Episode Summary
The first year after a significant loss can be so hard. As the wheel turns and the light changes, visceral memories can arise of this time last year when things were different. How do we create space for our hearts as we go through a year of firsts?
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About the Show
Shame Piñata is hosted by Ritual Artist Colleen Thomas, a Certified Meditation and Mindfulness teacher who helps people make sense of life through ceremony. Music by Terry Hughes.
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Full Transcript
The first year after a significant loss can be so hard. As the wheel turns and the light changes, visceral memories can arise of this time last year when things were different. How do we create space for our hearts as we go through a year of firsts?
This is Shame Piñata. I’m Colleen Thomas. Just a quick note before we begin that I talk in this episode about how I felt right after my loved one passed away. If you are in a tender place, take care.
Welcome to Shame Piñata, where we talk about creating rites of passage for real-life transitions. So this is a follow-up to an episode from last season called "Surviving a Recent Loss". If you heard that episode, you know that my mom passed away last year. At the time that episode was recorded, we were just back from the funeral, the burial, the immediate time of saying good-bye. Those moments when the visceral memory of my mother's hand in mine was only a week old.
I mentioned in that episode that I needed more time sitting on the porch looking at the clouds - and I took that time. I intentionally stepped back from several beloved projects and made time in my schedule for me. For my heart. For my broken heart. Not in a dramatic way, but in a realistic, attentive, and responsive way.
I discovered that what I most needed was space. Space to feel. Space to remember. Space to breathe. Space to cry. Space to just be. I needed to find and trust my flow. To let myself drift toward whatever felt right. Some days it was sitting on the porch watching the birds. Some evenings it was photographing the changing light as the sun set. Some nights it was getting lost in my new favorite hobby, learning Ukrainian on Duolingo. In those moments when I had lost my flow, I asked myself, “What defies the call to get things done? What creates space for my heart? What feels right?”
There's something very special in carving out time when the heart needs it. Something that's actually counter-cultural because, at least in The United States, we're asked to be little capitalist robots who keep working no matter what. And as I really made a concerted effort to carve out space and time and my whole system was like, "Yes!" My heart, my head, and my whole body just kept giving me feedback that they so needed extra space and time. It's truly amazing how much bandwidth grieving takes up! It's called grief work for a reason!
A good friend of mine inspired me some years back by taking a trip to Brazil right after her mom died. And I don't mean like a week. I mean months. She kind of just went to Brazil to heal. I thought, wow, what an amazing way to create a container for the start of that new journey of life-on-earth-without-Mom. What a great way to disconnect from the day-to-day, and replace it with daily adventures and new experiences. Going someplace new, being a fish out of water, almost becoming a new person - because that's what's really happening when we lose someone, right? That essential connection being broken makes us a different person. There’s a necessary rebalancing, rebuilding, a recreating of self. And wow, what a great way to mirror that newness than to go live in a new place or switch it up somehow.
The first year after someone passes can be the most intense. I know it doesn't always magically get better after year one, but something about that first year can be like trial by fire. Especially because the wheel keeps turning and before you know it, there's a holiday, or an anniversary, or a birthday - another one of those poignant moments when the pain of that loved one being gone can be so awful. A year of firsts.
I hit my first first two days after my mom died. My first birthday w/out her. I just kept telling people, “Not this year. No. Later. Not now.” I even replayed a video of my mom singing happy birthday to me and felt nothing. It was a horrible day.
The next one was Thanksgiving. No thank you. I felt no desire to be around people and put on a happy face. My husband went to join the family and I stayed home alone. While that might sound sad, it actually turned out to be a beautiful day. Being on my own gave me space and time to do what I really needed to do which was to be with Mom. I spent the day chatting with her as if she was around, just kind of telling her what was going on, what I was seeing out the window, what I was making to eat, things I wanted to catch her up on. It was kind of like an all-day phone call with a quietly attentive companion and it turned out that it was exactly what I needed: a full day with mom.
Then came Christmas. I thought about Christmas a lot and especially how my mom handled Christmas when she became a widow. We’d always celebrated Christmas at her house, but the first two years after dad died, she didn't want to be in the house at Christmas. No way. No how. Did not want to be there. So so came out to be with me instead. The third year, she was ready to be at home again (granted it was a new house, but she was ready) but she wanted a man around. She was very clear about that. So she asked me to come home and bring my husband. After that, she was able to have Christmas at home again, but that was three years of strategic holiday planning and asking for exactly what she needed. Three years. That was something she modeled for me. Taking her time. Asking for what she needed.
So this Christmas I reached for a new thing, something to consciously step away from the traditions that had been taken from me. No tree. No ornaments. No family. Instead, my husband and I went on retreat and had a very quiet and simple day together sleeping in late and opening a couple presents in the sun. Just the two of us. I think there might have been a wreath somewhere, but that was it. It was really good.
