Thursday, May 6, 2021

Re-entry: things to be aware of as the world opens back up

a  new dawn
Even though the pandemic is raging out of control in some areas of the world, with the vaccination rollouts we are seeing a fair amount of regions loosening restrictions.




Wednesday, April 14, 2021

how story heals: try this one



I'm starting to say this frequently, but when Miriam contacted me about being on the podcast, my gut felt a deep since of resonance as I read her story. As if our connection was meant to be.

There's something about when someone else's love and loss and grief stems from similar relationships that greet my heart in a way that feels like a huge exhale and a yes, this person speaks my language; they know the terrain I come from.

This story of a brother and mother, the sole members of her family, dying within a year, and how Miriam's deep sense of loss and grief were able to be put into creativity and connection is a story everyone can benefit from hearing: the full spectrum of it all. The possiblity of being fully open to the depths of how grief will have its way with us and also gently being opened in a powerfully transformative way and growing something from that loss.

I say that listening to these stories will make you a better human and I 100% stand behind that. We come from a lengthy time of programming to limit our exposure death which, in turn, leaves us inept to have the capacity to sit with people during and in the aftermath of death. And ourselves. 

Engage with these stories. Hit pause when and if you need to. And know that by listening to this intimate exposure into people's deepest stories you are teaching yourself how to be fully present for yourself and others; your avoidance impulse will gradually dissolve. That is a gift that keeps on giving. 

A reminder: I have psychological training and a long career in clinical counselling and therapy. Listening to these stories is, in fact, a form of exposure therapy. And the primary therapy for a fear, as most have for death, is exposure. These stories can heal.

Thanks for being here and thank you for listening. 

Sunday, March 21, 2021

Calling Bullshit on "Grief"


Grief,” I fear, has become a buzz-word.


Monday, March 15, 2021

My Old Friend Death

   


This was a recently published episode from our podcast. I love this episode so much. Brooke has been a die hard (no pun intended) fan of the project and it's just a beautiful affirmation to hear how this grassroots little movement may have been instrumental in someone's expansion. Another thing important about this episode is her unique perspective of the grief experience as young child. 

Brooke Hartman is a wife, mom, and friend. Death became an "old friend" early on in life with the loss of her grandfather- which acted as a catalyst to grief not associated with death. In her journey through multiple deaths of close friends and loved ones, Brooke learned that she had a desire to become more educated in regards to death and death practices She has become a nursing student at her local community college, where it's her goal to become an RN to work in hospice care to help educate and advocate for others regarding death. You can connect with Brooke on IG @bhartman7785.

Since this project is a one person band, I am constantly playing with ways of how to make the work involved as balanced and efficient as possible to best manage my time. It's a work in progress for sure.

One thing I did in 2020 that I found relatively successful in the endeavor was rather than record epsiodes on a near weekly basis I "batch recorded" so I'd be able to have some time off over the summer. That was effective in giving me more time for the writing projects I am doing and balancing family and life in general. 

In fact, it was successful enough that I am on my way to implementing that plan again. Many people had contacted the project asking to be included as a guest and, of course, I jotted down folks I was interested in having on an episode. So, in a great difference from the first two years of recording, I contacted those I wanted to invite in the first round and within a few days my schedule was filled for the years worth of recording. That sees me recording every Monday (US Sunday) until mid June. 

Since the project has moved to every two week episode releases, the momentum of the project is much more manageable and I can release extra episodes on the alternate weeks if something pertinent comes up. That flexibility is welcome as is the decrease in the pressure of publishing weekly.

Our podcast has recently been picked up by Luminary which is a newer and comprehensive place to listen to podcasts. You can see our  lists of where you can listen on the main webpage of the project.

Thanks for staying with this on this journey. We have some exciting things unfolding. As always it's a beautiful thing to watch the wave of death literacy projects continue to rise and the interest and conversations surrounding death becoming more and more normalized. 

As always: thanks for being here. 

Oh, and it is so very helpful if you share our project and podcast with anyone you think might need it. We've been a grassroots, word of mouth piece of work. And along those lines, if you take a moment to review the podcast when/if you listen, that is greatly helpful as well.

