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The first funeral I ever attended was the funeral of a friend’s father.  I will never forget the sound of my friend’s sister sobbing throughout the service.  It was an excruciatingly painful sound that expressed her devastation more accurately than words ever could.  She was only in her early teens.

I was in high school and had very limited experience with death.  A group of us decided to attend the service to support our close friend.  We didn’t know his dad but we were all in shock.  Sadly this meant that none of us called him for days after his dad died.  We were too immersed in our own reactions to be compassionate enough to pick up the phone.

His dad had killed himself and I don’t think any of us were mature enough to digest the magnitude of what that meant.  At the end of the service I could barely even mumble out condolences or a hug.  To this day I am ashamed that I didn’t reach out to him more.

My friend’s father had decided to end his life and leave his children to grieve.  I can’t even imagine how bad things have to be and how worthless a person has to feel to make that choice.  As a parent now I can’t even fathom it.  He had his reasons and I have no desire to judge them.  That isn’t the point. The point is that there are other options, in that moment he just couldn’t see them.

Over my years working in suicide prevention and suicide bereavement, I have heard everything from “that is selfish” to “they didn’t deserve to live if they are gonna throw it all away like that” or “they are going to hell.”  Regardless of your personal values and belief systems, I have never found these statements very comforting to suicidal people or to the survivors they leave behind.

Making dismissive statements is a way of simplifying a problem and deluding ourselves into believing it couldn’t happen in our lives or to the people we love.  We like to believe that we are better parents, friends, or family than those “other people” and therefore a suicide won’t happen in our lives.  Well sadly it can.  As a society I believe our lack of compassion is part of the problem.

According to Alberta Health Services: “Suicide is consistently a leading cause of death among Albertans. Suicide claims more lives annually than other more openly discussed issues such as motor vehicle collisions, AIDS or homicides.”  In my career as a therapist I can tell you that most of the people that walk into my office have thought about it or attempted suicide at some point in their lives.

My friend’s father killed himself.  It started a chain of events in my life that lead me to the work I do.  Even though I didn’t know him, his life and death have value to me.  Over the course of my life I have had the privilege of talking to survivors and walking with them in their grief journey.   I have spoke to people who have lost children, partners, sisters, brothers, parents and friends.  Most of them believed it couldn’t happen to them until it did.  The aftermath of a suicide is devastating but one of the things these people have taught me is that their loved ones were more than the last few minutes, hours or days of their lives.

They were people with families and friends that had rich and meaningful lives.  They meant something to those that loved them.  While many struggled with depression or alcoholism or were victims of abuse, there were also times in their lives of great joy and connection.  They were more than their final decision.   Their lives had value and shouldn’t be judged entirely by those painful moments.  Their death was a tragedy and sadly an avoidable one.

Suicide Awareness Week begins on September 8th.   Take a moment to educate yourself on the warning signs of suicide or get help if you need it by checking out the information at the Crisis Support Centre.   Join the Support Centre and the Canadian Mental Association in their annual Lift the Silence Walk on Thursday September 12, 2013 from 4-7pm at Edmonton City Hall.    Shame is the disease, and courage is the cure.

So here is the scene… I am sitting in a brutally hard chair in the front of a starkly lit room with 25 therapists staring at me with excruciatingly empathetic looks on their faces.  What I choose to believe was empathy may have more likely been relief.  They were all likely saying a silent prayer of gratitude that I volunteered to be the guinea pig during this demonstration.  It was terrifying.

The trainer was sitting in front of me.  He said, with what I can only describe as an indifferent tone, “Tell me about something disturbing that happened in your life.”

Now the purpose of the demonstration was not to dive into my childhood trauma or emotional pain.  Although in that moment, I’m not sure I believed him.  He just wanted to set up how an EMDR therapy session would start.  I didn’t know how far he was gonna take this demonstration so I was more than a little nervous.  I had no desire to be reduced to a sobbing mess in front of this group of strangers and professional colleagues.

