Ordinary Joy and a New Friend - #reverb10

Today's reverb10 prompt is:

Ordinary joy. Our most profound joy is often experienced during ordinary moments. What was one of your most joyful ordinary moments this year?

I think almost every moment can bring us joy, if only we stop and look for it. So rather than making this post EXTREMELY long, I will write about an ordinary moment that filled my heart with joy yesterday... I made a new friend: girlnutkin, aka Shirley Rivera.

Just the other day, I blogged about how heart-warming it is when a stranger emails you, and that's what happened yesterday. It started when Shirley commented on a blog post, "Everything's OK." Then I noticed her blog and blogged briefly about her blog yesterday (stealing the funny manscaping video I'd found from her site.) Then she up'ed me by blogging about me! She even bought two of my books and promoted them on her blog! Wow! She's like a guardian angel!

On top of that, girlnutkin is funny and unique. (You can't help but love someone who calls herself girlnutkin.) Her quirky sense of humor and fresh openness are just what draws you in to want to be her immediate friend. And she has all kinds of stories and experience with online dating, so clearly a good reference for me, The Laptop Dancer! Here are a few:

• fiction-ish story about her 1st "it's just lunch" date
• "getting booked" advice discussed over breakfast
• another breakfast buds conversation - but a bit on the girl-perspective side of things

OK, I know this seems a little like a "Thank you," "No, thank YOU," "No, thank YOU, REALLY!" kind of blog exchange between me and girlnutkin, but I have to tell you what really touched my heart... the profound "ordinary moment" that made the difference...

Shirley acknowledged and honored the grief I've been feeling about my friend, Craig. She read many of the posts I'd written about him and told me that she was moved to tears. It's hard to describe how warm and wonderful it feels to have someone -- a stranger -- tell you that. It makes me feel like I kept a little part of Craig alive. Grief is a very hard emotion... we feel so sad... but if we can somehow just take that love that we lost and keep it alive by sharing it with someone else... and they "get it"... they truly get how wonderful and special that person was, even without knowing him or her personally... we feel like that love is still amongst us.

So that is my ordinary moment... the understanding and kind note of acknowledgement from my new friend, girlnutkin.

Remember the love

I don't remember the exact quote that Mark Tidd, the pastor at Highlands church made one day. It was something like:

"God bless the people who are suffering from broken hearts. If not for love,there would never be the broken heart. Let them remember the joy from the love they had."

It struck me that grief of any kind is due to the loss of love; often the more we loved, the greater the pain when it's lost. But how great is it that we had that love! And must we really lose it? Even with a divorce, we can still keep the part of our heart that grew because of our love. If we have children, we have beautiful miracles that came from that love. It's a shame that so many people only remember the worst in their ex's instead of remembering with gratitude, the love they once shared.

Friday night I went to Craig's wake and Saturday was the funeral. I've known for months he was planning all the events surrounding his death. He was a bit like a kid planning a big surprise party. I'd seen the gorgeous book he'd had presented to his kids, full of photos and stories of his life. He even got the idea of the Hallelujah song he made for them from the recording of the song I'd made at my 50th birthday party!

I spent the night at the Quality Suites in Evergreen with 25 members of his family that had come in from out of town. I remembered their names from what I call "Craig's List"... the list I used when I'd made the recording for a Thanksgiving surprise and they knew my name as well.

The Mass was the next day, Saturday, and then one final gathering and celebration back at the hotel.

How wonderful it was to share this common love we all had for Craig. Hearing the stories and memories was such a comfort. People would talk about how he "spoke with his eyes"; they'd reiterate that same spirit of determination and vitality that I was so inspired by; they'd talk about his faith; and most especially, they talked about the love of his children.

The deacon encouraged us to tell the stories over and over. He joked, speaking to one of the kids, saying "Ten years from now, you'll hear your sister starting to tell a story and you'll think, 'here we go again!' But keep telling them. When you grow up and have kids, tell them about your Daddy and when they grow up they'll tell their kids. As long as you tell the stories, you'll keep him alive."

I've been wondering if I've written too much about grief lately. I want this blog to be all about love -- inspiring and happy...not depressing. But, again, grief and love are related.

I learned so many lessons about love from Craig, so my posts about him are not over yet. As the deacon advised, I will be telling the stories often. He may be gone, but I am so keeping that love alive.

