Meditation and Grief

Meditation and Grief

 

 

As parents, we raise our children with love, hope and the belief in endless possibilities. All children come into this world absolutely perfect, just as they are. We hold them, dry their tears, share their joy and build our lives together. Our children are so alive, their futures ahead of them as they become our guiding light.

 

We worry about our children and know they will make some mistakes along the way – didn’t we all?  News of other children dying is heard, but outliving our children is unimaginable. Then one day, you become the parent who hears the news that your child has died.

 

Your mind can not grasp this. This cannot be true. It is not possible. Shock sets in as the reality of the words begin to take hold of your mind. You collapse as if the ground under your feet can no longer support you. Your whole world is shattered. Numbness sets in as you cry out in agony.

 

One moment flows into the next, yet you no longer have any concept of time. Things need to be done, yet you do not know how to start. People come by and call. You cannot eat the food they bring you, so you share it with those who visit. Words of comfort are offered, yet there is no comfort. People willingly help you along this uncharted path. You accept their kindness, help, comfort and caring with as much grace as you can possess at such a time.

 

As other people’s lives go back to their normal routines, you are left alone with your grief. You ask yourself how am I going to do this? There are no clear answers as we must grieve in our own way.

 

Your heart is broken, your mind still can’t believe this has happened, your pain and suffering deepens. Yet, your life continues.  There is a place deep inside of you that gives you life, where there is peace, where pain and suffering does not exist, where you are not broken. You know this place exists as you can feel it in those moments of silence and stillness when the mind stops its incessant chattering.

 

This silent, still place is where meditation allows you to gently go.  You get there one moment at a time and for that moment you get to go beyond the chaos of the mind and the physical world. You get to go within where quiet, unconditional love and compassion still resides.

 

I discovered this place in nature and with animals. I retreated there to have moments of relief. The harsh realities of living in a world without my only child was devastating. It simply was not normal. There was no more normal to my life. There were no guides or how to books to help me find my way. A dear friend, who I trusted implicitly, invited me to join her for a weekend meditation training. I reluctantly attended thinking if I didn’t like it, I did not have to stay.

 

Her invitation and my willingness to attend changed my life. I learned a very specific form of meditation throughout that weekend. I was able to immediately apply this practice to my daily life. This allowed me to link those moments of peace together as I continually choose to go within rather than stay in the chaos of my mind where pain and suffering exist.

 

This is the simplicity of meditation. To go beyond the chaos of the mind, to disentangle who we are from the external world, to help us find our way.

 

When my friend asked me to join her that weekend, I didn’t know who I was. I didn’t like the way I was in the world. I didn’t know any other way to be but I knew there had to be a better way. I was lost, existing day to day, with no purpose or direction. Meditation gave me another way to be in the world. It didn’t happen overnight or all at once. It took time to be comfortable with this new way of being. It took time before I was comfortable going out into the real world in this new way. I knew that if this new way of being could help me learn how to release my pain and suffering of being a bereaved mother, it could help others.

 

This belief led me to a week-long retreat then on to a six month training in Spain called The Mastery of the Self. While in Spain, I became a meditation teacher and took vows becoming an Ishaya Monk.

 

I am NOT saying everyone needs to follow my path. What I am saying is that meditation is a tool that can be accessed in a heartbeat. What I am saying is that meditation allows relief from the pain and suffering caused by the death of a child and all of the endless thoughts that we dwell on. There are as many meditation practices as there are meditation teachers. Not all practices resonate with everyone, hence many different practices. What is important is developing a practice that resonates with you so that you will incorporate it into your daily live and stay with it.

 

You have a choice: stay focused on your pain and remain isolated from the world that you lived in with your child or re-enter that world and move forward with all of that love and the joy for life that you both shared. After all which choice would your child want for you? Choose for that. Honor that. Celebrate that memory.

 

Please feel free to contact me with any questions or finding resources for a meditation practice at lindnervt@gmail. com. Please put meditation in the subject line so that your message does not get overlooked.

 

 

Ann Lindner

Kenny’s loving mother

 

About the Author
I was born in 1950 into a large family of my father’s. My father was my best friend and my rock. After graduation from college, I started out on the path of my adult life. Living the American Dream with a loving husband and a perfect child in a house built by us for our little family and future. In 2002 our world was shattered when our only son died while driving home from his Freshman year of college. My father died just before Christmas of that same year. As my husband and I drifted apart, so did our marriage, which ended in divorce. I found myself alone, trying to figure out who I was and discovering how to make my way in an uncharted world. Eventually I found my way. Now, I want to honor my son, Kenny, by being there to support other bereaved parents as they find themselves alone in an unfamiliar world.
I'm Grieving, Now What?