Prayer, present moment, possibility

Eighth Rule.

The eighth: Let him who is in desolation labor to be in patience, which is contrary to the vexations which come to him: and let him think that he will soon be consoled. ~ St. Ignatius

February 3rd would be my brother's 52nd birthday. It is still completely unreal - and yet at the same time - all too real, that he is no longer here, that he was with us one moment and gone the next, that we will never see his smile again, hear his laugh again, share a meal or a moment with him again.

Sometimes it feels unbearable.

And yet, bear it we must, for there is no other option. So how do we do it? How does any of us carry on following such a loss, following such a deep fall into grief, following the profound emptiness that death leaves us with?

I have found solace and strength in some of the practices most familiar to me, but I have also learned and benefitted from some new practices that have surprised - and deeply comforted - me, particularly the practice of prayer and the commitment to honor my brother and sister through choosing to live more fully.

I hope through sharing some of what has helped that you too might benefit in your own darkest night, or in supporting someone in their grief.

There are really three main things that I would like to share.

The first is about faith foundations and how, no matter what the faith actually is, we can find solace and steadiness in relying on our relationship with God, with presence, with the Universe - whatever that thing is that is transcendent, mysterious, benevolent and that feels deeply true to you. I have found great comfort in reading Thomas Merton, in singing Vedic chants, in listening to whale songs, in sitting with the teachings of Thich Nhat Hanh, in attending church services with my parents, in walking in the woods, in looking at the night sky, in lying on the floor staring up at the ceiling. What these things have in common for me is that they bring me to the present moment, they help me to connect with the vastness of the universe, with the words and thoughts and energies of dedicated spiritual teachers and communities, and with the knowing that this is all part of the flow of life. It doesn’t make the grief go away, but it helps it to not overwhelm.

In those very first hours, it was the rules of Saint Ignatius that came to me and that gave me a compass, a lifeline to hold on to. I was (am) so grateful for interfaith study, as it allows me to access whatever and whoever is helpful to me. Grief is humbling and in this humble place, I am not so picky about what alleviates my pain.

The second is about the power of prayer. While I had never thought that prayer was something I could offer someone in their darkest hour, I had four instances of people asking to pray with me right after Tim died. In that same open place, I accepted - although one was actually in a message so I was not able to give permission before accepting. But each of these taught me something.

Three of them came from people with great authenticity, from their own faith traditions and that allowed me to feel like I was a passive recipient of grace and support, like I was being rained upon, drenched in words of encouragement, of connection, of meeting me in that deepest pain and feeling I was not alone. The fourth came through a message, and was simply a bunch of bible verses and an admonishment to accept Jesus as my savior to feel relief. This last one did not feel healing, helpful, generous or authentic. In fact, it felt offensive. Like I had to do work to get the blessing, and as if I had no relationship of my own with Jesus, and that if I would just “do the right thing,” I wouldn’t suffer. But didn’t Jesus himself suffer?

Reflecting on this experience has made me want to create a prayer of my own that I could offer to someone in profound traumatic grief, that I could sit and pray with them, and that I could give them that gift of simply receiving, connecting them to God presence not because they did not have that capacity themselves, and not because I had some special power, but simply because they were in pain, and I - relatively speaking - was not. I want to be able to offer this gift of connection, of authenticity, of a lifeline of presence, as it was a profoundly soothing balm in one of the hardest times of my life.

Finally, the death of my brother has inspired in me a strong will to live fully. Following my sister’s death, I could say I spent three years lost, confused, depressed and disconnected. Where then could I go when my brother died? Deeper into that abyss?

I keep having the image of being in a big family where everyone is always angling for their piece of the pie - in whatever form that might take. I imagine one of us saying to another, “Hey, if you’re not going to eat that cookie, can I have it?”

I see Erin and Tim both looking at me, loving me, encouraging me, and also saying, “Hey, if you’re not going to live life fully, can I?” I know now that I cannot honor them by living in a fog. Not only would they not want that for me because they love me, but in our big family, if you are not going to use something, eat something, wear something that someone else wants, you better give it up!

So, while it sounds silly, it is a helpful image to me. It would be against our family code for me to hold on to my life but not actually use it, when someone else would be very very happy to be living it fully.

I miss my brother every day. I miss my sister every day. And I know I have to go on and not just live - putting one foot in front of the other - but to use if fully, wholly, joyfully, courageously.

Please join me in one of my upcoming workshops to learn more about this process that I am thrown into, to learn more about Ignatian Spirituality and how it is completely consistent with Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras, to write a prayer of your own, or to learn how to be with people at the end of life, in the grief and in the possibility that follows such a huge loss.