more than anything that I could be “that mom”. Thank you so very much, people, for repeating that to me over and over again so many times! I’ve been told “that my dad wouldn’t want me to be sad”…bulls***!!! One of the most incredibly stupid statements I have ever in my life heard. To not be sad or not to cry, would mean that my dad didn’t mean **** to me and that’s just not true!!! No one expects their loved ones not to be sad that they are gone. It is a symbol of my love! If I wasn’t this way, it would mean that those I have lost didn’t mean anything to me…like some news story on TV that was happening to “someone else”…”sad story…sucks for them…but now on to the next thing…” So NOT what reality is when you lose someone who means so very much to you.
I have expressed my grief to others…so MANY MANY others…and now I’m done. That’s what you stupid people have done to me. At first, it was the people I loved the most that were left here on earth. My most “trusted” of people. The ones that “should have gone to the ends of the earth for me because I KNOW I would have for them”…but I got nothing but shut out. Thought, “ok, they just don’t understand…how could they possibly! They’ve never had to go through anything even CLOSE to what I am going through…not their faults!!” So I decided to “help them help me”. I researched grief. What to say/what NOT to say to a grieving person, how to help a grieving person, what to expect when someone you love is grieving. Then I sent them the links. Thought to myself, “this will do it. It will tell them exactly what I need and they will do it….because I KNOW I would do it for them…I would and HAVE done it for a perfect stranger, so of course they will do this for me!! I’ve even made it easy for them by doing all the hard work by researching…all they have to do is click the link to find out that, in reality, all I need is a friend. Just someone to give a crap about me and just FREAKING LISTEN TO ME…no matter how uncomfortable they may feel by doing so. How hard could that be? Just to listen…seems so easy…so much like I am giving them a pass to what all they COULD be doing…at this point, I’ll take what I can get.” The first person I sent this to, was someone I trusted the very most in my life that was still here on earth with me…all the others have passed and moved on upward. That was about three weeks after I lost my father…and I haven’t heard back from her since. DEVISTATION! It took every bit of courage I had left to send the links to someone else…the person I trusted the SECOND most left here on earth with me. I hear from her occasionally…but it’s always at the very end of the day, just before she signs off for the night. And she only sends comments like “I hope that today you’ve found at least one thing to smile about”…and then she’s gone. Like, she wants to be able to justify to herself that “she IS doing SOMETHING…And that’s WAY more than anyone else is doing…so that MUST be enough!” WRONG!!’ I need to feel like at least ONE PERSON cares about me as much as I do for them…but so far, I’m not so lucky. My dad cared about me. That rare “unconditional” kind of love. The love of which I so deeply have for so many others…but has been so very difficult to have returned to me. I JUST DON’T GET IT!! This left me with such a sense of aloneness…of WORTHLESSNESS! The PAIN, yes physical PAIN that has been left from the loss of my father, and the losses I have suffered before him, were so very bad enough…but this has left me stunned…to the point of shut down/block everyone out mode. I didn’t leave the house or reach out to ANYONE again for probably 6 weeks. I basically disappeared from my life and no one noticed. I just want to be heard. That’s it. How hard is it just to listen??
That was a couple of weeks ago. I somehow, out of complete desperation, found my voice again and expressed all of it to a few other people. Even the part about feeling abandoned by the people I needed the most and about how all I really need is for someone just to HEAR me…and yet again, all I hear is silence. I’ve lost every single last family member on my father’s side (5in the last 10 years), and now, I’ve also somehow manged to lose every single last friend I thought I had left here on earth. Them’s the facts…the cold hard truth. No way to justify it anymore, no excuses to be made for them…it’s just how it is. I loved them hard, and they didn’t love me back. And all the ones I had that did, are in heaven…together…without me. And I’m here, stuck in this hell of a life without anyone to love me. So mind-blowingly, incomprehensibly alone….and DEVISTATED.
I can barely breathe. I want to close my eyes and be there with them. So cruel that I can’t be. Hell on earth, that’s my life. Just waiting for the next tragedy to hit, because they only happen to me, not to my “perfect friends whom have not had the unwelcomed thief of life knock at their door soooo many times they’ve lost count.” I am done now. I made the mistake of reaching out too many times. Should have learned sooner what I meant to people. But I just refused in the beginning to believe life could be so cruel…to rob one person of everything and leave another with everything, including friends”. I AM DONE!!
Laura, I want to thank you for helping me find my voice again tonight. Even if it was spoken to complete strangers. For today, this is all I could do. Just this next thing. No clue what the next thing to do is…could care less actually. But I’m sure when I figure it out, I’ll have a bit more courage to do it because of what you’ve wrote and I read.
I will not “tie this up with a pretty little bow on the top…no, not going to happen. Thank you for allowing me to do this. I am sorry for your loss…and if I can help you in someway, please allow me to do so. I will be herefor you, as well.
Amber, I can’t imagine anything so scary as losing a parent, at any age, to be suddenly set adrift in the world without that unconditional love only a parent can offer. I am so so sorry for your loss.
For weeks after Grandma’s death, I found myself suddenly suffering from anxiety symptoms that I thought I had left behind years ago. I was terrified of everything. I couldn’t eat, not because I wasn’t hungry (I was), but because I thought I was going to choke on every bite I put in my mouth. I lay in bed at night wondering what diseases were slowly eating away at me. Flying was pure palm-sweating shaking-hands terror.
Once I put the pieces together, I realized that I was scared because my grandma was gone, and Grandma had always looked out for me. My parents do too, but Grandma had a special unconditional, no-judgement style that no one else in my life has. Every loss of unconditional love is a terrible grief, and I can only imagine what it is like to lose the last one you have on earth.
I am so sorry.
If I were there, I would sit and listen and hold your hand while you cried.
You’ve found a place where love lives. We’re here for you.
Amber, I am so sorry for all of your losses. It sounds like the loss of the faith in your friends hits you particularly hard because they could DO something about it, if they realized it and chose to. In this Momastery community you have a place to be yourself and be heard, and I hope that is a comfort. Please don’t be done. You can be done for now, or done reaching out to them, but please don’t be done. The world so needs you and your gifts.
I’m so sorry for what you went through. I felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest just reading your experience. I am not the only one that would love to here if you need someone! I would have read your links and been there with you!
This is beautiful. I’m sad, too, as I grieve the loss of my sweet baby daughter, Lucy Kate. I gave birth to her one week ago–she was born an angel. I miss her so…but cherish the 20 weeks and 3 days she lived inside my womb. Your words are perfect for me right now. Thank you and Merry Christmas. May this holiday season bring you peace through the blessing of Jesus, and new year, renewal.
