This past week I honored the one-year milestone since my sister and best friend passed away after an excruciating battle with colon cancer. In her memory I donated to her favorite charity via a charitable giving fund I’ve set-up in her honor. My family spent the day in the sunshine, laughing with friends visiting from out of town, and hugging anyone and everyone we love.
The week ahead brings what should be my eldest son, Connor’s, 14th birthday. Connor passed away unexpectedly in his sleep, without a cause of death ever being found, in 2011 when he was only 18 months old. So, we now celebrate his life on his birthday with a cake, dancing and singing to The Jungle Book movie (his favorite) and rejoice as his former classmates adjust to life in high school and puberty.
This past year has also brought what could – should? – have felt like another major blow in the form of my formal MS diagnosis. Note, I’ve been struggling with symptoms for years, so the formality of the tests and diagnosis was actually a relief. But it signaled that life and mobility, as I’ve always known it, is changing. Instead of defeat, it gave me the kick in the pants to start working out and running, in earnest, with a purpose. Clean eating is now a way of life, and my latest mantra is “movement is life!”
Why do I share all of these deeply personal facts about myself?
Because I often get asked a very basic question, once people learn my history: How do you get out of bed every day?
Simple. One foot at a time. I say that half-jokingly, but there is an underlying truth to it. Getting out of bed, meditating, hopping on the treadmill for a few miles, playing music and singing in the shower, coaching my clients towards their best personal and professional lives – these are all intentional choices.
As someone who has an intimate relationship with grief – loss of an aspect of my health, loss of my son and my sister – I recognize that grief is a coin with two sides. It is through experiencing and welcoming the depths of my sadness that I’ve learned to love and appreciate the great – and small – joys of life.
Sharing my stories honors the past, keeps memories and people alive in minds and hearts, and pays forward something that has been my anchor: Hope. I hope to create a vision for someone else who might be struggling that there is a life to be lived now that grief has taken up a permanent residence in your soul. Tip: Make a comfortable room for it. It might want to rest quietly some days. Other days it will wake you from a deep dream with tears. Still other days it will remind you of your own capacity for love.
I share to educate. Grief has shaped me into a better human, and a better leader in all aspects of life. Not because I “moved on” or “got over it.” Because I incorporated it, allowed it to move through me, and gained a new perspective on life and priorities. That’s not to say every day is filled with unicorns and rainbows. I still create and abide by my own boundaries on the hard days. But thanks to sharing openly, they aren’t as dark and lonely.
Finally, I share with a simple goal of encouraging others to share, embrace, and own their grief stories. Let’s face it, grief is one of the great terrible truths of life. We will all experience some form of it over the course of a lifetime. Why not start talking about it, without fear?
