Joy is not made to be a crumb!

It was a cool, but bright fall day. I found myself in North Hampton, Massachusetts attending a conference. During breaks, I would walk the campus of Smith College and the surrounding areas in this quaint town in western Massachusetts. One thing I had learned in my grief journey was that movement was paramount to well-being. Even if all one is able to accomplish is walking to the mailbox. Often this one small step forward was a way of reclaiming one's identity amongst the rubble of loss and the often-unrelenting agony of grief.

I had also discovered that I found solace in nature. In fact, I often recommend to my clients to walk in the grass with their barefeet to find a sense of calm. However, it was now the cooler season of Fall so I kept my shoes on and walked toward a path in the woods. When in nature, I feel a sense of two worlds colliding. And if you take the time to look, and I mean really look, one is able to find bright vibrant colors seemingly existing between two universes fostering an unseen connection.

It was mid October and the time of year when the world and nature were preparing for a long rest. A slumber that would last until the light of spring exploded across our world, stirring everything awake. And for those of us frozen by grief, the spring may even stir some hope, or at least the reality that some of what has died does return, sometimes in the form of a bouquet of budding wildflowers.

On this walk, the leaves had found their home on the dirt pathway where I had decided to find solace for a short while. I could hear the echo of my feet as they crunched the leaves beautifully strewn across the pathway forming a pattern of yellow. I could also hear silence. It was so still that the peace of solitude in this moment was not something I feared, but rather something I celebrated because it was beautiful. I felt closer to my child as I made my way down the meandering path, often thinking of him and our shared memories. Tears welled up in my eyes but I kept my pace, the movement of walking serving as a means to gain grounding as I navigated my grief. I wondered if my life would forever be plagued with this dualing reality of survival and death, a familiar partnership for those of us who know grief almost too well.

As I took in the smells of this Fall day, the clean air and the scent of wood from the tree bark, I came across a rock in a tree. It was not an ordinary rock but a pink one. It had been painted pink and on the rock there was a message "Joy is not made to be a crumb!". I was taken aback by this rock. I wondered who put it there in the middle of the silent empty woods. I studied it and even contemplated whether to take it home with me, its message resonated strongly. Instead I decided to take a picture of it, leaving it behind for someone else to discover and I continued on my way. However, this rock had made a great impression upon me as if someone were speaking to me.

As I began to make my trek back to the campus and my conference, it hit me. This rock was a message. Where it came from, I will never know. Perhaps, it was a messge from my child who had passed, or a stranger who left it for the right person to find. On this very day, that person was me and how lucky was I. The message was clear and so very right as I thought about it. Why not find joy in the simple things in life?

As I thought more, I was finding joy on this very day by just breathing. My lungs felt clear and my step had picked up its pace. I even think I was holding my head up a bit higher and there was hope in my step. Nature and movement had given me gifts that I needed to take the time to cherish. On this day, I was able to think of all the things that had transpired since my child had died. Perhaps it was that one sympathy card with a message that lingered, or the voice of comfort from an old friend. Maybe joy was between the pages of my photos where smiles still lingered and the laughter could be heard of my children playing. Maybe joy was as simple as taking the time to enjoy a special dish and to really truly taste the food or it was present in the day someone purchased my coffee ahead of me in the drive through.

Joy was not gone. It just needed to be found if even in the quietest moments of life. The other beautiful thing about joy was that it did not mean I was forgetting my child, or those who are dear to me and yet had passed. Maybe it meant that I was finding life again with my child as I braved the steps that came ahead after the profound pain, sorrow and trauma that had filled my bones and heart. Just maybe it is true, if we try a little, we will find that joy will creep back into our lives and dance with the sorrow of loss in our hearts. It was then that I knew there was hope and that I would spend the remainder of my life adding joy to it so it would never again be a crumb. I hope to help you find a way to do that in your life, too

Written with all rights reserved by,

Katherine S. Deschene