Anyone who knows me personally knows that tears come freely to me in personal situations.  So in front of this crowd I am painfully aware that, like most people in the world, I have unresolved stuff that may come flooding to the surface in the hands of a good therapist.  This man is a well respected and very talented EMDR therapist.  I was convinced that he could see right into the darkest depths of my soul.  The shame was in the back of my throat.

For those of you interested, EMDR stands for Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing.  In many ways the therapy sounds a lot like voodoo witch magic.  It isn’t.  I have been very skeptical but I have heard enough positive things about it that I sought out the training to help me make up my own mind.  It is a protocol for therapy that focuses on resolving trauma and anxiety.  I love having new tools in my therapy toolbox but I don’t always like the work I have to do to learn the new skill.

Sitting in front of the room reminded me of what it is like to be vulnerable.  Vulnerability is an unnerving experience for most of us.  Being vulnerable usually makes us look at our shame up close.  This was a good reminder of what my clients must feel like when they first come to see me or what many of us are experiencing at this time of year.

The beginning of September is a time of year that many of us are facing new adventures: school starting, work schedules, the change of seasons and getting back into a routine.  This can bring excitement for some, anxiety for others and a mix of the two for most of us.  It is a time of year that many of us are vulnerable and are ashamed of that vulnerability.

I believe that vulnerability is the key to happiness.  I remember the first time I saw Brené Brown’s TEDTalk on shame and vulnerability.  If you haven’t seen it, it is 20 min well spent.  Basically she speaks about how the difference between people that live their lives with all their heart and those the struggle to find happiness.  The difference is that people who are the happiest and most content are willing to embrace vulnerability.  They are willing to experience and share their suffering as well as their joy and celebration.

I see this everyday.  The people whom have the courage to dive into their grief, abuse and loss history are the ones that find their way.  They deal with their emotions head on.

I have talked with people with far more trauma than I could ever handle and they do fine.  I have seen some that buckle under seemingly mild stress.  The difference is not bad luck or crappy life circumstances.  How we deal with trauma is complicated.  It all depends on our life experience, attitude and DNA.

Vulnerability is like Teflon.  It helps the crappy life experiences just slide off.   Shame is like honey.  It makes everything stick. How do we produce more Teflon?  It is a good question.  One that I try to figure out daily with clients.

I know that vulnerability is contagious.  After I got off that hard chair, someone else got on it.  Watching people be vulnerable and watching that person experience acceptance and  safety as a result catches like a common cold.

Sadly, shame is contagious too.  Our society shames people all the time.  We are never good enough, smart enough or skinny enough.  Either that or we are too good, too smart or too skinny.  The infection happens through our words, ridicule and gossip.  We infect our coworkers, neighbors, family and worst of all our children with it.  Instead of reaching out for understanding, we push each other away, especially those people that are different from us in social class, race or ability. It is easier to say “that is your problem” than “tell me more”.

How can we stop the pandemic?  We can all try to be more vulnerable.  Embracing your own vulnerability will not stop bad things from happening and will not be even the least bit comfortable but it will spread and help us all be more human.  It will help you live a better life.

Today I sat on on a brutally hard chair in a starkly lit room and I am better for it.  I hope the others in the room are too.

Like most adolescents of the 80s, there was a time when I wore copious amounts of blue eye shadow.  In my middle school years I was pretty typical in that regard.  I also had a very bad perm, one that matched my two best friends at the time but was never quite as perfect.

Like most adolescents I tried hard to fit in.   I’m not sure when that changed but it did.  Maybe it is when the fashions changed from spandex and body suits to oversized sweatshirts from Coconut Joe’s or Neon Vuarnet fashion atrocities.  I’m not sure.

Maybe it is the day in high school when I spent 45 min on my makeup to get it just right and my then best friend said to me, “You look like you aren’t wearing any make up.”  Something in me changed.  Why on earth was I spending so much time on my appearance just to look the same as I did before?  So somewhere in high school I stopped wearing makeup and opted for the comfy look of jeans and t-shirts.

