Why My Book (and others like it) Are A Lie

In my book, I peddled a practice I called “micro-grieving,” a supposed roadmap through the wreckage of loss. But let me tell you, it's a sham. There's nothing small or “micro” about grieving, and there's no easy escape from its suffocating grip.

After I wrote that book, life sucker-punched me with fresh losses, and I realized my so-called "clever" methods were just smoke and mirrors. Loss hits hard, like an avalanche of emptiness, leaving you buried beneath its weight. You can't just wish it away and move on. It has buried you which means you’re not in charge.

Losing something, or facing the fear of loss, changes you. It tears at the fabric of who you are, whether you like it or not.

Not the Whole Truth

The practices I've advocated for—seeking refuge in nature, drawing comfort from pets, unearthing your beliefs about life, grappling with God, and leaning on friends—are merely temporary reprieves from the storm.

They're strategies to help you endure, to secure one more day in the daunting Place of Misery you're navigating, with the faint hope of reaching a slightly less grim destination.

However, let's be clear: these methods won't shield you from the turmoil of a life irrevocably changed, from the agony of lost love, from the depths of feeling completely powerless. Indeed, if anyone, myself included, suggests these practices are a panacea, that's simply not the whole truth.

They can help a little but, when it comes to profound loss, we're essentially navigating through a relentless tempest. On rare occasions, the storm may ease momentarily, offering brief interludes of respite - but know this: YOU ARE IN A STORM. It will be over when it’s over. Not when you say it’s over. You must shelter yourself as best you can and go THROUGH it.

Stop the Cliches

And don't even get me started on the clichés people toss around, pretending they understand. "Everything happens for a reason," they say. "God only gives us what we can handle."

It's all garbage, meaningless drivel from those who haven't stared into the abyss.

In the concluding moments of a particular chapter, I recount the experience of composing a poem during my bleakest night, lying in a hospital bed. In my desperation, I cried out to God for some form of relief, preferably through death, yet I was met with silence.

Feeling forsaken, I grappled with bitterness over the immense effort required just to keep on living.

My conclusion: #lifesucks.

However, it was within this abyss of despair that I discovered an unwillingness to surrender. Unspoken words lingered on my lips, and unkept promises to my children weighed heavily on my heart. Thus, in the solitude of the hospital's courtyard, my sorrow found its outlet on a simple paper napkin. Those scribbled lines of anguish eventually evolved into what I consider my most significant accomplishment - On That Shore - a poem for my family (read below).

While technically this is a “micro-grieving” practice I tout in my book, there was NOTHING small about it. It was brief. It was quiet. But, it was not small. It changed everything for me.

My Apologies

This whole journey of laying my feelings bare brought me a slice of clarity and the tiniest spark of bravery to take on my problems. Instead of pushing away the enormity of what I felt, I leaned into it, like being buried under an avalanche and coming to grips with the idea that I might not get out—I was right in the thick of it.

In this unexpected twist, my grief turned into a kind of teacher, showing me strengths I didn’t even know I had.

Honestly, calling this massive experience anything small or "micro," like I mistakenly did in my book, just doesn’t do it justice.

-Cindy

On That Shore

If I should go and skies turn gray and life swings long and low,

If clouds should burst and hearts should break and between us, time should grow

Then know that I’ve but morphed a bit and flown on up ahead, 

To wait upon the shores of God on this path that I’ve been led.

I’ll sing, I’ll dance, I’ll play all day and the stories I will hear, 

From those who’ve gone before me and from those who now are near.

Rumors and longings from this secret place have billowed through my mind,

Years I’ve longed to see my home, and now, at last, it’s time.

Time for songs, time for joy, time for walks and talks,

Time to know, as I’ve been known, as mysteries are unlocked.

My heart will bloom, His glory full, my Lover now revealed!

My feet upon His grass and my cartwheels in His fields.

My hero and I will laugh and sing, His nobles I will greet,

They’ve butterflied away like I, now His grass beneath their feet.

Long and sweet I’ll drink it in, this new life from my old,

But know each day the shores I’ll walk as I’ve grown now young from old.

Know that I am waiting and longing for that time

When your steps will meet my shore again

And your hand joins back in mine.

I’ll leap, I’ll run, I’ll chase you down,

I’ll kiss you high and low!

I’ll tuck, I’ll hug, I’ll sweep you up

There upon that shore.

Your nose and ears I’ll bite and chew as if they were a cake!

My Heaven will expand then, when you, upon that shore I take.

When dance and laughs and sweet relief’s give full sail to this “Us”

We’ll talk, we’ll tell of our sweet paths that Heaven’s brought us to discuss.

I’ll tell of times when from His lap, your face, your life I poured

The fragrant wine of our dear love and my longings from that shore.

My Captain how He’d silk my hair and gently touch my face

His hands, his love will silk you too, as we wait for our embrace.

So dawn with me, step high and light when life pulls hard and mean

I’ve butterflied, the days will fly till I greet you on that beach.

My kiss, my hugs will wait for you and then still all the more,

When in that time, my God and I will meet you on that shore.

Until Then,

Mom