Raina asks me why I can’t just relax. I tell her that I’m afraid that if I stop moving, I won’t be able to start moving again. We don’t know what’s happened. All we know is that they found her in the bathroom...0
“Folk wisdom is filled with ghosts who refuse to rest in their graves until their stories are told.”
Our stories — these ones, the ones we hold dear about our deepest sorrows — and the sharing of them help us to open a conversation about grief as a global community.
How and where do you talk about it, if at all?
Sharing our stories helps peel back the layers and allow the topic of death, dying, and grief to be accessible and acceptable to talk about, whether around a kitchen table, on social media, in a yoga class, street corner, or at a formal dinner with strangers.
What is your experience of grief? Who (or what) did you lose?
This is a place we can share the nitty-gritty, hard-to-tell details; the moments of heart expansion and the never-ending stories about the nights where we thought the tears wouldn’t stop.
This is a safe space for storytellers. If moved to comment on anyone’s story, please be respectful and keep in mind the guidelines for our virtual sacred space:
“No fixing, no saving, no advising, no setting anyone straight.”