I’m so sorry to hear about Mindy.
Love,
Kelsey
Kelsey,
I’m so sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine what that must feel like. All I can say is that I am sending a virtual hug from one momma to another and some tears and prayers. God bless.
Shannon
Thank you, Shannon. <3
Oh, Kelsey…I’m so sorry. I carried my baby daughter almost 28 weeks before she was stillborn. That was in 1979, and I think about her all the time. Treasure Lucy Kate’s uniqueness – she was HERSELF, no other child you have now, or in the future, will be her, and you are grieving for yourself, too….how she would’ve changed you, what kind of mother you would’ve been to her, what she would’ve been like. I grieve with you. I wish you solace and peace of heart, but I know how hard-won it is.
Oh, Kelsey, I am so sorry. This hit particularly heavy on my heart because my little girl is Lucy Kathleen and we call her Lucy Kate as a nickname. She is 8 months old. I’m sure you know Lucy means light and Kate (all derivatives of Katherine) mean pure.
Your little angel’s name means pure light.
Oh, Kelsey. God Bless Lucy Kate. And you, honey.
You just keep breathing, we’ll do the praying.
Love,
G
Kelsey,
My daughter Joanna Faith was born sleeping at 20 weeks on November 6, 2005. I still miss her and think about her every day and long for the day I will hold her in my arms in heaven. I may never let go. I will never get over it, but Jesus has been faithful every day, through my fury and crushing grief. Praying for you and holding you and Lucy Kate in my heart.
Tara
“We should just sit in sadness with each other.”
Preach.
And I agree with you… our capacity to feel sadness is mirrored by our capacity to feel joy. Those who have never truly opened themselves to deep sadness are also missing out their full capacity for all the other stuff.
love and light to you and all who love and miss Mindy.
so sorry the world is without her.
Am crying over here. An hour ago I was trying to talk to God, asking Him what can any of do with all of the hate and horribleness everywhere we look. Everything I’ve read for days it’s just horrible evil stuff and often with religious types at the head of the hating pack. I just kept saying “God I don’t know what to say to you, I’m just so sad and don’t know what to do with that. Can you please just fix all this? Can you please make sense of this?” I finished and this blog post caught my eye on facebook. I don’t read this blog and my internet was barely working today so I was hardly reading anything. But somehow managed to open this. And I feel so thankful and so moved feel like God heard my pleas and prayers today in helping me find a safe place for sadness. None of this makes sense, death, hate, evil, none of it. But coming together and sharing the pain does. I thank you all for sharing your hearts. And I will pray for Mindy’s family and all of you grieving today.
I lost my beloved husband 4 months ago after a 7 month battle with pancreatic cancer. He was 48 years old when he died, leaving me a widow at age 42. He only started feeling sick just about a year ago. I have yet to read anything about grief that has been so true, so accurate to how I am feeling than this post. I am so sorry for the loss of Mindy and for all of the losses documented here in the comments, but I am honored, in a way, to know there are so many amazing people “out there,” like all of you, who get it. Mindy and all who love her will be in my prayers today and in the days and weeks to come.
I lost my dear husband this June after he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in February. Whili never want anyone to suffer loss, sadness, confusion and grief like our family has & is, I am reassured in reading your words. I never thought, just last Christmas, that I’d be a 38 year old, single mother of two boys & stepmom to two other amazing young adults. I am grateful for my faith, family, friends and opportunities to share with others – even when it’s tough. I will be thinking of you all, especially as the holiday season is upon us.
One of my favorite poems (also a book) but I’ve always loved what she says about pain.
“I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it.”
We really have to experience and sit with our pain so that we can fully experience joy. The people I’ve invited to share this journey with me, know that I need you to not fix my pain, to fade it or fix it, just sit with me & love me through it.
The Invitation
Oriah Mountain Dreamer
home page
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, ‘Yes.’
It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
This is beautiful. I am sharing this on my FB page. Exactly how I feel about life and people.
I am rather new to this blog and so I don’t know who Mindy is although since “No Man is an Island”, as John Dunn said, I grieve for her too.
I lost my 6 1/2 month old grandson to SIDS 22 months ago, Three months later my father died in a car crush as a result of a medical incident while he was driving. Those two losses were my reality in 2012. I can totally relate to your post. One thing I have noticed in my grief journey is that I am a much more compassionate and empathetic person having experienced loss. I am far more likely now to reach out to people in pain — emotional or physical — than ever before. I have become determined to harness my pain for good. Mindy and her extended family will be in my prayers. All the Monkees who have suffered a loss will be in my prayers as well.
Glennon,
I’m so very sorry for the loss of your friend. There’s really nothing easy about death.
xoxoxo
kate.
“It feels awful and so precious that if anyone tried to fix it or take it or explain it away or make it better I might attack her and then never speak to her again.” Yes. This is the most accurate explanation of my grief that I have read. I lost my mom when I was 25. Trying to muddle through the infancy of my first child. She had been dying since I learned I was pregnant. She was my best friend. I am now 41 and I am still grieving. I will always grieve her.
I, too, am a “Motherless Daughter”, having lost Mom at age 16. Like you, I muddle through being a parent to my son…who is now the same age as I was when I lost her. This year’s anniversary of her passing was especially hard for that reason, as I cannot imagine having to leave my son still so young. Yes, you will always grieve. I still cry at commercials showing loving moments with Mothers/Daughters. I wistfully view the “adult” relationships my girlfriends have with their mothers now…and will never know that. (sigh) But, in the grief there are also such amazing memories of her love, and that sustains me.
I am not sure what spurred me to read the comments on this post, but seeing your comment touched me deeply. I lost my mom at age 18, and am 38 now. I have lived longer without her than I did with her, yet her absence still feels so apparent to me as I attempt to navigate the world while being a wife and mother without her. Not that I think any of it would be any easier if she were here to guide me, I just feel so strongly the absence of her in my life more and more every day. And it makes me sad.
Thanks for sharing this G. I’m so very sorry for the loss of Mindy. That news saddens me even more than I already was yesterday.
