Traditionally, we are told that at this time of year, the veil that separates the spirit world from that of the physical is at its most thin. The next three days are ideal times to meditate on your connection with your beloved dead as well as to ancestors you may never have known, but whose lives, deaths and enduring energies impact who you are today. ​

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Mother’s Day is here.

I wish people knew that this day, now over-commercialized, over-sentimentalized, overblown and over-filled with spending, obligation, and long waits at any brunch-worthy restaurant, was first created by and for bereaved mothers who shared it with all other mothers. They started it not to elevate to superiority the mother and her role in family and society, or even to simply honor motherhood.

Did you know that the women who started Mother’s Day were actively working to help lower infant mortality rates? That they protested the wars that had taken the lives of their sons? That they were working to form bonds with other mothers whose children were also lost to war?

Headed by West Virginia activist Ann Jarvis, a bunch of bereaved mothers got together for peace demonstrations. They held work days for service. They tended wounded soldiers from both sides of the Civil War that ravaged our country and left hundreds of thousands dead. They organized picnics for pacifism and worked to unite the country in hopes that no one would ever again lose a child to the horrors of war.

In 1870, one of their members Julia Ward Howe, best known for composing The Battle Hymn of the Republic issued a “Mother’s Day Proclamation” calling on women to take a more active political role in the promotion of peace and the ending of wars.

She wrote:
“Arise, all women who have hearts, whether your baptism be that of water or of tears! Say firmly: ‘We will not have great questions decided by irrelevant agencies, our husbands shall not come to us, reeking with carnage, for caresses and applause. Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn all that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience. We women of one country will be too tender of those of another country to allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs.!' From the bosom of the devastated earth a voice goes up with our own. It says, ‘Disarm, disarm! The sword is not the balance of justice.’”

Mother's Day is one of the most difficult days of the year for me. It is for many people. Mothers without their children, children without their mothers. Mother’s Day can be painful.
For sure it is one of the most difficult days of the year in the continuing cycle of my grief calendar. We are a family of four that looks to all the world like a family of three. My child is not an only child, though she appears to be. She lives without her brother as a physical presence in her life. I don’t think it's always easy for her.

It's impossible to truly find the words to adequately express the pain and longing that continue to be part of daily existence without my son’s living and growing presence in this world. He should be here on his birthday this month to celebrate. It is difficult for me to imagine what he might look like. I wish I knew what kinds of things he would like to do, what subjects he would like in school, what he would like to eat, what he would not like, who his friends might be. I also have a living child; our spirited, funny, smart, beautiful, creative, inquisitive, talented daughter. I am profoundly grateful for her presence in this world and in our lives. Her presence does not negate his absence.

I am a mother to two children, one who is alive and one who is dead. My motherhood for both of my children is special and sacred and also totally ordinary. I am a mother among many mothers. Early on in the searing and raw pain, I felt a deep connection to the many bereaved mothers who I realized existed in the world all around me and those who had already grieved the deaths of their children for millennia before me. I was neither special nor alone, and this realization brought me strange comfort and a sense of timeless connection.

Bereaved motherhood is worthy of being acknowledged, honored and recognized along with every other kind of motherhood. Knowing the mothers who began Mother’s Day did so in their grief, in their hope of stopping the ravages of war that took so many of their children makes this sense even more profound.

I want to take it back. To take Mother’s Day back to its origins. I would love to see a world where we are not treated or seen as separate because of our grief. Or avoided or pitied. I want acknowledgement on Mother’s Day for mothering both of my children, living and dead. With all my heart, I want all bereaved mothers to be acknowledged as the mothers they are, we are, on Mother’s Day--along with all other mothers. We are all mothers and should be honored as such.

This Sunday, on the traditional Mother’s Day, I will remember this day created by bereaved mothers; those who sought to make meaning of life after the deaths of their children, who looked to promote peace and togetherness in their world.

As Julia Ward Howe said, "We women of one country will be too tender of those of another country to allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs." Her plea touches my heart.

Her plea, their movement, was an incredibly personal way to try to achieve global peace. Most people do not know the origins of Mother's Day. I wish everyone did.
​
Regardless, Mother's Day is upon us. Whether we want it or not. Whether we get to be with all of our children or with our mothers or not. However we feel about it, it is here.
To all mothers who are without their children, to all children without their mothers. I wish a peaceful Mother’s Day and send love.
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#takeitback
#mothersday
#bereavedmomlife
#childhoodcancer
#childloss
#babyloss
#childdeath
#grief
#MISSFoundation

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​"The truth...It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution." ~Albus Dumbledore 
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J.K. Rowling

What is Truth? 
Especially, for our purposes here, what does truth mean when we are in grief? In or out of grief, truth is truth. Right? 

