Grief

Gratitude Is Hard Sometimes

Gratitude Is Hard Sometimes

anger, Broken Heart, death, Gratitude, Grief
(Image credit: Faith Counts) I found myself struggling with what to write for this weeks blog because I've had a week from the pits of hell. I am sure if I dug extremely deep within that I'd be able to find something to be grateful for. But quite honestly I am struggling to come up with anything positive or encouraging to say about gratitude. I just lost two friends to the disease of addiction, one of whom I live with, all within the matter of FOUR DAYS! Right now I'd lie if I said gratitude filled my heart. Anger, hatred, grief, sadness, and disbelief are what comes to mind that fill my heart. Two lives in their prime, 26 & 27, were prematurely snuffed out. Yes I have thankfulness for the very many blessings but right now gratitude eludes me completely. The struggle to remai...
Tuesday’s Temptation: Fake Joy

Tuesday’s Temptation: Fake Joy

Grief, prayer, Prayer Practice
This may be a peculiarly western temptation: Move through grief, fast, so you can claim joy. But I would contend that it is a fake joy when you don't go through the angsty, agitating, worrisome moments of grief. By now, most of us are familiar with Elisabeth Kubler Ross's five stages of grief. David Kessler writes: I was privileged to co-author two books with the legendary, Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, as well as adapt her well-respected stages of dying for those in grief. As expected, the stages would present themselves differently in grief. In our book, On Grief and Grieving we present the adapted stages in the much needed area of grief. The stages have evolved since their introduction and have been very misunderstood over the past four decades. They were never meant to help tuck messy em
Time of Orphaning

Time of Orphaning

death, Grief, Short Story
It’s tough when you are orphaned at seventy. I say that without rancor or irony. I’d known Mrs. O’Donall and her daughter for fifteen years, which at the time of this story was the entire length of my life. The ladies - as everyone called them - were fixtures in our parish. Each morning they arrived at St. Anselm's at precisely six-fifty for daily Mass. Their consistency was such that my mom said she "could tell time by them." They generally made their way into church arm-in-arm and always sat in the first pew. While the younger lady was fragile, tentative and wide-eyed, the older one was stern, sturdy and quick-minded. With her daughter in tow, she worked on the Annual Church Carnival Planning Committee and in the Women’s Auxiliary as well, relied upon to help the nuns clean the sac