I am a school psychologist at a city school in Chicago and yesterday I found out that a student I am about to evaluate suffered a tremendous loss 3 years ago. On Thanksgiving Day, in 2010, my student’s mother and her boyfriend beat her 4 year old child to death and then tried to conceal his injuries by covering up the bruises with make up. This poor little boy, his name was Christopher, died on his 4th birthday at the hands of his mother, who should have done nothing but protect him and this vicious man who then tried to conceal his crime. I heard this around mid-day yesterday and most of the day after that I was so sad…my own daughter is 3 years old. I can’t imagine how anyone could beat a small child to death…makes no sense to me…
So here I am…sitting with sadness born through senseless tragedy and I pray for Christopher and his surviving siblings. I will be meeting with my student tomorrow and I wonder if he will bring this up? The world and all of its realities can be so cruel. In my work, I hear many sad stories so over the last 10 years, I’ve tried to build a shell around myself. Then sometimes, stories like this just get to me. I suppose I should be glad about it to some extent because that must mean I haven’t completely hardened myself to the tragedies I sometimes encounter in my work.
Again…thanks for this today G. I hope you are a little less sad today.
Always,
Tammy XOXOXO
Oh, my heart. Praying for your student and for you to keep listening & supporting through all of the tragic stories.
Thanks so much Gabrielle!! I try to maintain a healthy level of detachment and balance between compassion and protecting myself. I’m far too empathic, usually mostly with animals, but with people too. So keeping my own sanity and being able to sleep at night with all of the sad stories gets hard at times. Thanks for the support!
You have got to be one of the angels- to listen and listen and let your heart cry and nurture yourself so that you can listen more. Thank you. I am just full of gratitude that you are there doing what you do, as painful as it must be. Blessings to you.
Thanks for gratitude Linda. I appreciate that. Most days are not like this but then sometimes, a story like this one happens and I’m reminded of the senseless tragedies kids encounter daily. This area of Chicago is very gang-ridden, although not as bad as some other areas of the city, so it’s not unusual to hear of someone’s cousin or uncle or brother or sister, etc. being shot over the weekend. Last year, there was an incidence of violence behind one of the schools right at the end of the school day. Not to mention the poverty…it’s just difficult. I love my job though…I’m happier working with this population of kids than I had been for the last 9 years working in a suburban district. Thank you again for the nice words. It means a lot to me. 🙂
Yes . . .
Thank you . . .
<3
Amen. I am sad, too, for a women I never met in person and know only through this blog. My heart aches for her husband and little one. And I am holding space for all those who are grieving.
When my grandmother passed away, at the blessed age of 93, my sadness was sharp and very deep. I say “was,” and yet that pain still reaches out and grabs me, almost 5 years later. As my mom and I shared our emotions about her death, we began to recognize that the intensity of our grief was a direct result of the depth of our love. I also realized that I was not sad for Grandma; faith instills in me the knowledge that she is in a place of perfect beauty. I am sad for myself, left behind in this imperfect place without her.
Thank you for sharing your sadness.
Sitting in my own grief, as my beloved mother in law passed away yesterday. I can’t get past the utter heartbreak that she was alone and in pain when she left this life. It will haunt me, I’m afraid. A week before Christmas and I’m trying to find the way to get up and make it through this.
Just so much sadness.
Wendy, I am sorry for your pain and your loss. Loving is hard because it hurts.
Wendy, I’m so sorry for both of you. Hugs.
Glennon. I get this. I really REALLY do. Personally and Professionally…. As a 45 year old mother and adult who has lost both her parents way too young…and AS an ONOCOLGY nurse, EVERY.SINGLE.DAY….Bonded together in sadness and HOPE. Allie
Allie,
Thank you for the holy work that you do. God doesn’t make everyone able to handle that sort of job, but he made YOU for it, and for that we are all very thankful!
I am so glad you posted this and have the courage to just be. Be sad now is okay. This is my first Christmas without my Dad and I am learning to be and today I was being sad and feeling bad I couldn’t connect at work – you remind us sometimes we just have to ride the sad, mad, glad, whatever. Praying fotr you, Mindy and all of us who are sad today
I’m so thankful for this post, your heart, your transparency. It’s not very often that I read something about grief, written by someone who has not buried one of their children, that I respond to in an “oh my gosh, YES! He/she totally gets it. Someone else has a broken heart, like mine!” Kind of way. Tonight, as I read this post, that is exactly how I felt…but there’s more…after reading, I was thinking (I MIGHT have actually been talking , out loud, to myself) maybe I’m not as alone in my grief as I think. Maybe I just FEEL that alone because my fellow people don’t know that it’s ok for other people to see their broken hearts. Maybe, just maybe, if we actually all let our broken hearts show…we would all feel less lonely, and would actually heal those broken places. So maybe the next time a broken hearted person (cause we all have broken hearts about something-if we don’t, then we’re not doing life right!) needs to just say what’s in his/her broken heart and have a good cry…instead of placating them, then discussing the dreadful way they wallow in their pain, behind their back…we could just be there in the sadness and broken hearted ness with them. If only so they know they’re not alone there. We might even go the extra mile and say something really vulnerable like, “I can’t tell you I know your pain, but I do know how badly it feels when my heart is broken. I’m here. You just tell me if you need me not to be.”
And as long as I’m on a soap box about broken hearts, I’d just like to say that I treasure mine. It is not uncommon for things that were once broken, to heal in a different shape/size than they originally were. Like scar tissue…the bone, muscle ligament…heart…will never be the same. It will be more prone to brokenness and sensitivity, we may even suffer chronic pain because of it. When it comes to my proverbial heart, I’m ok with that. I don’t mind my broken heart. It helps me hurt with other broken hearts and let them know they’re not alone , that they (and their pain) are significant to me. I honestly feel that most broken hearted people won’t trust that statement if it’s coming from someone who appears to not have a broken heart. In order to be mighty enough to help others with their broken hearts…I have to be ‘weak’ and let mine show too. It’s like hearing from a male OB that labor and childbirth isn’t bad at all. Who’s gonna believe him? Nobody, that’s who. But if a warrior mama says “y’know, it sucked when I was in the thick if it, but in retrospect, it’s not so bad.” That, that’s believable. She’s been there, she’s real, she let her weakness show. That’s how I want to be to broken hearted people.
Yes, I think I have found my calling/passion. <3
Hugs, G. Bless you for letting your heart show. Bless you for holding this sad space. Bless us all, for we're all broken, at least a little.
This is so wise. Thank you.
Ten years ago, my best friend’s husband was killed in a car accident at the young age of 29. I attended grief counseling with my dear friend, and the one thing that really hangs with me today, 10 years later, is the idea that you cannot know true joy unless you know true pain.
I have just recently begun following your blog, and I have to say, you are the most real, honest, transparent person! I love the fact that you put yourself out there, and your life is not perfect! (GASP!) Real life is messy, and I’m okay with that, but you’ve helped me realize I don’t need to put up a front. I can be a mess, and as long as Love Wins, it’s okay.