The wheel has turned full circle now and the light is falling just the way it did when she left us. My heart is still broken and will never fully heal. But I can smile again and even mean it. And mostly, I’m so grateful to have survived the first hellish year. In hindsight, the worst part was my anticipation of the many special days. The actual days were tender but bearable - it was mainly the concept that I would be facing them without her that was the hardest on my heart.
MUSIC
So how has ritual been a part of my journey in this first year on my own? Well, I mentioned in the “Surviving a Recent Loss” episode about the "I Know What To Do" ring that helped me make decisions during the process of dealing with lawyers and insurance companies. I also mentioned my daily meditation practice at the workspace altar. I suppose that, like those, most of my rituals have developed out of necessity, a kind of follow-the-heart approach. Feeling into what needs to be felt, and who I would like to have there alongside me while I feel it.
Here's a look into three rituals that came about in this way.
Ritual #1: Mom Joins Us on Zoom. Around the 6-month mark, I hosted a Zoom call for Mom's friends. This was a loosely facilitated gathering which allowed me to surround myself with her inner circle to share some memories. At the end of the gathering, I played a short recording I’d made of Mom and me on a different Zoom call, one in which mom sang me a bit of a song she loved from a 1950’s musical. I shared it that day with her friends so we could all hear her voice again and see her in a happy moment sharing something she loved. What I didn’t anticipate was that on the video, the one with Mom, after she sang the song, Mom and I had said good-bye. And since I shared this video clip at the end of the group call, it had the unintended effect of Mom saying goodbye to the group. “Bye, love you! Talk to you Tuesday." It was unexpected and just lovely. There were many tears.
Ritual #2: The Magic Mom Ball. When mom entered Hospice care, I began collecting the little random things she said during the day, so I wouldn't forget them. Just simple things, like "I love you" or "You're good at that." Once she had passed away, I sat down, looked through them, and picked my favorite ones. I then ordered a custom Magic 8 Ball on Esty. I call it The Magic Mom Ball and it sits near her photo in its little box. To be honest, I haven't actually used it yet. I'm still in the phase where all I want to do is hurl it out the window as soon as I pick it up, so I can safely say I'm not ready. But I imagine that someday it will be a nice way to hear her voice again, so to speak, randomly telling me things in 32 characters or less.
I'll close with Ritual 3: Shouting from the Rooftop. It's actually a bit personal of a story but feels significant, so here is my telling of it, partially through speaking with you now and partially through playing a voice note I recorded to document at the time. This was a spontaneous ritual early on that helped me give voice to that immediate grief I was swimming in right after the funeral. It allowed me to shout out my pain and be heard in a way that I’ll never forget.
Shortly after we returned home from the funeral, I pulled out the video game "Legend of Zelda Breath of the Wild". Breath of the Wild is an open-world game where the main character, who's called Link, wanders around the land of Hyrule doing questy-things and avoiding monsters. Link is pretty much on his own all the time, but he lives within a community of non-player characters, townspeople, monsters, and his trusty horse, which he can call to his side by whistling. That day, just back from the funeral, when I switched on the when I switched on the console, Link was hanging out in the last place we'd been, a little seaside community called Lurelin Village, a place with a cheerful little Caribbean theme song. While I normally find that song soothing, that day I didn't want to be in Lurelin Village didn't want to hear that theme song. It seems too happy. Here's the voice note.
So I left and I went up out of the village and then up a hill and kind of turned around and looked back over the ocean, the cliffs and the town. And I was far enough away that the theme song had stopped. And I realized that I just wanted him to shout out to the whole land of Hyrule that mom is dead, that my mom is dead. So then I just kind of shouted out in my mind and my heart, "Hey everybody in Hyrule: My mom is dead. I need you to know that my mom is dead." Because it feels like that's all I want to do in my life is just stand on that roof of my house and just yell that and have the whole world stop because the whole world has stopped in my heart, even as it goes on. And so what I did was I had Link whistle three times and that was him telling, me telling, the world that my mom is dead. And I know that gameplay will continue and it will be the same. That Bobokins will be the same. You know, everything will be the same, but they will all know. To look at it, there won't be a change but they will all know. Zelda and the old king and the random people doing their random routines. The family of three that lives in the big house in the village. They will all know. And we'll never talk about it but we won't have to.
I closed the game that day and somehow I felt different. I didn't feel so alone. The Hyrule community had somehow been able to honor this incredible loss with me. These three rituals are just snippets in time, moments of taking intentional action that helped me make sense of some very strong feelings. Ritual doesn't have to be a big deal. Ritual can be very simple. And ritual can be very profound.
If you are in transition right now, grieving a loss, letting go of something or someone you care deeply about, I encourage you to carve out time for yourself and for your precious heart. Grieving takes time and it takes space. It is work. It is actually a lot of work! And as you walk down the path of anniversaries, may you go gently and always surrounded by love, time, and care.
MUSIC
Our music is by Terry Hughes. Find us on IG and Twitter at shamepinata, reach us through our website, shamepinata.com and subscribe to the show on your favorite player. Also be sure to check out our second show, Daily Magic for Peace, supporting you as you support Ukraine. I’m Colleen Thomas. Thanks for listening.