All things good!
Becky

Wednesday, February 10, 2021

missing you

 

on days like this

the bird song

the rain drips down the glass

the soft breeze

i dream that just maybe

we are not so far from another

maybe our seasons have collided

my waning summer day

unseasonably chilled

clouds blanketing us

and yours

a warm winter day

where sun embraces you

and puddles form

and the bird calls ask if it is time

on days like this

i wonder if our souls are skipping

holding hands

splashing in the wet

sweat collecting under our rain coats

creeping down from my scalp

carving a stream on my face

where my tears 

that water our separation

have previously flowed

on days like this

i hope this connection i feel is not 

my imagination

but that force they speak of 

that connects people in the here and there

across the planet

into the beyond

i think they call it 

love


Friday, January 22, 2021

I'm not better yet: presidential trauma & what we need to heal


Talk about a juxtaposition (yay, an opportunity to use that word correctly).

My citizenship in this world.

For the past (almost) 10 years I’ve resided in New Zealand.

I was born and bred in the United States.

I am a US citizen. (and yes, we still pay our taxes)

I am a New Zealand citizen. (taxes here too)

During the first tornado season in the US, after we moved to New Zealand, the view from afar taught me a profound lesson about how those on the “outside” view the United States.

Having lived in areas that were relative tornado allies, I was shocked when I observed, from afar, a tornado warning in the area where some of our adult children lived.

Making mad contact with them to take appropriate shelter, as well as the unsettled feeling in my gut, highlighted the dynamic that was unfolding.

When you live in the path of tornadoes, it’s necessary to rest in a state of denial. “Odds tell me there will not be tornado in this area.”

Or as I counseled one panicked 10 year old after being caught in one, “odds are that another would not strike your street.” But one did the next week.

The tornado denial is much like the denial an American has to live with regarding the fact that a large faction of people are packing heat.

The first time I returned after that legislation was put in practice and was reminded by the no guns allowed visual, at the rest stop on the way to my family and at the cinema, a deep sense of unrest rose within me.

What you don’t consider while you are living in the midst of these impending catastrophes is that your psychological/emotional self works overtime to process or deny these unpredictabilities so you can continue to walk in your world.

It isn’t until you spend some time looking, from afar, at your old self or your current loved ones negotiating unsafe terrain that you understand the magnitude of living in that type of space and time.

According to Maslow’s hierarchy of needs — security and safety are basic needs necessary for humans to live a functional life.

Unfortunately in an unstable environment of conceal and carry and the navigation of an emotionally volatile sociopathic narcissistic personality, everyone has felt unsafe. (hey, I have a license to use those descriptors; I’m not being rude, it is my clinical assessment based on four years of observation)

Unfortunately, trying to find that sense of security and safety that has been deconstructed to a greater degree in the last four years, frightened even more people to seek their sense of safety and security through weapons.

Quite a juxtaposition indeed.

The rate of gun violence rose.

The rate of mass shootings rose.

A sense of safety and security continued to decline.

Facts that are quite evident to the greater world looking on; especially a peace-loving mama who still has adult kids and grandkids living in the states. A situation most US residents are so enmeshed within, they may not be able to look at it objectively.

Typically leaning towards news-fasts, since the marathon news viewing I engaged in from election night on, I’ve been riveted and greatly stressed by the news coming from the US.

The day after the election, my husband was on a flight to San Francisco to support some of our kids in the aftermath of a personal covid crisis that coincided with a new baby’s arrival, allowing him to support multiple family at once.

That left me and our 16 year old in New Zealand for seven weeks to look through that lens from an even more anxiety provoking perspective as the covid surges in the states were reported.

If he became symptomatic or, worse yet, positive for covid, would he be allowed on the flight home?

The travel insurance wouldn’t cover covid. Could our life savings be eaten up if he ended up in an ICU?

If positive, he’d have to wait months for a return flight as all the mandated managed isolation beds had been booked.

Finally home on Christmas eve, it was acknowledged that it had been a beautiful journey of loving connection and support for him and our loves, notwithstanding those challenges to our basic needs of safety and security, much like everyone around the globe is experiencing across the board.

With the constant negativity and fraudulent claims being made and anger ramping, I sat watching the final congressional acknowledgment of the electoral college votes and a day of my life disappeared as the riot on the Capitol unfolded while I sat, eyes glued, heart hurting, recalling the disbelief of the election day four years previous–– which taught me that even the unimaginable could happen––until the final count.

Living in a state of waiting for the next tragic foot to drop; we didn’t need that step to be taken by the person who had taken an oath to protect their citizens. This type of instability which had been on repeat over the past four years caused great cognitive dissonance or as I politely remove my clinical hat: mindf*ck.

Yesterday morning, instead of beginning my inaugaral watch at 5 am in New Zealand, I had to get the green light from media outlets that violence hadn’t broken out before I could tune in, not knowing if my mind-body was up for immersion into more civil unrest.