Thank you! And I wish you peace in your first experience with real grieving…
I, too, am very, very, very sad. I met Mindy through this special place you created, and I feel her loss so strongly, even though we never “met”. I was going through treatment at the same time Mindy’s story came out. Because of an awful disease, I met a beautiful person, and I am changed, for the better, because of both. Sometimes sadness feels like a blanket, and it covers us, keeping a memory warm in our hearts. Once those memories are burned in, I will shed my blanket and spread the warmth Mindy created in my heart with the world. There will be peace.
I am very sad too.
I “met” Mindy through your posts but then when I offered a MSMD shirt that I had ordered in a wrong size for my granddaughter, MINDY wrote me and asked if she could have it for Lana. That little shirt started a friendship that I really treasured. In her last message to me a few days before she died, she thanked me for being part of her virtual family. I love her like family and my heart is hurting.
G., you are the catalyst for these friendships that are happening all over Momastery. We are living the truth of We Belong To Each Other.
I’m sobbing reading through all of your comments. Gripped with empathy for Mindy’s husband and daughter, and with fear for the future. It’s so hard to admit to having deep fear of what the future holds, of the possibility of having to live this life without a spouse or child. Praying for you all as I am for myself, to have peace in knowing His perfect love casts out our fears. No matter what the future holds, He will never leave us or forsake us.
So sorry that you’re hurting.
And yet in that pain and grief and weakness and vulnerability is true strength. All things can be made to work for Good…and look what your post did – just scanning the comments – you let people know it’s OKAY to be sad. It’s OKAY to be hurting.
And that sharing it; holding another person close – or letting yourself be held – physically, or in thoughts and hearts, as the hurting happens, is sacred.
Someone very wise once said, “You can do hard things.” exactly when I was low and needed to hear it.
While I’m not happy that you are sad, I’m happy that I know. You’ll be in my thoughts and prayers. Blessings!
“We must embrace pain and use it as fuel for our journey.”
The pain doesn’t go away, alas, but it becomes part of us, and if we let it, it helps us love even stronger.
I attended the funeral on Monday for an 8-year-old who died of that f-ing bastard cancer.
The rabbi at the beginning said what makes us human is us coming together to share our tears. And so that’s what we do.
This real live grey trudgy person would like to say thank you for making me feel like it’s okay to be sad. So often I cloak sadness in anger because it feels more acceptable. Anger feels like the emotion of a strong person, and sadness seems so weak, vulnerable. Your words empower me to be who I am, without feeling ashamed or in need of “fixing.” I hope it might bring you some measure of comfort to know that in your grief, you have comforted others.
Andrea, THIS! Thank you.
I am very sad this Christmas without my Dad. I think of things at least once a day I want to tell him. It is a sad an lonely feeling to look at his phone number in my phpne and know he isnt on the other end of it any longer. Thanks for giving me a place to share my sadness G. Xo
You should tell him anyway. I have a chalkboard in my home where I write out things I know my grand-mama would want to hear/see. I get that where she is she can technically hear/see all of these things already. But somehow that wasn’t enough for me. So now I have a big beautiful list of things/moments that bring me back to her. It is prominently displayed in my home, the writing isn’t neat or perfect, and when I run out of room I clear the list and start over. It’s nice to feel like I’m sharing something tangible with her still.
Happy Christmas sweet friend.
I love this!!
What a lovely idea!
When I lost my dad, I was left with this daddy-sized hole in my heart. I did not have my joke-sharer, cell-phone loving, checker buddy, holiday-loving, cookie-snitching, off-key warbling, witty partner-in-crime. The first holiday that came after his death, I knew I needed to channel my love and loss and energy somewhere, or just be completely and utterly wrecked by it. Where to find an 86-ish gent with a twinkle in his eye? I called our local nursing/senior home and asked the director if i could adopt a few of their residents, and explained my crazy idea. That has changed my life. No, my new friends are not my dad – he was one of a kind – but I have formed great relationships with a constantly changing cast of near-dads who help make life so much more joyful for their not-daughter. I have the privilege of having someone to think and care about on this earth, warms hugs to give and receive, a smiling face happy to see me, people to shop for, make things for, to send cards to, i can pick up the phone and get a caring voice at any point, i have jokes to share, i get more chances to spread around this enormous pile of love he left me with. I still miss my dad so much, but i am honored to love my new collection of dads. And, yes, I will know that my time with my new almost-dads is short. But, that gives me the honor of applying the great lesson my dad taught me – to love others hugely and fully (crazy love, my dad called it) and without regret.
Yes! Love, love, love this. Figuring out new & tender connections when we feel alone can be tough — trudging through that sadness and loss is real work & it deserves its space — but I love the win-win-niness of this. And I love your dad’s “crazy love” — a few years ago I started signing my emails & notes to my precious ones with “Big love!” It’s how I want to live — with a big, open, sometimes broken heart. And blogs like this one and posts like yours are sweet, everyday reminders of why.
I lost a close friend this time last year. This helped me today.
Jesus gives us permission to be sad. Blessed are those that mourn…the poor in spirit. We don’t have to be happy all the time, its just impossible. Bless you in your sadness.
Hello All You Monkees+ Glennon,
I am a grey trudgy person right now.
I’ve only been on the Momastery site once when Mindy sent me here to read something. She has been my dear friend for 10 years and I had the gift of time and proximity these past 7 weeks to sit with her, weep with her, pray with her, laugh with her, comfort her and serve her in ways I never thought I would.
Megan is right when she says Mindy has this abundant joy that you just can’t escape. When I wrote Megan a note this week pouring out my heard and my grief, I told her that, “I never could show my love for Mindy like she showed hers for me. I felt like she was pursuing me…from the day we met until the day she died, she was always wanting more and more and more of me”…and there is something so amazing, so pure and so accepting in that. I loved Mindy deeply, and still do.
The best way for me to get through each grey trudgy day is to think of one thing I can do to honor her or make her spirit smile. So, today I am going to begin following and reading Momastery.
Mindy ALWAYS wanted me to follow you and your writing, Glennon, and get to know her other Monkees. I was not against it, I was just always too busy. Today I will slow down, read the words of others who are grieving or have grieved deeply, and reflect on the wonder of this woman who wove so many other women together through her life and her story.
-kathryn
I’m so sorry for your loss. I love your idea to do one thing each day to honor your friend or make her spirit smile. What better tribute?
Kathryn! So happy to see you here! Welcome to Momastery! You are a Monkee now; you have been ordained. Let us lift you up. Love Wins for Mins!
I’m with you Kathryn. I’m in too.
