Learn how Native American tradition of a Talking Stick can help others speak honestly and listen without pretense or judgmenet.
When they come to powwow, Native Americans pass a “talking stick” to everyone gathered within the circle. About a foot long, it is often adorned with beads and feathers. Two rules are observed: only the person holding the stick at that moment can speak, everyone else must listen; whatever that person says while holding the stick has to be truthful, no pretenses or coverups.
I recognized the power of this format to elicit deeper and more meaningful stories that can emanate from the hero within. The format also levels the playing field, equalizing the power for all participants regardless of position; no voice dominates, and no voice is excluded.
At our first meeting, we didn’t have a stick. A smooth, black rock was on the table, so we used that. It became our touchstone. I added two rules of my own: “We are free to pass the rock without speaking; no apology needed. Also, we must resist the urge to give advice or philosophize. Instead, we each tell a personal story or experience about the topic.”
Monthly sessions usually start by asking if anyone is seeking counsel. Someone identifies a need, and the touchstone is passed. Sessions have included multiple themes. One staff member spoke of a family death, and the rest of us responded with our own stories of recovering from a death or loss.
Another time a nurse said she was feeling “lost,” which elicited stories when others felt lost and uncertain. One nurse said she was having difficulties with a family member’s alcohol usage; the rest of us responded with our own stories of how alcohol had wounded people we loved.
An adult son moving back into a parent’s home prompted story-telling of lifestyle changes and boundary setting with older children.
One session responded to the need of a staff member whose young adult son had stopped any contact with her. All responded with stories of children (sometimes themselves) rebelling against parents. One staff member noted changes in health as she aged, realizing that she might need to consider retirement. The rock was passed to gather stories about our own experiences of aging and illness. It is not unusual for various aspects of Soul Injury to surface.
Sometimes the sessions might involve confrontation. Marie privately confronted Jane about Jane’s anger. Jane was surprised, expressing little insight into its cause. In a subsequent pass-the-rock session, Jane asked for stories about how the rest of us fight or flight anger. As a result, she realized that she camouflaged her anger with chaos and drama. Her journey to meet her shadowed anger is now depicted with a graphic on our Old Rugged Path. It shows a woman sternly pointing her finger, saying: “Hello anger. I’ve tried every way I know to ignore you. I prefer to get dramatic instead, saying I was ‘ruined.’ I’m reclaiming my power now. I wasn’t ruined. I was angry. I can say it instead of being defeated by it. Hello anger. You’re my new friend.”
We don’t always talk about personal issues. Sessions might address conflicting feelings about taking care of a difficult patient: “What inside me keeps me from loving this patient? What keeps me from responding graciously? What button is this patient pushing inside me and why?” Once there was a general climate of grouchiness on the unit. Staff chose to address it by inventing a “grouchiness scale.” Zero was mellow and 10 was irritable and grouchy. Then each of us was asked to address this further: “I’m a ____ right now. What I need to do to lower that number by one is ______.” Sometimes questions focus on issues our patients struggle with: “A time when I hid behind my stoic wall when it would have been better for me to come out is ________ ;” We also did “A time when I let my feelings misguide me rather than applying stoicism so I could accomplish my goal was _______.” And, of course the question we ask all our patients is most important to ask ourselves: “If I died today, what would be left unsaid or undone.”
Sometimes we work too hard; play gets stuffed in our shadow. That’s when we start a session with: “A story that always makes me laugh.” By the time we’ve all had our moment with the rock, we’re usually laughing so hard we have to choose between holding our bellies or wiping away the tears.
There has been little overstepping of boundaries. Self-controlled disclosure creates an atmosphere for safe and comfortable sharing. I’m thankful that Native Americans understood the wisdom of this powerful and meaningful forum for connecting and growing together, drawing out deeper insights from within.
The touchstone has collected hundreds of stories over the years. Wisdom is found in stories because stories have value beyond facts or biographical information. “The story is not told to lift you up, to make you feel better, or to entertain you. The story is meant to take the spirit into a descent to find something that is lost or missing and to bring it back to consciousness again,” writes Clarissa Pinkola Estes. She’s right. Stories are healing; they restore wholeness to our fractured selves. They help us find ourselves. There’s always room for each of us in a story, even though it’s someone else’s story. It reminds me of something I read: “We comfort others not from the foundation of our superior faith, but from the commonality of our mutual struggles.” A good story almost always has a “mutual struggle” that connects each of us in the “common-unity” of the community.