After the all clear, as I watched the inauguration unfold, I was disappointed that I wasn’t feeling an overwhelming sense of relief.

Finally we were hearing uniting rather than divisive words. Plans were being made to systematically approach the pandemic. Healing was a theme.

Emotional literacy was returning to the White House as we were hearing of President Biden’s thoughts in expressions that were not described in extremes- — very very good or very very bad.

And then his honoring of those who had died from covid happened and it opened a floodgate within me. Sobbing, I was overwhelmed at the visceral effect the White House lacking heart and soul for the past four years had on me.

As my wise mama raised me saying, don’t tell me, show me.

Finally, we were being shown heart and compassion within the context of the President of the United States.

Not the first criteria we usually think of when voting for president and a quality I didn’t realize I’d missed so much until seeing its return during the inauguration day proceedings.

And, finally, this day had come. We had a new president and he wasn’t heralded in by bombings or shootings or massive discord as we’d feared.

Equal parts disappointing and understandable, today has not brought a euphoria, because these emotionally connected, openly expressive messages that were shared yesterday highlighted what we were robbed of the past four years.

When President Biden would speak, from the heart, of his deceased son, Beau, or the many who have suffered and died in this pandemic, or his flare of anger when he insisted as he was swearing in staff that if anyone ever disparaged a co-worker and did not treat others with dignity and respect, they would be fired on the spot, it felt like a leg I had been missing was being reattached.

Is it possible that we can now stand stronger and more united? Time will tell.

Yesterday highlighted the energy that is now being disseminated into the pores of the White House, while evicting the negative energy left behind.

This healing energy has been far too long in coming.

And we suffered for its absence.

No, the relief has not yet landed within me because the grief of what we were without during the previous presidential term, and the trauma left in its path, glows like neon.

We are a people whose basic sense of security and safety was held hostage for an entire presidential term.

No matter what your political persuasion was, the recent occupants of the White House robbed Americans of their basic need for security and safety within their own borders.

My family has long leaned heavily left and I know that our new president probably seems too centric for many of their political tastes, but when we see how extreme the right had yielded, it seems a law of physics that the only way we could have voted in change was for it to be born from the mid-ground.

And with this vantage point, far across the Pacific Ocean, what I know for sure is that I needed a U.S. president who holds the capacity to lead from the heart.

I’d be remiss if I did not mention that I have witnessed compassionate leadership through New Zealand’s Prime Minister, Jacinda Ardern, as I enjoy the freedom that comes from a systematic approach to the pandemic with no current community covid cases.

We need a United States President who has the capacity to hold the attention span and temperament to do the same for the US.

Who has a command of emotional literacy and can acknowledge joy and pain, triumph and failure and all of the colors in between.

Who has known loss, acknowledged it, and felt his feelings so deeply, his core is led to ease that type of suffering for others if at all possible.

Who can sit with discomfort and the unknown and not incite panic or distrust of each other.

Above all else, a president who openly expresses the desire for all of these things and expresses, foremost, a goal of mending the wounds that the last four years have torn asunder.



WRITTEN BY

The Death Dialogues Project

a project created by Becky Aud-Jennison after loss eviscerated her — story heals

find this on deathdialogues.medium.com







 

Monday, December 7, 2020

the longest hour


Yorkie sees her sitting on the mounting block, mired in her anticipatory grief

she's wondering how could her brother, her rock, be dying

Yorkie ambles, stopping at the gateway of the makeshift arena sitting high in the hills, the sea in the distance

she's wondering how she will go on living if her brother, her rock, dies

Yorkie pauses, enclosures go against his nature– those that went before him were not restrained but roamed freely in herds, avoiding any situation that might make them vulnerable to predators

she's in her own world, seeking respite, eyes gazing downward unable to give anything any mind except the fact her brother is dying 

Yorkie enters the gate, the enclosure and slowly, quietly, sidles up to her and touches his velvet lips to the top of her head and leaves them there

she feels the touch and wants to startle yet chooses calm and she wonders if he can possibly know that her heart is splintered as she tries to breathe into the fact that her brother, her surrogate benevolent father, is dying

Yorkie steps forward until his chest rests against her, his neck forming a protective arch over her, his head hanging on the other side of hers, fully enveloping her body 

she feels the whisper of his damp breath, exchanging a language unspoken, as she frets about arriving in time to be with her brother as his life energy exits his body

Yorkie stays in that sheltering position for the longest hour as if attempting to keep all that aches away from her

she's never felt this held in her entire life, except, maybe, when she was three and he was ten– her brother