Kathryn,
I am so glad you are here! I wonder if Mindy knew how far her love would reach?
With love and prayers for comfort,
Nikole
Oh Kathryn,
You totally hit the nail on the head. Mindy pursued us with love. I told her on Friday night that I never had a friend who loved me the way she does. Mindy made people feel valid, valuable, worth knowing. And when someone makes you feel like that, believe it or not, you begin to see yourself as valid, valuable, and worth knowing. And your whole perception of yourself – who you think you are and how you fit into this crazy world – it changes. You become the person she saw from the start, and life is never the same. I will forever be blessed for being loved by Mindy. I pray I can learn how to love others like she did.
Welcome, kathryn! We are so happy to have you. Please let us help hold you.
So sorry for the loss of your friend. (Hug)
Holding space for all of those that weep today.
You are right. Grief needs to be shared. Friends recently lost their 19 year old daughter in a bicycle/car accident. In the moments, hours, and days after the accident their people gathered at the hospital, waiting for her organs to be donated. We sat with them. Crying. Holding hands. Just being there. And I got the sense that when we did that, we took a little bit of their grief and pain so they could stand to keep on living. So they could keep on breathing for one more hour. If they tried to bear all their pain and grief at once it would consume them. So share your grief. We will bear it with you. We will take a bit of the grief of Mindy’s husband and children.
Grief. Such a small word for such huge emotion. I lost my mom 5 years ago December 15th. I lost my dad to cancer 7 years ago. While he died in March, the Christmas before he died was one of ‘those’ Christmases. You know – too much to do, too stressed, have to hurry and ‘celebrate’ here then dash off and ‘celebrate’ there – so I didn’t enjoy that Christmas. I wanted it to be over. There’s even a picture of me Christmas eve at my parents’ house, with a horrible look on my face. I cringe everytime I think of it. So my grief is tied up with shame as well. But slowly I am (not have) moving through it. I still grieve and when the emotions come, I let them. I think that’s the hardest to do but it’s such important, holy work. And yes, it is definitely work! The upside is the continuation of counting my blessing, trying to be more present, loving as fiercely and messily as I possible can. Thank you Glennon for this community, and thank you everyone for sharing your stuff – your messy, wonderful, heartbreaking, brutiful selves. Hugs and prayers to you all!
I will honor your sadness. Your sadness is a gift~let your tears roll, I’ll gather them and squeeze your hand with my soggy hand as we all sit together to hold you. You are safe in your sadness.
LOVE
I am so sorry for your/our loss. It seems there’s been lots of loss lately.
I have so many areas in my life that need work and growth, but I do feel that I have grown in my heart’s understanding of sadness–of knowing that sometimes just being with someone in pain is really all they need. A shoulder to cry on and an ear to listen. I thank God for the grace to understand that.
G,
It’s Mindy’s Chemo-Sabe Megan here… thank you for this post. Mindy’s husband Jordan wrote to me this morning and wanted me to thank you for saying exactly how he feels. We are all right there with you. Being that it’s Christmas time, I want so badly to compartmentalize this and find a little happiness. But my sadness is just all-consuming. I can scarcely think of anything other than my Mindy. I go to sleep praying for her soul and for Jordan and Lana and her siblings and parents, and I wake up thinking about the absence of her beautiful self on this earth.
After reading your post, I’ve decided to just surrender to it. Sadness, 100; Megan, 0. I can’t rush it. I have to grieve–we all have to grieve–and it takes time. Time takes time. Aren’t you the one who wrote that? I love that saying. Time takes time.
My deepest, deepest thanks to every Monkee for sitting in the sadness with us and for loving Mindy even though you didn’t know her personally. She made such a difference in this world. She was a healer (a pediatrician), and was like an angel to me. She lived with abundant joy and fell deeply in love with her friends. Her joy for you and her love for you was so powerful, it was disarming. I was just telling one of her longtime friends via email yesterday that Mindy had a way of barging into your heart, flinging open the door and throwing a party inside before you even knew what hit you!
I am committed to taking some of Mindy forward by being more generous with my time, energy and spirit; by making those I love feel absolutely SHOWERED in my affection; by finding the good in people and making good things happen wherever I can. This will make her smile so big and bright up there in heaven, and that’s an image I love to have in my mind. Mindy’s wonderful smile.
God bless you G, and all the Monkees.
Megan,
These are the words I would have used to describe losing my sister five years ago if I had been able to articulate it. I believe this will be the loveliest tribute that can be made for Mindy.
I’ve discovered Mindy’s celebration will be in Portland, Oregon and I live in Gresham. I will be there wearing my brightest color for the love of all the Monkees that are unable to attend. If I don’t get a chance to meet you there, know that I am sending waves of love and affection your way.
Thank you, Connie! I would like to be part of your bright colors, as there is no way I can travel halfway across the country.
Megan, Sending you love today as you sit with your sadness. Holding space for you, Mindy’s family, and all those whose lives she touched. Time takes Time. xo
Megan,
I love what you wrote about Mindy and a person’s heart. I never met her but can see that smile in my minds eye. I feel like the power of her love is still barging into people’s hearts, and your comment and G’s post is helping that happen. I hope to carry some of that goodness and light into my day to honor her and all those feeling her loss.
Love to all the hurting hearts out there.
My sister sure was a rock star! I love her and looovvveeeee how she touched so many people. Mins knew how to live. I’m soooooo honored that I got to be her little sister and God gave me many, many Mindy moments. I sure miss her but am soooooo sooooo thankful I could hear her tell me she loved me one more time and I knew without a shadow of doubt she loved me back. She loved everyone, Mindy was just cool like that. She makes my soul smile. Ohhhhh how I love my big sis!! I’m so honored.
This is beautiful Megan!
Megan, I have been wondering about you. So good to hear your thoughts. I am someone Mindy reached out to through Momastery and I fell in love with her instantly, even though we were only FB pen pals. Her spirit and love shone through in every word she wrote. I can imagine that even though you two shared hard times, they had to be the most special of times. I hope your heart is being loved and protected during this time of great loss.
Stacey
I am sad too. Thank you for having the strength to express SADNESS. Sadness does not equal weakness.
Dearest Glennon, I had the pleasure of getting to know Mindy through Momastery. She reached out through FB. I’d never had a stranger do that and I was cautious.. .but only for a minute! I quickly realize I had met one of the most beautiful people on earth. We were FB pen pals and shared some good and important stuff. This woman needed to be here longer to show the world what it truly means to live a life well lived. And how to be the seekiest seeker. She was beautiful, smart, sassy and a lover of God. She moved me many paces in my walk of Christianity. My heart hurts too Glennon.
