When 20 small children and 6 adult women are gunned down, life makes no sense.  What feels most difficult in a world that loves a cure, is that there is no ‘cure’ for such loss.  There is no way to cure death.  There is no way to cure the survivors of their lifelong grief.  There is no way to erase pain.

Yet, even amidst cold and tragic loss there are things that express love and warmth.  There are thoughtful, touching, small acts of kindness -  there are anonymous expressions of sorrow and support -  there are flowers, food, cards, books, hugs, tears, and tokens of comfort - all these things offer warmth against a bitter cold.

What an irony that often the worst moments in human history bring out the most tender moments in human nature.  When we open our hearts and connect out of love and empathy, we create a healing energy both large and enduring.

Whole-hearted compassion is how we connect in a world that is often senseless; it is how we endure unspeakable loss.   And it’s how we heal when cures are impossible.

I wish the grievers of Sandy Hook and through the world simple warmth in the midst of their tragedy.

Excerpted from the Newsletter,

“Still Waters:  Tools and Resources for Living Deeply”

Ashley Davis Bush, LCSW is the author of

“Shortcuts to Inner Peace: 70 Paths to Everyday Serenity”

and

“Transcending Loss:  Understanding the Lifelong Impact of Grief and How to Make it Meaningful”

I’ve been learning a lot about letting go lately.  Having sent 2 children off to the other side of the world (one to a boarding school in India and one to a gap year in Europe) and also having to let go of Daniel’s health, llfe has offered me these lessons. And although I am far from graduation, I’m feeling schooled in the difficult art of loosening my grip on that which already exists.  It is a healing art, but an art form it is.

My alternative is holding on.  Wanting life to stay the same, gripping just a little bit tighter to keep things in order.  It feels sometimes like I’m holding life by a rope and it’s pulling through my fingers.  Not only are my hands getting burned but I’m missing all the fun. As I release the rope, my body relaxes and I can refocus my eyes on the wonders moving all around me.

Of course, we can’t always just let go.  There are times when holding on means organization, or safety or healthy predictability.  But most of life is remarkably beyond our control.  Can you control who falls in love with you?  Can you control whether you get cancer?  Can you control your adult children?  Can you control the economy? Can you control the weather? Can you control when you die?

I am learning that when I let go, when I surrender to ‘what is’ without resistance, I experience a huge relief.  Ahhhhhhhhh.  Letting things be as they already are creates a wave of acceptance that brings a measure of peace.  When I take my eyes off the rope, the vibrancy, and joys of life come alive all around me.

And it sure is handy to have my hands free!

Expcerpted from the Newsletter,

“Still Waters:  Tools and Resources for Living Deeply”

Ashley Davis Bush, LCSW is the author of

“Shortcuts to Inner Peace: 70 Paths to Everyday Serenity”

and

“Transcending Loss:  Understanding the Lifelong Impact of Grief and How to Make it Meaningful”

On Friday June 1st, my beloved husband, Daniel, was diagnosed with colon cancer. He is one of the 112,000 people annually who receive such news. The following week he, at age 46, had his first ever CAT scan, his first colonoscopy, and his first consult with a surgeon. On Thursday, June 14th he’ll have surgery to remove the cancerous lesion.

When the news was confirmed, I burst into tears. I had that not-so-subtle feeling of the fabric of my life coming unraveled. But I got to hold him. I got to spend a weekend alone with the man I love, together holding uncertainty in one hand and gratitude for every moment in the other.

Mostly, I felt a deep compassion for those who have death stealth upon them suddenly, with absolutely no warning. I thought of people who have no time to process, to say anything other than “NO!” when they learn that their loved one was killed by suicide, murder, an aneurism, in a car crash. My heart extended in warmth to traumatic grievers.

My heart also opened in gratitude for the amazing life that I have had with Daniel - rich experiences that are imprinted into my being. We have an extraordinary love that is so deep, so vast, and so beyond this world that I can only feel profound and humbled wonder. Do I want more time? . . . yes, of course. But can anything erase this love? No. Never.

I have spent years writing about loss, about grief, about gratitude, about peace, about love. I have never assumed that I am guaranteed to live to a ripe old age - or that my husband or even my children are entitled to become octogenarians. Death does not surprise me . . . nor does cancer.

Still, when cancer came to call, I wasn’t sure if I would slam the door in its face or invite it to tea. Or both. For now, the kettle is boiling. I will watch how my heart opens in love and closes in fear. I will watch how I connect with others who offer their prayers and concern. I will surrender to forces that are completely beyond my power to control. And I will hold Daniel’s hand every step of the way as we learn from our new visitor.

Expcerpted from the Newsletter,

“Still Waters:  Tools and Resources for Living Deeply”

Ashley Davis Bush, LCSW is the author of

“Shortcuts to Inner Peace: 70 Paths to Everyday Serenity”

and

“Transcending Loss:  Understanding the Lifelong Impact of Grief and How to Make it Meaningful”

She walked to the front of the room and slid a daisy into the vase.  Speaking softly, almost as if to the flower, she murmured, “For my dear mother who passed away two months ago.”  I was on the second row, about to sing with a small group at this hospice memorial service.  The poignant flower ritual was designed to honor and remember the deceased.

The vase eventually filled to overflowing - each flower representing a life lived.  I had a flash that one day, perhaps, my loved ones would place just such a flower in a vase to represent my life on earth.

Isn’t it easy, I mused, to lose perspective. How often do we get caught up in the daily dramas of ordinary living:  kids growing up, financial transactions, business deals, and the minor bruises of living.  Isn’t it easy to ‘forget’ that the biggest transition of them all - from life to death - could come anytime, with or without warning?

So, let us stop and savor life . . why wait for our loved ones to honor us when we are gone?  Let us resolve to breathe in the full spectrum of being and unfurl into the moment, one petal at a time.  Yes, one day we will be remembered, a daisy in a vase.  Today, however, is our time to bloom.

Expcerpted from the Newsletter,

“Still Waters:  Tools and Resources for Living Deeply”

Ashley Davis Bush, LCSW is the author of

“Shortcuts to Inner Peace: 70 Paths to Everyday Serenity”

and

“Transcending Loss:  Understanding the Lifelong Impact of Grief and How to Make it Meaningful”

They come to the site broken by life, hearts crushed by emotional pain.  They have lost siblings, spouses, children, parents, best friends and lovers.  They come seeking support, assurance that they are not alone in their unbearable grief.

Two years ago, I began a “Transcending Loss” Facebook page.  Today, over 10,000 grievers from across the globe have joined in a collective sharing of the human condition.  And I have the profound privilege of connecting with them.

My heart is not only humbled by the rawness of human suffering but also uplifted by the presence of a courageous, resilient spirit.  I have always known that loss is the inevitable price tag for living, but knowing of its certainty does not make the experience easier to accept.

There is, however, another certainty:  Deep love never ceases - it transcends death.  You might call this fact the unexpected fine print, the loophole to what would otherwise be an intolerable contract.  We feel like we are parted from our loved ones by death - and yes, physically we are - but we need to remember that the gift of love continues even as the form of love changes.