Grief Digest Articles

Tim KoechlinI dreamed that I saw Alex. He was a tiny curious round-headed toddler with jam on his face who loved me totally and asked if he could sit with me. I said "Yes... but let's wipe your face."I dreamed that I saw Alex. He was a tiny round-headed toddler with a furrowed brow, about to have a tantrum.I dreamed that I saw Alex. He was 7 or 10 or 12 or 24 or 32. He wondered if I wanted to have a catch.I dreamed that I saw Alex. He was walking down Caroline Street, from the bus stop to …

I am on that long walk home. You ran ahead of me and your footsteps now echo the journey I must follow... Terri DreismeierSecluded This First YearI am bitterly cold; the brutality of the winds was relentless. The stone black walls that surrounded me began to crumble. The black clock of death has visited. I am petrified. I am paralyzed. I am an âme damnée. “Save my son,” I pleaded. Tears streaming down my cheeks, my cold hands covered my fatigued and swollen eyes. I collapsed to my kn …

Recently I was with a woman who had lost her husband a few years ago. She was apologizing for some tears that she wiped away as she expressed some sweet thoughts about her husband.As I listened, I wondered if sometimes guilt tags along with our grief. Feeling bad about grieving seems dichotomous.This is a tender place to be grieving because we loved someone who is no longer here and believing we “should” no longer feel something and then feeling guilty because we feel bad. In our culture a …

Geralyn Stephens-Gunn, EdDIt’s my birthday! It is a beautiful July summer day and I am so excited to see what the day holds. I arise. I fed and let the dogs out. Once they are situated, I begin my preparation for breakfast. For the past 26 years, the most lovely Hallmark greeting card, with the gold seal, would greet me on the kitchen counter. I look everywhere for it. I opened every drawer, cabinet and even the refrigerator and freezer. It was not in the oven or microwave. My birthday car …

My husband and I are starting over in the desert, having sold the house in Portland where we raised our daughter. It’s taken us five years to gather the energy and the courage to leave it behind. To be ready to meet new people and answer the inevitable question, “Do you have any children?” without choking up. My 20-year-old daughter died by suicide in the spring of her sophomore year at college. Six months later, when winter’s heavy clouds returned to shed bitter tears every day, I was dep …