I’m sad too. The day I read that Mindy had entered hospice care, I wept as if we were old friends. I wept for this woman who I had never met, but was a sister through Momastery. I wept for her and the sadness she must have been feeling to leave her husband and daughter behind. I wept for her little girl who would grow up without her mom. I wept for her husband to lose his Mindy. Then I prayed for that miracle. Then I prayed for God to prepare them all. I’m sad too. I read her husband’s words and I’m glad they are believers.
Grief is such a major and holy part of life. Thank you for sharing it and honoring it. A book I think you might really like ‘ Falling Upward” by Richard Rohr. Hugs to you.
I love reading all of the comments almost as much as the post. This place, where people I don’t know reveal the rawest, truthiest, saddest, comfortingest, togetherest, words and thoughts and feelings. The comfort and permission and company here is very amazing.
Me too. Love you all.
My mom passed away on September 1st of this year. She was only 60 years old, and was diagnosed with Early Onset Alzheimer’s disease seven years prior. You’re right, grief is horrific and holy. Love never felt so palpable. The loss stings every day but at the same time, my gratitude for getting to be her daughter grows.
Hi Emily,
I’m so sorry for your loss. I lost my mom seven years ago at the age of 63 to early-onset Alzheimer’s that surfaced when she was 58. I still can’t put into words all the emotions I felt during her illness, after her death and even now. Over the years, I’ve kept her memory alive within my family by celebrating her birthday each year with her favorite cake and a slide show of pictures from throughout her life. My children were too young when she died to even remember her – this still breaks my heart – but they feel like they knew her from all the stories the pictures evoke. Do whatever you need to do to carry on, sister. xoxoxo
Melanie
Dearest Glennon,
I am sad with you. I didn’t know her, and I didn’t know hardly anything about her, yet I saw your post, and then I looked at her husband’s page. I read some posts, and then got up to wash dishes. I suddenly found myself sobbing. Sobbing hard, at the loss the husband and daughter are suffering, and at the beautiful way he spoke about it. I cried for Mindy, having to say goodbye to her loved ones so early. And I cried for myself….I kept imagining having to do that. I literally cried out loud to my husband, who came in to see what in the world had happened, I told him that I didn’t want to die, that I didn’t want to get cancer, that I wanted to be here for him and our daughter and our soon to be born second daughter. I’ts so sad. It’s so sad. It’s so sad. It hurts my heart. I hold your heart in reverence, and I send you lots of love. We’re so lucky to be here, with our babies, with our loves, loving in a physical way on this plane, hands on, lips on, skin on skin, arms around each other.
I didn’t know Mindy, even as a Monkee. I may have heard of her once before Glennon’s second-to-last post about her and how bad things had gotten. Learning of her passing still elicited a gasp and deeply felt, “oh, no!” but I realize it’s nowhere near the depth of what others are experiencing these days. I can see the grief from Glennon and the Monkee community, though, and am more than willing to listen and not try to fix.
I think I am grieving right along with you…death is always scary/sad….but death at 37 is terrifying…death at Christmas breaks my heart… I remember reading Mindys story forever ago it seems…and just praying… Mindy was my age…as crazy brutiful as my life is…I couldn’t imagine losing my best friend, one of my children, or leaving my family behind while I went to live in heaven…. I cry just thinking about it… To Mindys family, you are not alone in this grieving process..we are all here with you…hurting right along with you…GOD bless you all….
I am so sad for Mindy’s family and friends. I’m sad that there will forever be a hole in the hearts of those who knew and loved her (even through Momastery)…. but I am happy that she is free, that she does not hurt any more or is burdened by the pains of this life.
I will sit with you in your sadness. I have felt the loss of my fellow cancer survivors, the sadness, fear, and anger was overwhelming. Lifting you in prayer.
My heart is breaking.
Right there with you.
I am still dealing with the loss of a woman, who was like a big sister to me, in November also from cancer -far, far too soon in her story. She worked all her life, building a business, weathering setbacks, and heartbreak, and planning for a retirement that ended up being 6 months of chemo and 3 days in hospice.
The unfairness of it makes me angry in ways I can’t even express.
But, she lived life on her terms, she fought the cancer with everything she had, maintained her dignity and her independence, said her goodbyes, and she had all her wishes honored to the best of human ability right to the end – and she still called the shots. It was what she wanted, and the end was peaceful as she had prayed for.
So I grieve, but I grieve for those of us who miss her, who’s lives are emptier without her – I have to be glad that she left this world and moved on to the next by her own terms – it was the best gift we could have given her. When the sadness works itself through (and it will eventually) it’s that gladness that will remain – and all the wonderful ways Carroll made my life (and me) better.
My prayers for Mindys family and friends.
I gasped at the FB post of Mindy passing. A light extinguished too soon. I had all hopes and faith that she would beat this. I moped around and cried and did nothing. I was also very sad when a childhood friend of mine died; David, on November 7. We chatted on email (me, Greg, David, Elaine – such silly, funny emails like we were still KIDS and I’d be like “GUYS, I have got to get back to work!). Grew up together (we are all in our 50’s). Such wonderful happy and sad times together at such a tender time learning our way as toddlers to adults. After college he married and moved on busy with children and activities. We kept saying we’ll get together for that beer at Vienna Inn for old times. Then he died. Very quickly. Greg got to see him. I attended both his services. I was so incredibly sad for his family and kids. And very sad for me. That was a foundation that made all of us in our ‘hood who we are today. If it was not for those people, I might not be here today. They grounded me. For that I am still sad that we did not catch up as full grown adults.
But back to Mindy. I too am still sad. Sad I will no longer see her posts as my only connection to her beautiful heart. I look at Lana’s little face. Guys, be sure you keep in touch with those you love. Be there when they are ill; don’t be afraid.
I lost my mom to Pancreatic Cancer almost 6 years ago, and some days the pain of the realization that my Mom died still can bring me to my knees. I miss her everyday and this journey of grief I am on has its up and downs. But mostly, I am heartbroken…grief is a difficult thing…it can make you bitter or it can make you better. Most of the time…I believe it has made me better, but there are those dark days when I am most definitely bitter….
I am hugging you in my heart today. In pursuit of being better …
I am in my dad’s city this week, helping him die a dignified, honorable, and pain free death. This is the most heartbreaking experience I’ve ever had. I’m composed and crying at the same time — a ball of jangled wire. It’s brutiful. It’s grace.
I am sending you much love and holding space for you, sweet Kate. Blessings to you and your dad, and all those surrounding you.