Elizabeth Edwards and Craig Dunham - Smiling in the face of tragedy

Those of you who have been reading my blog with any regularity know that I've been dealing with quite a bit of grief lately. My good friend, Craig, died Monday, after battling ALS for 2.5 years. This came just a few months after my Dad died due to complications of colon cancer. There are not many people who I've loved with such depth but I loved both of these men, and they loved me.

It's difficult, when you're in the midst of grief, to pop out of it and act "normally." It feels somehow disrespectful to go about your life as though nothing happened. It was especially hard for me last week, when I knew Craig couldn't eat, and there was nothing I could do about it. I felt so helpless.

I've been wondering if I should blog while I'm feeling this way. I feel like such a downer when all I can think about is grief and sadness. I don't want to burden my friends or family with it any more. It all seems so repetitive and dreary. I'd been really excited about my idea for my Love eBook, but then I got the news about Craig, and that's all I can think about now. So, you'll have to bear with me as my posts this month may lack much humor. I remember reading that Bill Cosby's son had been murdered and wondered how he was able to still stay in comedy. It must have been so difficult for him to find humor in life, even after his son died so tragically.

But that trait -- that ability to still find humor and live life despite adversity --that's a trait that I so admired in both Craig and my Dad.

I just read about Elizabeth Edwards' death this morning. She lost a son due to a car accident when he was 16. She publicly endured an unfaithful husband. She battled breast cancer for 6 years.

"Americans knew Elizabeth Edwards in large part through her tragedies, but more importantly, they knew her for the vitality and determination she showed through them."

Yes, that is the very thing about Craig that created such a sense of admiration in me that I cried all the time just thinking about him... not out of pity, but just out of sheer awe at his ability to smile and live life head-on with such "vitality and determination" despite a body that couldn't move and a voice that couldn't speak.

Never did he complain! He never lost his spunk! His eyes still twinkled with a mischievous humor that challenged the rest of us to keep smiling. He was the first who would want to go out and enjoy the fresh air (4-wheeling it with his wheel-chair), listen to music, or just enjoy the beauty of the world and live.

When you see that in a person, it makes you realize that if they can endure such tragedies and keep their humor, their hope, their faith -- certainly you can.

And so for all of us who are enduring grief, let's take a clue from the Elizabeth Edwards' and the Craig Dunhams of the world. Let's not give up on humor, faith, or life. Let's keep smiling.

Honoring Grief

Not too long ago I wrote about people who were in "The Grief Club." Since I was "re-initiated" recently with the loss of my father, I realize how extra-sensitive to the actions and words of people we are when it comes to honoring grief. It's very easy to be offended or hurt when someone, who is trying to say a comforting thing, actually says something that hurts us. Common examples, when it comes to death are things like:

- He's in a better place.
- It's lucky he didn't die slowly.
- He's no longer in pain.

While many of these platitudes are fine when those of us who are grieving say them, it somehow feels wrong for someone who isn't grieving or doesn't really understand the pain we're going through to tell us these things. So... some people just say nothing, which is really bad. A simple "I'm so sorry" and a hug will do, but say something! I was very hurt by how few of my friends even acknowledged my fathers' death. In fact, I almost quit my job because my boss was so insensitive. My sister hasn't talked to her sister-in-law in years because she was so hurt that the death of my brother had never been acknowledged. When you're grieving you don't want pity, but you want understanding. Perhaps the only people you can truly get that from are those who are also experiencing that grief... or people who have experienced a similar grief. Others often don't get it, but they do get credit for trying, so I try not to be too hard on them.

However, recently I've felt very upset about a discussion I had with a very good friend about seat belts. My brother died in a car accident and he would have lived if he'd had his seat belt on. He went through the windshield. His passenger, thank God, was wearing his seat belt and walked away without a scratch...

My friend, after I'd told her how important I thought it was to wear a seat belt, told me she didn't believe in the "stats" and was sorry that I now lived my life "in fear" because of my brother's death. Though I'm sure she didn't mean it to be offensive, this hurt me very deeply. As I wrote in my other post, there are many things I learned from being in "the grief club" and one of them most definitely is not to live your life in fear, but in love, respecting the fragility of life. This friend is not in the "grief club" herself, so, again, I need to try and remember that she didn't realize how much those words would sting me.