My last post began a series on each of the Yamas and Niyamas, Yoga's ethical guidelines for life, and how they are applicable to our world in grief and beyond. Eventually, if we live long enough and love others, this applies to every single one of us. 

This installment focuses on the second Yama, Satya, which translates to mean truth or non-lying. It is also translated to mean the highest reality, that which is real, genuine, sincere. Truth---with a capital T---is unwavering and absolute, while truth---without the capital T---is more flexible, depending on many things. In grief and all of life, there are those things that are True and there are also our own truths. In Truth (or truth), as in all things, self-awareness is of the utmost importance. So what is your truth? What is your Truth? How much of it do we share or not? How do we carry our truth into the world, especially when we are in grief and are so raw, feeling the constant need to protect our hearts and the memories of our beloveds? 

Satya is non-lying—telling the truth.
 
It means restraining from falsehoods or distorting reality. Truth is sometimes clear, and at other times what is true may be subjective, and always, our personal truths are colored by our own perception. All of our experiences are filtered through our senses of perception, our personal system of beliefs, our opinions, ideals and values. So what is truth? And what does it mean in grief?
 
Truthfulness is also being genuine and congruent—living in such a way that our thoughts, feelings, words, and actions are in harmony. This is yet another thing that can be difficult in grief. We live in a world that does not really understand what deep grief really means nor what it is to live immersed in sorrow. Among other things, we are tasked with figuring out how to live authentically with and within grief, in its many forms and with its many changes and among others who may not understand. Satya’s guiding principle can assist us to be mindful of living in accord with our new truth. You may feel that you are living a dual life—one in which you feel you must pretend to be okay, hiding the truth of your grief, and another private world where sadness, pain, and longing may be more constant than not.
 
One of the biggest lies in grief is the one we tell in answer to the question, “How are you?” So often we may lie and simply say that we are fine because others are uncomfortable or, because it is socially unacceptable to cry or express sadness, we feel awkward and exposed. Occasionally, you may encounter the rare individual who wants to know, “How are you really?” Usually though, we believe most people don’t really want to know the truth. They may be well meaning, but, we think, if they really knew the truth, they would wish they hadn’t asked.
 
There are many variations on “How are you?” Plunged into instant agony at the everyday questions that feel like assaults, you try to decide in a split second how or whether to answer:
 
“How many children do you have?”
“Are you married?”
“Can I help you?”
“Are you all right?”
“Is there something wrong?”
 
Do we lie or tell our truth? The pretense can be exhausting, but the lack of a safe space where the truth can simply be accepted is sorely lacking.
 
There are also lies of omission. Not in the classic sense of omitting specific details to intentionally deceive, but in not telling others what we want or need; by refraining from talking about our beloved, not mentioning her name, or not contributing to a conversation when the urge naturally arises. We do not do what our hearts urge us to do for many good reasons. It is painful, we may cry, others may be upset, we have received messages in the past that it is not okay to cry or to share, we don’t feel safe in sharing our hearts. By not revealing ourselves, our needs, our experiences, we omit and neglect our truth. In so doing, what do we do to ourselves? Living and speaking our own personal truth is incredibly empowering. In grief, empowerment can be hard to come by.
 
Of course not all situations call for total transparency and openness. With a lie or an omission, uncomfortable situations can be avoided, feelings are spared, we may seem more “together” than we really are. Sometimes that may be helpful—on a job interview or in a new situation with new people for example. How can we know when to tell the unvarnished truth and when to keep it to ourselves?
Truth and honesty beget intimacy. The surest way to erode closeness in any relationship is dishonesty. How much truth to tell and when should be based on your level of intimacy with the person and the importance of the relationship. In your most important relationships, you must tell your truth, even if it is hard. Your most important relationship is the one you have with yourself. We must always tell the truth to ourselves. About our needs, our pain, our grief, our fears, our hopes, our dreams, our wishes.
We must tell those closest to us, as much truth as we can possibly manage. When truth cannot be shared, relationships change. Intimacy erodes. When those we love and to whom we are close cannot hear our truth, even when we try to tell it, often those relationships can become sorely damaged. Sometimes relationships come to an end. Telling ourselves the truth about our relationships can be difficult.
 