I wish I could tell you that this was purposeful, a rebellion against the norm or some feminist stance on societal norms of beauty.  Really, I think I was just too lazy or perhaps suffering from a bout of depression.  I enjoyed sleeping in more than the ritual of getting ready.  Also I got cheap.  After working part-time while in school I found I’d rather spend my money on other things.  That hasn’t changed. Beauty products are expensive and I’d much rather go out for East Indian food than dish out the cash for a manicure that I’ll just have to have redone in a few weeks. 

So I have gone through life more or less makeup-less.  I would put some on for the occasional special event, a wedding, a graduation or some other celebration.  Over the years I have had several girlfriends that try to encourage me to “just wear a bit of mascara” or “a little lip gloss.”  “It will make a big difference.”  They are well meaning friends and lovely people but it just isn’t me.

I was a bridesmaid in my mother-in-law’s wedding this past week.  I enjoyed the camaraderie of the girlish routines.  The pedicures, the makeup and the hair.  I love my in-laws so hanging out with them is never a chore.   I even find it fun to put on another persona for a day but it still isn’t me.

I have struggled to explain this to women.  I always hear the adages of it being “important to look your best” and “people judge you on your looks.”   I’m not such an idealist that I don’t know that this is at least partially true.  But it is only true because we all agree that this is the way it should be.  We are the problem.   Or maybe this is my subconscious way of trying to justify the wrinkles in my clothes (I also don’t iron).

Many of my clients tell me that after they have lost a loved one or when they are struggling through a rough time they loath one question.  That is, “Hey, how are you?”  Mostly because people don’t actually want to know.  They are just making small talk.  No one wants to hear… “Pretty crappy,  my brother just killed himself and I’m thinking that there is no point to life anymore.”  All they want to hear is “Fine, how are you?”, if they even wait long enough to hear a response.  When people need compassion and we often don’t have time to give it to them.

We as a society have found many ways to not mean what we say and to cover up who we really are.  This is why I have decided that I value authenticity above all other attributes in myself and the people with whom I choose to surround myself.

Many of the women I love dearly are much girlier than me.  They are beautiful women that take time and pride in their appearance and I love them for it.  They are authentic in their own ways.  It is good to be challenged by them.  I, however, chose to do it differently.

No one will ever convince me that I look better with makeup on.  I love how I look.  I love that when I’m tired, people know it.  I love that when I have cried tears of joy or sadness, you can see it on my face for hours.  To me that feels authentic.  It is who I am.  As I age, I expect that people will be able to tell I’m getting older.  I am also okay with that…well most days.

Being authentic is the example I want to set for my daughter.  I strive to be authentic in my words, my actions and my appearance.  Some days I am better at this than others.  It is like all things in life: a work-in-progress.

So yes, you will see me dress up occasionally and I will enjoy it.  But mostly you will see me in clothes that I like and that I am comfortable in, without makeup, just being me.

I am useless at dinner parties. Partially because I am a bit of a closeted introvert, I prefer the comfort of my own home to most things. Being social requires a lot of energy especially with people I don’t know. At dinner parties or other social gatherings the dreaded question inevitably gets asked.

“What do you do?”

This question, while fairly common among introductions, is one of the more difficult for people to answer. If you are a stay-at-home parent who doesn’t feel that society values your role, or a person who doesn’t like their job, or a person who loves what they do but feels judged by others because of their choice of profession, this question can minimize how you define yourself. What about someone who recently lost their job?

In my case when I am asked the question I am never entirely sure how to answer. I am a mother, a wife, a volunteer, a friend, a daughter, a sister, and most recently, a dog trainer. I do all these things but this is not what the asker actually wants to know. They want to know what I do for a living. I understand that the asker is only making conversation. They are just trying to get to know me. In fact, I often ask the question myself.

