Confluence Ceremonies

Marking Your Life's Important Moments

Tag: healing

No End to Love

Here at my desk in my home office, an old computer monitor serves as my bulletin board. Stuck to it via post-it notes are a number of choice quotes or ideas I have come across that have actually changed how I perceive something. And so it is my altar to human creativity! The quotes’ authors range from Job in the Old Testament to Art Garfunkle to Stephen Colbert to Bono!

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But one quote draws my attention these days as I’ve been helping create end of life ceremonies for others and as I begin the largest project I’ve taken on—co-creating the end of life ceremony with and for two separate women.

I read it over and over: “Healing can happen even when a cure does not.” This is a quote by Kit Turen, a writer and sister Life Cycle Celebrant® who practices in Washington D.C.

Each of my two clients has been diagnosed with a terminal illness and each is thinking beyond her last months to the impact her passing will have on others. Both women are very hopeful that their end of life ceremony can offer the opportunity for healing the hearts of those they love, those they will soon leave behind.

In working with them to craft their unique ceremonies, we first consider their intention—what it is each wants to accomplish through ceremony. One of them is compelled by her realization that her adult children aren’t ready for her passing. They have been actively and valiantly caring for her for many years now as she has struggled with Parkinson’s Disease, but doing so distracted them from thinking about life without her. There is so much she wants to say to them, and thinking about how she might do that through creating an end of life ceremony is healing for herself, because she knows that she is doing the ultimate mothering: she is helping them come to terms with her own mortality.

The other mother has one adult child, who needs considerable care himself due to a developmental disability. Since her initial terminal diagnosis, she has focused her energies on securing his care in a local assisted living facility. She has created a trust to take on his legal and financial responsibilities. And now, she is feeling more ready than ever to create for him and for her large circle of community an inspiring end- of-life ceremony to help them adjust to her passing when the time comes. Her intention is to inspire others at her death to think about their own lives more actively, to choose how they want to live.

Both of these women, in their final illnesses, are looking to promote healing in those they love. And in doing so, they are generating healing in themselves, taking care of what most needs to be cared for: our loved ones and the emotional legacies we leave them. Neither woman has much time left, yet each is focused on healing her own heart through healing those she loves. Healing truly can happen even when a cure does not.

Are you curious about the quote by Bono?

“There is no end to grief. And there is no end to love.”

 

 

What Remains

Over the last 5 weeks, our beautiful Methow Valley, located in North Central Washington State, has been through many serious trials. First came the extreme heat wave and high winds in early and mid-July, then the wildfires, then the flash floods, followed by the landslides. And now, the clean-up.

One person has died, suffering a heart attack while attempting to defend his home from the fires. Countless wild and farm animals were lost as well.  Families’ hard-earned life savings were decimated.  Dreams were dashed. We are all surrounded by endings.

First and foremost, fire destroyed more than 300 homes in our valley. Imagine your home, its rooms, its history, its presence. Then imagine it destroyed by fire, now surrounded by an unrecognizable moonscape of black tree trunks, layers of ash, and creeks and rivers running black. Many of these homes were farms, with barns and fields full of cattle, horses, goats, sheep. These were lost, too. It’s really too horrible to grasp.

Brave firefighters surely saved more homes than were lost, but the trauma of evacuating while your neighbors’ houses burned is etched on memory here. As you grab the few belongings you can think of (what would you take if you were given a short amount of time to leave your home?), you know time is ticking. You say goodbye as you drive—to where?—not knowing if you’ll ever see your property again, but grateful to be alive and hopefully with those you love.

Other losses suffered here are somewhat less tangible. They include the day-to-day life endings: business owners scrambling to make ends meet, down-towns temporarily quieted as they struggle to regroup. State highways, the arteries of our rural communities, shut down. Families making huge decisions about staying or leaving, rebuilding or selling. An entire summer lost to simply trying to recover.

And perhaps most serious of the losses caused by this summer’s trials are the assumptions we have held close: the belief in the permanence of the landscape, one’s way of life as enduring, Mother Nature as gentle, home as a safe place.

The lessons are thick in the air. We are all thinking about these. And they are not abstract concepts anymore. For one community, at least, these ideas are now front and center.

To such lessons I would add one more: change provides the opportunity for transformation. Destruction and devastation have long been seen as the road to renewal. And indeed, where the ash has lain for weeks in thick, choking layers, grass is now shooting up, boasting a bright vivid green against the ravaged landscape. Foresters tell us that come Spring, we will see young pines sprouting up everywhere.

And neighbors lean in toward each other, asking the question of the summer: How are you doing? Never before has that question been so common and yet so important.

As a celebrant, my interaction with life, death, and transformation keep these realities in front of me each day. These are the natural themes of our lives and they mark the arcs of our existences. We each suffer losses in life, and struggle to right ourselves, to learn how to move forward.

But how to move forward authentically? I know for certain we are right to mourn the losses we’ve suffered, to mark the endings of the lives we lived up until this horrible thing happened. And then, I know we can begin to turn with renewed energy toward the future.

With what remains—our compassion, our renewed values, and yes, our shared loss—we have the material we need to re-imagine our lives anew.

A community is a living thing, and like farmlands or Ponderosa pines or the white-tailed deer that share our valley, our community will regenerate, taking the opportunity misfortune has given to reassess and to transform our ways of life.

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Courtesy Reflected Light Photography

I look forward to the healing and growing to come!