Friends, co-workers, and acquaintances, should be told as much truth as is needed to maintain or to grow a connection you’re comfortable with. Strangers and those to whom you have no relationship do not necessarily need to know your deepest truths. You must judge this for yourself.
If we are to grow and become in life and in grief, we must try to be open about our truth with ourselves first and with others whom we love. This can feel risky. In grief we are extremely vulnerable. It is important to feel safe to be able to share your truth. You can begin by taking small risks. When someone asks, “How are you?” whether they mean it really, or whether it is social convention, you might say something like, “I’m having a hard day, but thanks for asking.” This does not require the person to do or say anything further. One of the reasons many bereaved do not share how they really feel is because they do not wish to be a burden to others, to make someone else feel that they must take care or change something. The truth is that they cannot fix this. No one can.
 
Another way to share your truth is be honest with yourself about what you need. If you want to talk about how you feel, if you want to hear your beloved’s name, if you hope someone will reach out to you on your beloved’s birthday, anniversaries, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, holidays and are afraid no one will, say so and ask for what you need. Take a risk, no matter how small, and reveal what you may feel slightly uncomfortable revealing. Practice finding comfort in the discomfort. Measure responses and determine whether it is safe to share more. If it is not safe, find a place where it is safe. Speak your truth in small doses until you feel more comfortable and empowered to do it regularly. Allow your own truth and your love to be your guide. With practice, you can hear your own inner truth, your satya, in all situations.
 
(Excerpted from Yoga for Grief & Loss, Chapter 6, Raja Yoga: The Path of Royalty)

Ahimsa is often translated to mean non-harming, non-violence.
Not causing pain. 
 
Sadly, humans beings are often violent. Our capacity for violence of all kinds is our worst quality and greatest failing. Acknowledging our own capacity for violence—toward ourselves and others—is the beginning of change for all. The famed master yogi B.K.S. Iyengar said in his book The Tree of Yoga, "Why do you think of the violence of the world? Why don't you think of the violence in you?" 
 
Underlying violence is almost always fear. We are regularly filled with fears, of the unknown, of others, of change. To avoid feeling our own pain, or being in pain, we often cause pain to others as a form of protection against perceived vulnerabilities. When our security is threatened on any level, our inner capacity for violence is stimulated. When any part of what we perceive as our security is at risk, we immediately begin enacting ways to stop the threat. This may take place internally or it can be an all-out fight, but it is always a form of violence. Any time we experience any amount of hostility or antagonism, inwardly or outwardly, there is violence—even if but a seed. The danger is that when tended, seeds grow.
The experience of grief can bring with it many feelings and experiences rife with violence. Whether our loved one died violently or not, the result feels like a violation. We feel that violence has been done to us and to our beloved. The state of the world may intensify feelings of violation, violence and fear. We may want to lash out, to harm, to destroy. Anger or violent thoughts may fill our minds. To feel such complete powerlessness in the face of utter destruction is a pain that ultimately cannot properly be described with mere words. Often when people are filled with such despair, anger can result. We may withdraw and direct violence toward ourselves in the form of neglect, or outwardly in harmful behaviors that can damage body, mind, and spirit--our own as well as others'.

Violence, inward and outward, is often a part of grief—and part of the human condition. We live in a world where anger is often more acceptable than sadness. Anger itself is not the problem, violence is the problem. Anger is a signal that there is something wrong, and when your beloved is dead, when loss has destroyed life as you knew it, there is something very wrong. When loss upon loss builds, something is very wrong. Recognizing that the feelings are important and being aware of how we direct the energy of anger and fear make all the difference. Learning to replace violent and destructive feelings and tendencies with those which are loving and constructive can be difficult but it is possible.

Taking good care of yourself is essential in grief and in managing feelings of anger and fear—the seeds of violence.  Yet, most of us have extreme difficulty with self-care in grief. Sometimes this is because we are so overwhelmed by the pain that we simply do not have the energy to act in a caretaking way for ourselves. Other times we may feel emotionally unable to engage in any act of love or care toward ourselves. We may feel undeserving of care or love. Because we are already in so much pain, because we may feel we do not deserve to have anything other than pain, that there can never be anything other than pain in the future in seeking to avoid the pain of grief, we often do not care about pain we may cause ourselves—no pain can be greater than the pain of being without our beloveds.

Awareness is the beginning of change. Can you observe without judgment any violence that has occurred or may be occurring inside you? Can you peel back the layers of that to see what lies beneath? Is there fear, is there anger? Where are those directed? Do you regularly perpetuate thoughts or engage in behaviors that cause harm to your body, mind, psyche, or spirit? The first step to dissolving the root of violence is recognizing that it has taken root. Is there a seed that may grow? Observe with love and compassion and without judgment any violence inside you and how it manifests.