So when asked “What do you do?” I am always honest but then I brace myself for the response. My answer usually has one of two impacts on a conversation. It stops it dead in its track or I end up making someone cry. I am a social worker. Not the kind that takes away children, not the kind that has boat loads of money that I can give to the poor. Neither of these kinds of social workers actually exists.

I work in mental health. Even worse: I am a therapist! Nothing gets people all clammed up and sweaty more than talking to a therapist. It turns into a love me or hate me scenario. People often worry that I am analysing them and can see into all their personal shame and misery just by looking at them. I can assure you, I cannot see your inner demons. I am a good therapist but not that good. Other people at parties see me as a source of free advice. A crowded room that usually involves alcohol isn’t what I call a safe therapeutic environment. Either situation ends up being awkward for all involved.

One occupational hazard I suffer from is that I am not good at small talk. I usually ask the questions that socially we are taught not to ask. Mostly because I am more interested in how someone is coping with their life than how the Oilers’ prospects are doing. This is why I am useless at dinner parties.

The gifts of my chosen profession far outweigh the few awkward social encounters that I experience. The gift of my profession is that as a therapist I see people deal with the worst life has to offer but that is also when I see human nature at its best. I am honoured that my clients share their most intimate secrets with me and while I am not able to share these amazing stories with you directly I can share how these stories have impacted my life and how I live it. That is what I hope to accomplish in this blog. Hopefully you will be inspired the way that I am.

I have learned that the joy of life is in the little things, the moments that you miss if you aren’t paying attention. Joy is how my son’s giggle sounds like a series of hiccups if he really finds something funny or how my daughter describes how her first pair of dangly earrings feel against her cheek. Life has a way of providing us with answers if we just listen. So I am listening.

***This Blog originally posted on www.stalbertgazette.com on August 12, 2013*** 

Every August long weekend my husband’s family gets together at their family plot of land.  Every year the kids go nuts with their distant cousins and every year someone gets thrown off the hammock when the little ones decide to use it as a swing.

Every year someone takes on the job of making the kids a pinata. In years past we have had traditional pinatas, monsters, Wild Things, and one of my favorites was H1N1 which was a pig with a medical mask in honour of that year’s pandemic.

This year I decided to take on the task.  Not really out of desire.  I took it on because no one else had come forward yet and I guess I felt like it was my turn.

I come from a family of creative people.  My Dad is a talented woodworker and a life long photographer.  My mom is an accomplished seamstress and an inspired quilter.  My brother is an animator with an impressive resume including many motion pictures.  My brother spent his childhood with his nose in a sketch pad.  So as you can imagine I was never labeled as the “artistic one.”  In fact for years I was pretty  sure that my brother filtered all the creative talent out of my share of the gene pool.  My middle brother and I didn’t have a chance.

Until a few years ago the extent of my creativity was painting the walls of my house a different color.   I took up painting with acrylics for a while.  When I told a professional painter about my desire to try painting but my complete lack of talent he asked me when was the last time I painted.   I told him likely when I was 8.  His advice was this.  “Why would you expect yourself to paint better than an 8 year old?  Now go paint like an 8 year old.”  At the time lots of friends were having babies so I painted some children’s paintings for them.  It went well until I started wanting to paint more grown up stuff.  I got frustrated and eventually stopped.   Again I felt like I’m no good at this.

A kid’s pinata seemed like the perfect project.  A temporary piece of art that will thrill the kids regardless of what it looks like.  After all it is the candy they are looking for not the artistic merit of the delivery device.   So the kids and I went on a hunt for inspiration.

For those of you that don’t know me well I have an irrational love of a witty green frog (see my previous article Life Lessons from a Frog).  So my choice of pinata is not very surprising.  My kids and I scavenged for ideas and materials.  I procrastinated for days.  But once the creating started I got totally into it.  The process was oddly cathartic and restful.  Although watching my creations get destroyed ruthlessly by sugar obsessed children with a bat was mildly disturbing, I am pleased with the results.