Sometimes, providing the Veteran perspective can provide healing for bereaved families of veterans.
by Deborah Grassman
Ben, a friend of mine, was a World War II veteran. Over time, I came to see how stoicism, PTSD, and Soul Injuries had impacted his life. When Ben died, I met his five adult children, all of whom lived out of state. I could see that some of them felt distant from their father. I could also see that they really didn’t grasp the importance and relevance that the military had in shaping their father’s life and their own lives. I wrote them a letter to offer insight that might provide a healing perspective for how the effects of the military had impacted them. Later, I learned from Ben’s wife that this letter helped their children to better understand their father. It also helped one daughter to stop blaming herself for her father’s emotionally-distant treatment of her in her childhood, causing an insidious Soul Injury.
This is the letter:
Dear Susan, Greg, Jane, Paul, and Amy,
As I came away from the funeral service last night, I was left with a desire to share my own story about your Dad. I have known your Dad for the past 10 years as part of our church community. He started a small group in his home, and we have been meeting monthly since that time. Your Dad was careful to say in the first meeting that this would not be the kind of meeting where people “spill their guts,” and your Dad kept his word about that for five years. One night, however, your Dad started talking about the death of your sister. As he spoke, it became apparent that the death of this daughter at age five had been deeply disturbing, though he had never let himself grieve. Instead, he had boxed up his pain, hoping it would go away. Now, 40 years later, here it was again. This time though, he let himself feel his pain. He told of his despair over losing a child at that tender age, and he let himself cry. He was embarrassed at first, but soon the emotion gave way to the sobs of tears he had held back so long. Your Mom said it was the first time she’d ever seen him cry. I think your Dad was a little different after that day. A part of his heart was unlocked and his sharing became more open, his feelings expressed more freely.
I also think of your Dad at our 4th of July party. We did a tribute to the veterans for the freedom we were celebrating that day. I called the three veterans who were at the party to the front of the group and seated them in places of honor. Then we sang God Bless America and saluted them, which meant a lot to your Dad. Your Dad sacrificed a lot for his country. He bore a lot of physical and emotional scars from the war. Those scars are what I thought of last night when I saw the flag draped across his coffin.
I learned more about your Dad’s struggles after the war when I visited him in the hospital last week. He wasn’t taking any painkillers for his pain. He said he wouldn’t have anything to do with morphine. Then, he told me the story of how he had become addicted to it with his injuries during the war. He said that there weren’t facilities during wartime for fixing the injury. Instead, he said the soldiers were “doped up” until medical services could be provided. After being on morphine for many months, he got hooked on it. After his injuries were repaired and healed, he continued on the morphine. He told me about a time when he beat up a pharmacist friend of his to get more. He said that was about the “stupidest” thing he ever did and was deeply ashamed, but it served as the wake-up call to kick his habit. He kicked it the only way he knew how. He went off into a cabin in the woods. He stayed there by himself and sweated it out. Your Dad said it was pure hell. He sat with a loaded gun to his head and his finger on the trigger for many of those days. I think it was a combination of will power on your Dad’s part, defiance toward his father, and faith in God that kept him from pulling that trigger. At any rate, as I listened to your Dad’s story, my respect for him deepened. I had a greater appreciation of his stoicism. I had a deeper sense of who he was and why he was.
Your Dad had a hard life. And I think these last 10 years after he retired enabled him to let the grizzly bear in him fade and the tender teddy bear emerge. These were years when your Dad softened with age so that insight and wisdom grew, and pride and introversion faded, years that softened the blows in life that your Dad had to face and the hardness that it took for him to face them. My hope is that through his death, you will have a deeper sense of his life, a deeper sense of his love for you, and a deeper sense of yourselves.
You can receive free pamphlets from your closest Dignity Memorial funeral home. Use them to educate Veterans’ families. You can also download the pamphlets below by clicking on them.
Current Link: https://opuspeace.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/07/Dignity-Family.pdf
Deborah Grassman offers an array of different prayers that can be used for various events and settings.
by Deborah Grassman
I’m often asked to provide prayer for public functions. When I pray, I include the principles of abiding and reckoning with Soul Injuries as outlined in The Hero Within because at the core of authentic healing is prayer. Anytime I am abiding with my feelings, reckoning with life situations, I am living a prayer; I am bringing conscious intention to my thoughts, words, and actions. I am also embracing the Opus Peace Prayer: Cultivate in me the willingness to re-own, re-home, and revitalize scattered pieces of myself so that I might be restored to wholeness. Grow in me the honesty, courage, and humility to release my fears of who I am and who I am not. Fuel me with your grace. Amen
These are some of the public prayers that I have used. The first is a prayer I provide at workshops for clinicians. The subsequent prayers were provided respectively at a Women’s Day Conference, a Nurse Week Ceremony, a Martin Luther King Day celebration, a Community Prayer Breakfast, and my Commissioning Ceremony.