Oh, friend, the gift that you are giving — and getting, though it might not look that way just now — with this. May you and your dad be part of a grace that is both weighty and transcendent.
“I think when your heart hurts this much it means you opened it wide once- and that is something to be proud of” These might be some of the best words I have ever read.
Glennon…I understand your sadness only too well. Within the past 8 years, I have grieved the death of two of my brothers, my mom, my dad, my precious mother-in-law, and my sister-in-law just last month. I am 42. I don’t feel like I *should* have lost all these people. The grief is overwhelming sometimes…it crashes on me like a wave (or a tsunami) and sucks me up whole making it impossible to breathe. It comes without warning and often for no reason. But what is 1000 times harder is watching my daughter grieve. She is 10 and cries almost every day about missing her grandma. It has been 8 months…and she has cried almost every day. Grieving is awful (and holy and special)…but watching your child grieve is devastating. ((hugs)) to you and to all who feel loss right now.
Oh, my goodness, Michelle! I am aching for you, and your daughter, and sending as much love as humanly possible out into the world for you two.
I have felt sad for this woman, this family, who I don’t know at all, ever since you posted about her passing over the weekend. Sad and mad. And I am so scared of this sadness. It’s why I can’t watch the Today show or certain movies or the news read certain books or think too much about tragic stories because I am just so damn scared of being that sad. I’m afraid that I will sink down into that sadness and never rise up again. I know I won’t be able to avoid these things in my life. They will happen, in some form, even if I never experience major tragedy I will lose people I love and I am scared to death of it. It haunts me at night when I lie in the dark and worry about my kids, my husband, myself. I don’t want to be so sad. I know there is beauty in it, I have heard people talk about it but I am afraid that if it happens to me I won’t see the beauty I will only see the dark. I don’t want to have to experience such sadness to appreciate the beauty. I don’t want it to be my story. I’m such a chicken. I would rather be angry I think than sad. Because I know the anger fades but the sadness stays. I don’t want to carry that around with me. I hate being this afraid of it.
Jennifer, thank you for being open about this. I, too, am scared. My parents are at an age when I know they can’t have too many years left, and I am terrified of how I will feel when they leave this world for a better one. I’m afraid of being lost in the sad, too.
Jennifer, I know what you mean. I have been afraid of the sadness too, afraid that it would swallow me whole and I would never get through it. I was this way until I walked through it with my therapist and my husband, and dumped out some really old pain that I was afraid to feel. This may not be your situation at all, but what you wrote seemed familiar to me, and I didn’t want you to go unanswered. For me, this very old pain was so scary that I wouldn’t look at it, but hearing about other people’s pain would get amplified by my hidden reservoir. I had to get in there and drain the reservoir (which took 18 months and a lot of crying, and this is where my husband was so helpful) but it’s been a lot better ever since (it’s been 5 years) and now I know that sorrow will not crush me. I really hope for that kind of freedom for you too, and I just wanted you to know that I’ve been there and you’re not alone, and it will not devour you.
Jennifer, I understand that fear. Just wanted you to know you’re not alone in that. Thanks for sharing. I have a feeling that you’re stronger than you think, but I know that’s easier to say than really believe.
Monkees are good at being with each other when they feel stuck, too. I’m with you.
Thanks all for the responses…this is what I love about Momastery…knowing you’re not alone in anything, good or bad 🙂
I’m sad, too. Sad for Mindy’s family and friends and all who loved her. Sad for my husband’s cousin and his wife, who just 2 days ago lost their weeks old premature infant to an intestinal infection. Sad for a friend who last week had an ectopic pregnancy removed. And if I’m being completely honest, just sad in general that nothing is going how I planned this holiday season. Just sitting in the sadness today.
That’s a heavy burden of sad. I think maybe we need a sad place today, where those who are experiencing grief and loss can sit and the rest of us can come and sit with you. I was going to say “a sad room,” but let’s have it outside, somewhere with grass and trees and sun and water.
That sounds lovely, this place with grass and trees and sun and water. Thank you, Meredith.
When my friend’s 5-year-old asked who Nelson Mandela was, she rephrased her mom’s explanation into beautiful succinctness: “Oh. He loved strong with his big heart.” That is what I want on my gravestone, and that is how I think of Mindy. Sending peace and love and light to all who are grieving her passing.
Wonderful description.
When we came home from the hospital without our newborn preemie (she was still in the NICU recovering from surgery), I was so sad that all I could do was cry. Crying makes people uncomfortable so I thought I just had to be alone then. My mom hugged me and told me to cry if I wanted to. She gave me permission to be sad, which sounds silly, but that’s all I needed. Just to have comfort from someone that loved me and wasn’t telling me to be strong. It stopped me in my tracks to hear that and I’ve never forgotten it.
“Grief comes to you all at once, so you think it will be over all at once. But it is your guest for a lifetime.”
“How should I treat this guest? This unwelcome, uninvited guest?”
“Think of the one who sent it to you” she said.
from Roger Rosenblatt’s book, Kayak Morning
Wise words from one of my friends this morning, seemed incredibly timely for this conversation and so many who have lost loved ones this month.
Sad with you and all those who love Mindy . . . .
My heart feels broken…like I got the wind knocked out of me. I am questioning…how could I love someone I never met through emails and in cyberspace? What is wrong with me? Well…the answer is nothing. Nothing is wrong with us, us feelers, us too intense, too feely people. We were made with these big hearts. That’s why we fell in love with our Mindy…she was made that way too. She is dancing with so many right now but also I believe she is at the foot of Jesus interceding for each and every one of us who us grieving. Let it come grief… and let there be joy. Jordan her husband was feeling inexplicable joy that day, a true miracle… may we get to that place where sadness turns into holy joy. Love to you Glennon:)
I know I can’t take away your sadness, but I am here “beside” you, and I can sit in the sadness with you. Sending love and light your way.
These are valuable words, Mary. Thank you for saying them the way you did.
“…the tender places are the learning places and the holy places….when your heart hurts this much it means you opened it wide once- and that is something to be proud of.”
THIS.
Love to you & to beautiful Mindy, & to us, every one.
A holy anointing of grief seals something pure and precious inside our souls. It is one of God’s greatest gifts, what is left behind after death, our only solace. And because of Monkeydom I felt that stab of grief at losing Mindy, someone I had only read about….and I knew that was proof in the pudding that what we monkey’s have is a rare and wondrous world.
Oh yes. I think I didn’t really know how real any of this was until I felt how real losing Mindy was to me.
