Sharing Your Grief

In the last week, I made this pretty little salad of mixed greens, peaches, blue cheese, and smoked hazelnuts as my offering at The Lost Table, a dinner for people who are grieving. The first time I had attended a Lost Table dinner, I was running late and placed my offering of a plastic container of some sad prepared side dish beside a delicious array of thoughtfully and lovingly presented epicurean delights made with fresh, seasonal ingredients. This time I made sure to up my potluck game deliberately applying a thoughtfulness to my contribution that would match my reverence for the reason for our gathering. The experience of sharing your grief, your loss, your life experience with complete strangers is intimate, brave, humbling and powerful.

Each time you share your pain, it still has the power to pluck the tears from your eyes and wrench the heart in disbelief for the words passing through your own lips.

Each time you share your pain, it still has the power to pluck the tears from your eyes …

There is a shared compassion born of understanding, some call it a club no one ever wanted to be a part of, that buoys each and every one of us as we break down, cry, get angry and reveal those parts of ourselves that are privately protected within.

As I and the other attendees left, the beautiful moonlit sky gave way to rain showers, cleansing the air of the releases of our heavy hearts.

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Last night I co-facilitated an intimate grief share where I gave witness to others and revealed some grief of my own. As the last person told of their loss, by then each individual was clutching a wet tissue, her voice was accompanied by the heavy rains hitting the roof, windows, and street outside, punctuating the stories that had been told.
As we gathered to leave, someone shared that it felt too intimate a moment to just walk away from one another so soon, although most were just strangers 2 hours before. I likened it to getting out of bed, getting dressed and going home immediately after climaxing with a lover. We should at least share a cigarette together, but alas, none of us smokes. We all hugged goodbye.

As I walked out to my car, the clouds had cleared, the air was crisp and dry and I wondered how many more of those delicious peaches would I share this season.