The opposite effect happens when we feel someone really understands our grief. We feel so touched and grateful for their empathy. We feel that they are honoring and respecting our grief and realize how much we loved the person we lost.

I'm going to repeat the lessons I learned when I was initiated into "the club." These are in honor of my brother, Chris, who lived his life fully and with passion. He made a mistake by not wearing his seat belt that day, but that didn't teach me to live in fear or to avoid risk. His life and his death taught me this:

• Don't take life for granted. Every minute is a gift.
• Don't take the people in your life for granted. Love them. Don't sweat the small stuff.
• Live life to the fullest. Do all the things you've always wanted to do. Just do it!
• Take risks --maybe not the life-threatening type so much... but certainly take risks with love. What's the worst that can happen when you love someone? They don't love you back? Experiencing a broken heart is bad, but it is not the grief of death.
• Give... Don't worry so much about money. Spend it on people and experiences, more than things that sit on a shelf.
• Embrace your faith. Learn from my friend, Craig, who despite ALS, has the most awe-inspiring faith I've ever known.
• Have compassion for those that join the club. Go to the funerals, memorial services, and celebrations of life, with arms open to hold those that are in unbearable pain.
• Hold on to the best parts of the people you have lost and pass on what you learned from them. Keep them in your heart.

I'd like to add one more that I learned from my friend, Rebecca Mullen of Altared Spaces.
• Build your own "altared spaces" and notice, respect, and learn from the altared spaces of others.

Rebecca exemplifies this in her post about traveling west about a beautifully adorned roadside altar:

My eye catches these roadside altars. As I drove on in silence I said a little prayer for the people who are maintaining this one with such grace. Is this a mother who lost her child? All of us drive by. The world goes on and, maybe, someone glances at the spot where life forever changed for someone else. I’m not making a judgment about how I should have noticed sooner or how my life should be something different because life here has changed for this family. I have a ridiculously happy life and I build altars to that every day that no one ever sees. I’m just noticing someone else’s altar I suppose.

The Grief Club

Last night I went to a "Celebration of Life" party for Pat Szwyrlo. She was diagnosed with brain cancer in December and died on April 15 at the age of 44.


When my brother died in a car accident in 1997, I experienced heart-wrenching grief for the first time. Someone mentioned being initiated into "the club." You think you will never stop crying. The lump in your throat, the pain in your chest, the tears that won't stop. You feel like nothing matters and you can't go on. It's unbearable. And just like it's impossible to describe the intense joy you feel when you have a baby, it's impossible to describe the intense pain you feel when someone you love dies. The only way to really know that emotion is to experience it. And when you experience it, your life changes forever... you are in "the club."


I went to the party for Pat last night, even though I didn't know her well. It's one of the things I do since joining the club. I remember the comfort I got from all the people that were at Chris' service...strangers that I didn't know giving me hugs and letting me cry with knowing looks of support. It wasn't sympathy as much as empathy. You know who else is in the club. They have been through this. They don't look away in awkwardness; they look into your teary eyes and tell you without saying a word that they understand what you're going through.


Being in this club is a horrible thing. It removes a light-hearted innocence that you can never get back. I always try to find the lessons in the painful emotions... I've had a very hard time with grief. I would prefer to not be in the club and I dread the grief that is still to come. But if I were to try to find the "goodness" in grief, here are some of the things I've learned from being in the club:

• Don't take life for granted. Every minute is a gift.
• Don't take the people in your life for granted. Love them. Don't sweat the small stuff.
• Live life to the fullest. Do all the things you've always wanted to do. Just do it!
• Take risks --maybe not the life-threatening type so much... but certainly take risks with love. What's the worst that can happen when you love someone? They don't love you back? Experiencing a broken heart is bad, but it is not the grief of death.
• Give... Don't worry so much about money. Spend it on people and experiences, more than things that sit on a shelf.
• Embrace your faith. Learn from my friend, Craig, who despite ALS, has the most awe-inspiring faith I've ever known.
• Have compassion for those that join the club. Go to the funerals, memorial services, and celebrations of life, with arms open to hold those that are in unbearable pain.
• Hold on to the best parts of the people you have lost and pass on what you learned from them. Keep them in your heart.