we’re not celebrating thanksgiving in italy today
so when i’m missing the way things were
it’s easier to be here
and at the same time more difficult
recalling time-honored family traditions
with my parents and grandparents
as well as new rituals my own family-of-four created
interesting, the twists and turns of life
wishing everyone in the states
a day of coziness and good cheer
(with a special shout-out to my favorite two)
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what do you do when someone makes an offhand remark to you that seems rude, maybe slightly negative?
do you overthink it, even when you know that wasn’t its intended purpose? do you replay the comment over and over in your mind, getting caught up in that cycle?
in this passage from her book ?????????: ? ????????? ???? ????, martha cooley describes her daily life with her husband, antonio, while living in italy for 14 months. it was a bit uncanny reading it, because it’s an almost-perfect description of me and eric most days.
i had a conversation with a friend on tuesday about the grief journey, especially about how getting out and being with other people really helps. it definitely helped me that day, with her.
however, i do believe that the hibernation i’ve felt drawn to over the past couple of months, the chance to be truly alone with my thoughts and my feelings, has also served a purpose.
three years ago, on 28 october 2016,
I MOVED TO ITALY!
and i guess you could say
a lot’s happened since then
• my husband and i self-renovated a large villa that had been closed up for years (mold and peeling plaster just two of the issues), living in chaos and dust and unpacked boxes for close to 8 months
• we stood in numerous immigration lines, attended italian cultural classes, endured house inspections (electrical, plumbing, medical), and more .
.???? ???????.
i’ve noticed that every time i write a blog post related to my grief journey, one or two people opt out of my mailing list. that’s okay. i can’t say i blame them.
do you have a secret pain?
almost all of us have our own private hell.
something that keeps us up at night.
something that prevents us from dreaming.
something that’s usually kept hidden,
along with the fear that accompanies it.
the suffering happens in silence.
i’m currently creating a collage (in an art therapy course i’m enrolled in) about my identity as a helping professional. as i proceed through the steps of this assignment . . . thinking about my particular strengths as a coach/counselor, the challenges i face in my practice, my approach and my style, the values i incorporate and the goals i work towards, the 25+ years of experience that have shaped my career .
15 days before my dad died
i sat in the sun
we weaken
we falter
we get crushed
we keep trying
we keep hoping
we keep getting up
“sun will also retry to shine tomorrow, then why not you.”
~rajesh walecha
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from the pages of my journal ~ august 15, 2019
yesterday evening was the most difficult so far. beginning the dismantling of the life my parents built. going through their things felt intrinsically painful. i cried the entire time. i was all alone and there was a thunderstorm raging outside, so it was poetically dark with jags of lightning and crashing booms.