Human nature is creative.  We are driven to create things, problem solve and expand our comfort zones.  When we push ourselves we can feel uncomfortable but when it works out we get a strong sense of pride and accomplishment.  It helps to stimulate our intellectual, emotional, physical and spiritual sides all at the same time.  That helps us feel integrated and whole rather than disjointed and incomplete.  It helps us find balance within ourselves.

So here is my hope.  I hope that everyone tries something creative today.  Whether it be sculpting your mashed potatoes or painting a masterpiece, take the time to do something silly, creative and maybe even pointless.  No one has to know or show it off with pride.  Who cares? Just do it.  You will feel better for it.

“I don’t have the grades for that,” I remember thinking this and other self-deprecating thoughts when I was in my first year as a psychology student.  “Only smart people can be therapists.”  “No one would ever take me seriously.”  There is no way I ever thought I would end up a counsellor.  I dismissed the idea as ludicrous even though I was drawn to the idea.  Instead I decided to cut out all the Help Wanted ads that I could find that interested me, jobs that I thought were just beyond what I thought I was qualified to do.  I figured someone was bound to give me a chance eventually.  And they did.

How I ended up exactly where I am is beyond me.  I started as a waitress, then worked as a City Worker while I was in school and ended up here.  There were twists along the way, personal and professional ones.  I gave up on being a psychologist early on.  The classes didn’t interest me.  I finished my Psychology degree and with that I thought my dreams of therapy were done.  Eventually I went on to be a Social Worker and found the profession that suits me like a pair of well worn jeans.  I continued on to do my Master’s and eventually ended up exactly where I wanted to be in the first place.

A year ago I made a pretty big decision. I decided that it was time to take the leap into Private Practice as a therapist.  I am still dumbfounded that it all worked out.  I worked hard, tackled my insecurities and ignored my fear of failure.  The last year has had its ups and downs.  My profession of choice is very emotion-centered and there are consequences to that.  I am proud of how I have handled myself.

I am grateful for every client that walks in my door.  They offer their lives and most personal thoughts up for me to analyze, explore and challenge.  They do this willingly.  The preciousness of the role I have in their lives is not lost on me.

One of the best ways to battle insecurity and self doubt is to celebrate success and mark occasions of joy.  Make a big deal of what you are doing right and focus less on what isn’t working.  That is the problem with many Self Help books.  They spend too much time telling you what is wrong with you.  It is a waste of energy and money. Celebrate who you are and what you have accomplished.  Change will come with acceptance, if it needs to come at all.

I tend to be a person that minimizes my own success and quietly celebrates my achievements.  I was always taught not to brag.  This blog and my practice have challenged me at every turn.  After all what kind of business doesn’t advertise its services and what kind of therapist can’t follow her own advice?

So today I am choosing to celebrate and be proud.  Krista Osborne Counselling Services started a year ago in August.  In my wildest dreams I never would have guessed this is where I would end up.  I’m fortunate  to do what I love and that is amazing.

Do you celebrate the successes in your life?  Do you need to make room in your life to celebrate and be proud of who you are?  Here is my challenge to you: take a second to celebrate and be proud of yourself for something you’ve accomplished no matter how small. Hopefully you will be happy with the outcome.

Today I was reading my local paper and ran across this article in the St. Albert Gazette.  I felt compelled to submit this Letter to the Editor in response.  Let me know what you think.  (UPDATE:  As a result of this letter the Gazette has rewritten the article.  The link here is to the new article as they have removed the original version.  I am impressed with their quick response.)

Re: Man creates stir atop pedestrian bridge

As a therapist working and living in the community of St. Albert, I was disappointed by the tone of Ms. Pruss’ article.  I was also dismayed that the Gazette chose to publish it in this manner.   There is nothing amusing about an intoxicated man on a pedestrian bridge.  I do not presume to know his motivations but if in fact he was a “would be jumper” as the headline suggests then the man needs our help not our ridicule. 