Thank you Glennon. I’m so sorry to hear about Mindy. I am praying for her soul and for her family. This is a sad Christmas season for me. My 27 year old son Matthew died last May 19th of an unintentional overdose of alcohol and fentanyl. My heart is broken and I am walking this slow painful journey of bidding him farewell for now and waiting to see what kind of person I will be when I emerge from this.
Holding space and sitting with you.
I am so sorry, Mary Beth. I will sit with you and Hillary.
Stay weak. Love you. Love us.
Thank you for never holding back, for sharing what really resides in your heart. My heart goes to Mindy’s family…and to all those suffering the aching loss of a loved one. Be gentle and kind to one another. <3
Glennon, my thoughts and words are all a jumble right now. The main words that come to me are ‘acceptance’, ‘yielding’, ‘grieving’, ‘loving’ and ‘joy’. There’s something empowering about coming to a place in one’s life when we can be so traumatically knocked down by the death of another or many others, and yet we can accept that it has happened and nothing will change it so we say, “Lord, my loved one is with You now and I’m so thankful that You put her in my life. I am sad that I cannot feel her touch or hear her voice or see her right in front of me, but I feel joy because You gifted her to me while she was here on this earth. I believe in your Promise, Lord, and I know that someday I’ll see her again.”
I often think about how unfair it is that life passes so quickly. That our childhoods are so short in comparison to the rest of our life expectancy. I’m almost 49 and I know that the next 10 years will bring about lots of changes for me when I look in the mirror. I met my mother-in-law when she was 55 and now she’s 73 and so different. Much has happened to her: taking care of her elderly parents as they died of cancer within 2 years of each other, and she, having knee surgery, shoulder surgery and a cancerous kidney removed all within a year, add to all of that her husband of more than 50 years has Alzheimer’s. I love and respect her so much and I’m thankful for her. I’ve never told her that and because Mindy died, and because you shared your feelings with me/us, my precious mother-in-law know how much I really love her and need her. Typing this is so profound and heavy that tears are flowing. And it feels good.
I love you, Sister, and thank you.
~Leeann
I am so so so sad. Mindy was our Mindy. She belonged to us. She was ours, and she is gone and I am sad.
This news makes me sad too! 🙁 I am sad with you.
This is exactly how I felt after my miscarriage. I couldn’t explain to anyway how beautiful and awful the grief was–how I needed it and hated it. I felt like it made me into a more knowing, more fully-realized person, and I value that.
So well put. I’m sorry for your loss.
You will lose someone you can’t live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.
~ Anne Lamott
Thank you for that quote. It’s perfect!
Profound.
Horrific and holy. Oh, I have been there. Fragile like glass. Glennon, you are so right…we need to let ourselves feel sadness, just as much as we need to let ourselves feel joy. It is life. True, brutiful life.
I am honored to be sad with you, too. And somehow glad and comforted that neither of us are sad alone. Here’s to walking through sadness–feeling its heaviness and hard edges. Longing to be on the other side of it yet determined to get there by an honest path.
Thank you Glennon, for once again putting your feelings into eloquent words and sharing them with us all. Emotions are messy, raw and tender. I understand, I empathize, and I am sad WITH you.
<3 I'm sad we lost a sister. Love you, monkees.
“Horrific and holy”… you do have a way with words my dear… so poignantly true, so wonderfully put. Thank you for those words today. ♥
I totally agree. I felt this way when my mom died of pancreatic cancer, and I was there with her… My sadness was so profound, so deep, and so quiet. It felt beautiful, though, and like you said I felt honored to be feeling that feeling. It was a sacred place, and the only other time I have felt something so sacred was right after I gave birth to each of my children. In the joy of birth (and the pain) and the pain of death (and the beauty), I felt God.
And now I am sad with you. Thank you for telling us so we can grieve together and celebrate a light and life together.
Thank you for this. I am so sorry you are so sad. And thank you for sharing it. It makes a difference.
Thank you for posting this. I am also grieving for Mindy, as well as a friend of a friend who’s 3 year old was just diagnosed with stage four neuroblastoma, as well as a family I’ve read about in other blogs, who lost their husband and father Sam, also at 34. I am just so, so sad for them, and feel acutely aware of all those suffering this holiday season. I can’t explain it to my husband, as I don’t even know these three families personally, and I feel like I can’t share my feelings with anyone until I’m “over it”, or some equivalent of that.
So thank you for writing. Know that I am with you in your grief and prayers for these families. And my gratitude over my family’s good health, even though I secretly feel like I don’t deserve them for some reason, and should be suffering along with the others.
Geez. Is it the holidays or something? Thank you G, as always, for making me feel less alone.
xo,
amy
No, you don’t have to be over it you are welcome to be sad with us. It is the way that love *really* wins. Hugs for your grieving heart.
Thanks for writing this, Amy. The part about your husband rings true for me. Mine doesn’t want me taking on the worries and struggles of other people if there is nothing that can be done, and it’s because he cares deeply for me. But that’s just who I am. So I keep quiet about it, too.
Me too. So sad about our Mindy. So many good people lost to cancer, including my mom when she was only 57.
Hugs.
Today would have been my amazing friend Maura’s 39th birthday but instead it’s the third anniversary of her funeral. She, who never smoked, died of lung cancer less than 6 months after diagnosis. She left behind two beautiful little girls and a multitude of us who will forever be missing her. I am so sorry about Mindy and the multitude of people who will forever miss her. Try and take a little comfort in knowing that she’s joining the dance party that I know Maura holds on a daily basis! Much love and many more tears
Love and hugs to you Laura!
Grief is powerful. And you will take it minute by minute, perhaps second by second. And you will, someday, come out on the other side. Until then, feel it. It’s the only way through.
“The weird, weird thing about devastating loss is that life actually goes on. When you’re faced with a tragedy, a loss so huge that you have no idea how you can live through it, somehow, the world keeps turning, the seconds keep ticking.” ― James Patterson.
This reminds me of the Indigo Girls version of “There’s Still My Joy.” There is something so raw and painful and hopeful about that song, particularly at this time of year.
My soul was lost, but here I am,
So this must be amazing grace.
One tiny child can change the world,
One shining light can show the way.
Through all my tears, for what I’ve lost,
There’s still my joy
There’s still my joy for Christmas day.
You, again, my friend, are spot on. You’re down to earth wisdom amazes me.
Thank you, Glennon, for once again giving us the words. I am so sad, too. For Mindy’s family, her husband, her precious babies. Sending prayers for strength and healing.
I’ll keep you company while you sit with your sadness. I’ve been told my shoulders are comfy to lean on. <3