Spend some time thinking, with as much compassion as possible, about ways both large and small that you do harm to yourself. This in itself is a form of self-care.  You do not have to force yourself to change your thoughts or actions, but rather attempt to become lovingly aware. Slowly and gently you can add small ways of caring for yourself. Those small ways may turn into greater acts of self-care.

Self-care is physical—taking care of your body with good food, sleep, exercise, massage, movement, sunshine, and nutrition. It is mental—self-help books, music, art, creativity, seeking and finding a well-trained counselor who understands grief and bereavement,. It is spiritual—in meditation, nature, study of spiritual books, chant, ritual, prayer, contemplation, speaking to a trusted religious leader. Self-care is also found in reaching out to your community—to friends and family, neighbors, co-workers, it is finding and going to a support group, to on-line communities.

Each of these can be done with small steps forward. All of these are self-care and with awareness and tenderness toward yourself, can grow.
 
The above passage is an excerpt from Karla's recently released book Yoga for Grief and Loss: Poses, Meditation, Devotion, Self-Reflection, Selfless Acts, Ritual

This article was posted originally in 2011 as a contribution on GoodTherapy.org. I wanted to post it here, this year, in honor of so many mothers I know and love who are missing their children this Mother’s Day. I am also posting in honor of my mother, who is spending her first Mother’s Day without her own mother, and in memory of my grandmother Betty Wood, known and loved by so many. We love and miss you. 

You can read the article here on GoodTherapy.org



Mother’s Day is observed by many as a joyful day of celebration, a time when hardworking mothers can have a chance to put our feet up, relax, be treated to breakfasts in bed, special lunches or dinners, given special consideration. We might receive gifts lovingly chosen or perhaps handmade by our children and partners. The day may hold special times set aside for visiting with or talking to our mothers, perhaps making up for time we have been apart, busy with our lives. The idea of Mother’s Day in our culture is painted as brightly and sentimentally as any Hallmark commercial.

The truth is though, for many, Mother’s Day can be a painful and difficult day. Women whose children have died at any age, women experiencing infertility, women who have had miscarriages, men, women and children whose mothers have died—for these and others, Mother’s Day can be a day of sadness and loss. In grief, many days typically perceived as happy or joyful times are experienced by the grieving and bereaved as sad and isolating. Bereaved mothers are faced with the experience of seeing other mothers interact with their children, of watching seemingly happy, intact families go about the ordinary daily business of life. People whose mothers have died hear other people speak casually about day-to-day interactions with their mothers, or watch mothers and daughters shopping or lunching happily, or even unhappily. Many daughters would give a great deal to have one more argument with their mother. Wishing they had another chance to say that no matter what, they love and miss
their mothers. 

We are all faced with the barrage of Mother’s Day commercials created to tug at our heart strings (and of course, urge us to open our wallets); and in all those things, so much of the grief we experience is the grief for that which can never be our reality. Each person’s grief, and his or her response to the pain of grief is always highly individual, but no matter what, if you are mother whose child has died, or, if you are a child whose mother has died, Mother’s Day is a sad time.

For women whose children have died, it can almost go without saying that Mother’s Day is deeply painful, and because of that, it should never go without saying. If you know a mother whose child has died, at any age, please acknowledge her motherhood as well as her pain. The greatest gift for a bereaved mother on Mother’s Day can be the simple, but hugely powerful, recognition of her motherhood. Even though our children have died, we are still mothers–to all of our children. The simple act of recognition allows a bereaved mother the validation she so often seeks and sadly, so often finds missing. A hug and a “Happy Mother’s Day,” even if that seems improbable, could mean more than one could imagine. 

There are many things supportive friends and family members can do to help ease the pain of this difficult day for a grieving mother. Visit her child’s grave, leave a pretty stone, a seashell or other small trinket, and let her know you were there. Talk about her child. Use her child’s name in conversation, no matter how brief. All bereaved parents long to hear other people speak their child’s name after he or she has died. Many non-bereaved people think (wrongly) that if they mention the child, this will somehow “open the wound,” or “remind” us of the loss. You can trust that we are already thinking about our children, that wound is ever-present as part of who are now. Our children are never, ever far from our hearts and minds. One of the greatest fears for a bereaved parent is that no one, except for us, will remember our children. If you have a special memory of her child, send a card with a story of that memory enclosed. It will be a cherished treasure. Even a note simply wishing her a happy and peaceful day is a gesture that is greatly appreciated.