While I’m sure Ms. Pruss was intending to be witty with her flowery language describing the “acrobatic” skills of the man, I don’t think the language is professional from a journalistic standpoint as it editorializes rather than reports.  I also think it insensitive. This man likely has family and/or friends concerned for him and his safety. 

There are likely thousands of residents of St. Albert that suffer from alcoholism or mental health concerns.  Articles like this further stigmatize these issues and make it harder for them to reach for help. As a society we too often look for the quick laugh rather than provide compassion. 

To the man on the bridge: If you are reading this, there are people out there that can help you if you need it.  Here is the number for the Distress Line 780-482-4357 (HELP).  Maybe this was a drunken prank or a cry for help, I really don’t know. Either way, I hope you find the support you need. 

Krista Osborne, MSW, RSW.  

Years ago I came to the conclusion that I like to be busy.  I am happiest and most effective with my time when I have multiple things on the go.  I am not alone in this.  Many people in our society are overachievers and workaholics, sometimes to the detriment of their personal lives but not always.  I can’t remember a time when I held down just one job.  I am usually juggling volunteer work, school, multiple jobs and family.  I am not looking to brag or be praised.  In fact, sometimes I feel a bit ashamed.  Can I really be healthy, happy and available to my family when I have so much going on?  I feel like people judge me for it.  I do it all because I like to do things this way.  It is part of who I am.  It is how I am happiest.

This summer I have had some significant down time.  This is a good thing and much needed.  But down time makes me twitchy.  It hasn’t surprised anyone around me that I feel the need to fill that time with some project.  This year that project is me.  Just over a year ago, I was involved in a car accident that caused some significant whiplash.  Since then I have been feeling my age.  My body has decided that it isn’t 20 anymore.  I have been feeling lethargic, overwhelmed and weak.  So after months of being busy with other people’s emotions and personal issues, I thought I should carve out some time this summer for me.

I have started running again.  I have always considered myself a runner.  Even though until this year I hadn’t put on my runners for over 10 years.  The running started slow.  I ran a 5km race early in the season, and then another this month.  I put on the runners occasionally and went for a jog.

I decided to start training for a 10 km race.  So I got a training app and set out.  I am so excited that I am diving right in.  The training program has rest days built in.  Funny enough these are the hardest days so far for me.  I don’t want to take a day off.  I am excited to get moving and see progress.  I feel good after I have pushed my body further than it has gone in a while.  So the first couple rest days I ran anyway.

In therapy I often have to tell clients to slow down.  The work of therapy doesn’t actually take place in a session with me.  It takes place in how a person reflects on our conversation and how they integrate their new understanding into their lives. That takes time.  So multiple sessions in one week or long intense sessions, while cathartic, are not often useful long term.  I tell clients that is it okay to hibernate for a while, throw pity parties and slow down.  There is no problem if you want to cry, avoid and distract yourself from your issues.  As long as you come back to the issue calmer, with a different perspective and stronger.  The critical part is coming back to the issue until it is either resolved, accepted or no longer relevant.  Life is a race of strength and endurance not speed.

After a rest day (that I actually rested) in my training program this week I ran further and faster than I have in the weeks before.  My body needed the break.  Eureka!!!

So today is my rest day.  I am a bit twitchy but I am going to rest anyway.  (Now what other project can I start working on….)

It has taken me months to finally come to the conclusion that I have a problem.  And one that could turn into a pretty big issue if my family doesn’t address it.  You would think a therapist would be pretty able to face a problem head on and address it.  At least that is the pressure I put on myself anyway.

My problem is about 60 lbs, furry and leaves pools of drool on our hardwood floor.  She is an anxious dog.  And big anxious dogs can be trouble.  When she was little I took her to an off leash park and she ran full speed back to the car as soon as I unhooked her tether.

We have done what we can to socialize her.  She goes to a local kennel about once a week to play with other dogs.  She has gotten better with most dogs.  She still doesn’t like all of them.  She is a big chicken despite the fact that she could eat most other dogs for lunch if she wanted.   We took her to training.  She sits very well, can roll over and likes to flip treat off her nose into her mouth.  She loves our kids and anyone else she considers her people.  For the most part she is outgrowing her puppy years.  She doesn’t chew walls anymore.  The occasional shoe still gets sacrificed.