When we are bereaved mothers who are also fortunate enough to have other children who are alive, we continue to miss and to mourn the ones who are not here for our arms to physically enfold. For these mothers, acknowledging their child who has died can be an incredibly meaningful gift. One child does not replace another. We celebrate in the joyful presence of our living children and deeply mourn the absence of the ones who are not here sharing our daily lives. Remembering that we are mothers to all our children is such a special act.

For women who have suffered early miscarriage, women experiencing infertility problems, or for birth mothers whose birth children have been placed in adoptive homes, Mother’s Day can bring a silent and isolating grief. Much of society does not recognize the loss that can be inherent in these women’s circumstances. Simply letting her know that you are thinking of her on this day can be welcome gesture. A phone call to check in and a simple, “I was thinking of you today and wondering if you were doing ok.” This can allow her to talk about her feelings if she chooses to do so.

For any person whose mother has died, Mother’s Day can be a painful and sad time. A tradition of the not so long ago past called for corsages to be worn on Mother’s Day. A red corsage meant that person’s mother was still alive. A white flower meant their mother had died.Those who wore white flowers were most likely given extra hugs or an extra squeeze of the hand. The openly worn symbol of the flower allowed others to feel freer to talk about the woman who had died, to feel invited to share remembrances or condolences. In our society where mourning is no longer a widespread or open practice (though I am working hard, along with likeminded friends and colleagues to change that), other community members may not always feel they can openly discuss “the departed.” If you know someone whose mother has died, or if you knew his or her mother, perhaps sending a white flower in memory of their mother may be a lovely gesture. You might also consider sending a card or letter, or making a phone call specifically to share memories of that person’s mother. Taking a moment to let her child know how much she meant to you, can be very comforting. If you know a young child whose mother has died, acknowledge that child’s pain and let that child know that you are a safe person to talk to. Again, sharing memories of the child’s mother can let that child know how much his or her mom meant to others.

For all of us, childless mothers and motherless children alike, planning a way to remember our deeply cherished loved ones is very important. Make a plan that will honor your mother’s life, your child’s life. Acknowledge their presence in your life, your heart and your mind. Honor your love for them, as well as the pain you feel due to their absence. Create new traditions for this day, such as lighting a candle or saying a prayer, or wearing a flower. You might wish to donate to a charity in your child’s or your mother’s name, plan a visit to the burial site, plant a tree, create a work of art, or start a scrapbook. Read your mom’s favorite book, watch her favorite movies, listen to songs she loved. Name a star after your child, make his or her favorite food, plan a balloon release with notes to him or her written on the balloons.

No matter what, you are always a mother. And no matter what, your mother is always your mother. We can remember them all with love.

I vividly recall the first Mother’s Day after my son died. It was a very sad, painful day. The beauty of spring itself seemed to exist solely to mock my childless arms. On that day, my husband and I planted a tree in our backyard. I had originally planned to plant a tree for our son so that he could watch the tree grow as he grew. Instead, we planted the tree in his memory. The choosing of the tree, bringing it home, digging the hole, and the placement of the tree itself, were all acts that meant more than the simple planting of a tree. The act was elevated to ritual status and was very healing and comforting. I placed special stones around the tree, hung wind chimes and placed special ornaments in and around the tree. Caring for the tree has become a way of demonstrating our on-going love for him. Weeding, decorating the area, watering and fertilizing the tree have allowed for that loving memorial to continue. The tree is visible in our back yard from every window that looks out of the back of our house; kitchen, living room, bathroom, hallway, office. While nothing takes away the pain of missing my child, the ritual we created together to honor his memory made that first Mother’s Day more bearable, and is a constant reminder of our love for him. Seeing the tree bloom each spring and watching it grow a little taller and stronger with each passing year underscore the tree’s symbolic representation of our ever-present love for him and his presence in our family.

If you anticipate that Mother’s Day will be difficult for you, whatever your
personal circumstances, spend some time making a plan for honoring, remembering and memorializing. Think about doing something to care for yourself as well. Self-care gifts such as massage, manicure, pedicure, can all help to alleviate stress. Ask for what you need. Taking time to be alone, to write in a journal, to make art, to take a walk, spend time in nature, or simply to rest can be very helpful. If you need support, ask for it. If you worry that no one will do anything for you on Mother’s Day, be pro-active and tell your loved ones what you would like to do to observe the day. Plan a lunch or dinner with supportive friends or family. Give yourself permission to do what you need to do to take care of yourself.

Feel free to share here the ways you will honor your Motherhood, remember your mother, or how you will spend your day. 

Wishing us all a peaceful day this Sunday.