But when she gets excited, overstimulated or runs into a random male that she doesn’t know or approve of, she lunges, tries to nip and it can be a bit scary if you are on the other end of it.  I keep thinking if I love Bailey enough or if she just gets a bit older she will grow out of it.  I want to be patient and see.  It is easier to ignore the problem than do something about it.  I am ashamed that I don’t have one clue how to help her through this.  I can only imagine how this would feel if it were my child struggling.

A few days ago I was re-reading some of my old blog posts and this one on anxiety jumped out at me.  I am getting anxious about my dog’s anxiety and it is taking over.  Further proof of the contagion of anxiety.  The other weekend we were at our cabin and I couldn’t take her off the leash on a 100 acre parcel of land for fear she would bite other family members that she didn’t know so well.  (She lunged and nipped at one earlier in the day to my huge embarrassment).   I spent the day strapped to her or walking in fields alone with her to avoid the others.  This is not at all what I want to do on summer holidays.  I want her to be able to run free at the cabin and enjoy herself.

Well I guess it is time to take my own advice and do something to take control.  I admit it.  I have a problem.  Today I made some phone calls to some trainers.  It will take time and patience but asking for help is the first step.

 

Maybe it is because I have been wrapping up therapy for some families and some clients lately.  Maybe it is because my son recently finished his last day of preschool.  Perhaps it is just where I am at in life, the dreaded middle age.  Lately I have been contemplating goodbyes.

It has always been my belief that the middles of things are where there is the greatest value.  You can see the truth of this in a jelly filled donut, a gooey slice of pizza and, in my personal favourite, a buttery piece of garlic bread.

It is true in life as well. It is not how someone died that matters,  it is how they lived.  It is not how a relationship ended but how it made you feel, what you learned from it about yourself and about others.  That is the real meat of a relationship.  It is not how you felt when you first met them but how you learned to be together during the regular stuff.

It has dawned on me recently that perhaps endings are more important than I originally thought.  Maybe this is because as I get older I want to hold on to hope that I am not just living the best years of my life but that things will continue to get better.

A friend of mine many years ago told me about watching her husband die of cancer.  She told me that she was thankful that he embraced death rather than fighting it.  She told me that it was a real gift for her that she knew he was okay with how the story of his life would end.  Of course it wasn’t pretty nor was it easy on either of them but he made as graceful an exit as he could.

While I am wrapping up sessions with clients, I often find myself wanting to hang on.  I like being a part of people’s lives.  I build intense emotional relationships with people.  I am changed by them as I hope they are by me in some small way as well.  Part of these relationships is the process of letting go.  It is often the most important part.  Helping people experience a good goodbye rather than a traumatic one.  Ultimately all of our relationships will end in a goodbye.

I went on a family vacation with my parents and siblings recently.  It was amazing to watch my parent’s joy in simply seeing their children and grandchildren all in the same room at the same time.  My mother welled up with tears watching the grandkids simply have their picture taken together.  My Dad spoke of the kids as  being his “legacy.”  It is then that I realized that while I hope I still have decades with my parents that they are already preparing us and themselves for the inevitable endings that will eventually come.  While this may seem painfully sad it also is truly amazing.

A goodbye at its best leaves everyone feeling a sense of loss, pain and sadness, but also a sense of hope and strength.   Ideally it is a process that includes reflection, acceptance and, if we are lucky, one that can be done with grace.  Whether it be a relationship, a loved one, a move or a preschool graduation, a good goodbye leaves everyone knowing that they are a little better off from having the experience.

So I have decided to change my thinking.  I still like to enjoy the middle of things.  The jelly in the middle of the donut is pretty good.  But like any good baker, my favorite part of cooking is licking the bowl while cleaning up and reflecting on a job well done.