A Prayer for Clinicians
“I ask that we close our eyes and go into that deeper part of ourselves… that place that connects with peace… that place that connects with Love… that place beyond our material selves… to that place that generates vitality…into our souls…our souls might be carrying pain…sometimes we might get separated from our soul and lose our sense of self. For these few moments, let yourself abide in this place within your deep self.
Take a minute now to think about all the patients and families you’ve cared for in your career… Think about all the patients and families you are caring for now… Take a minute to acknowledge the difficulty of caring for some patients. Silently acknowledge the struggle it sometimes requires to bring kindness to some people who may not be so kindly themselves. Acknowledge how lonely it sometimes feels; how tiring it can be.
Now take a deep breath and let your breath take you to that deeper place within you… that place where there is energy to love the unlovable… energy to touch the untouchable… to heal the unhealable. Acknowledge your need for this energy and your willingness to receive the vitalizing energy from within your soul.
Now, think about all the patients and families that you have yet to care for at some point on their future journey… Thank them in advance for the privilege of serving them. In your heart, ask them to let you abide with them… to abide their heartaches and hope… to abide their suffering. Acknowledge the ways in which you might let them down… Be willing to own that (not in a blaming way, but simply letting it be instructive)… Acknowledge the ways in which you, too, are a wounded healer… In your heart, seek to be re-formed by the wisdom of your patients and their families as they redeem their suffering.
As you prepare to leave this interior space, may you go forth with a blessing. You can respond “Yes” after each blessing if you’d like:
May each of you leave here today with a deeper sense of who you really are.
May you gain a deeper sense of your connection with each other, your patients, and with your own soul.
May you have a deeper sense of purpose and greater understanding of your mission in life and in the agency where you provide care.
May you have a profound sense of how important you are to your patients, their families, to each other, to me, to your own families, and to the Timeless Source of Energy who created all of us together.
Mainly, I thank each of you here for having a heart that is willing to suffer the brokenness of this world. Your footprints touch my soul, and I am healed.”
Prayer for a Women’s Day Conference
We are grateful we can join together this day – as women, as men, as people who work together – as people who pray together as we are now. Dear God, we are truly grateful that this country and this institution know the value of acknowledging and honoring the spiritual nature of each one of us, and that we can have this opportunity to gather as we are this moment.
Dear God, as women, we sometimes struggle with our roles in society. Sometimes we feel pulled in many different directions at the same time. Sometimes we strive to adopt a male-like image that may not exactly fit us. Sometimes we try to conform to a male-dominated culture that has not yet completely come to understand the gifts we, as women, offer. Sometimes God, we, ourselves, use sexuality in our dress or subtle ways we act to gain power in the world; we get fooled into believing the gifts valued by society are the molds we should try to become rather than the mold You would have us become.
God, help each of us guard against trying to be like men – just for the sake of being like men. Help us be able to discern between “equality” and “mimicking” lest we betray the very gifts of womanhood you have given us – the very gifts you need in this world – the very gifts you created to fulfill our soulful natures. God, help us accept those gifts and give us the courage to resist being anything other than the unique woman you have created each of us to be. Help us know and understand our inner beauty – to know and understand our soulfulness – to know and understand You. Amen.”
A Prayer for Nurse Week Ceremonies
“Dear Heavenly Father,
We come before you this day as your sons and daughters, united in the spirit of God. We come before you recognizing the suffering from the Soul Injuries in our world. We ask you this day to open us to our deeper selves so that we might learn the lessons you would have for us in our earthly strife.
We come before you this day recognizing the many gifts that you have provided this Medical Center that allows us to do your healing work. Sometimes, though, we struggle with our humanness. Sometimes, God, we feel so alone as we tend your ill and lame. Sometimes, God, we feel burdened when we are needed to carry the load for someone else or face the tragedies we see each day.
Dear God, it is so hard to see your light in some of our patients. We get frustrated. Sometimes we feel unappreciated or even mistreated by them. Sometimes we feel at odds with our coworkers, and we don’t get along with each other. Sometimes, God, it is just so darn hard to love one another. Forgive us when we fail to do that. At these times when we cannot see you clearly, guide us into love. For it is your love that heals the unhealable. It is your love that touches the untouchable. It is your love that comforts the uncomforted.
We are often called to be your angels of mercy. Open our hearts to answer that call. Fill us with your presence so that we may know you are with us on the journey. We come before you this day as a health-care community. We ask your forgiveness when we forget that we are not the true healer. We ask your forgiveness when we forget our paychecks are not our true reward.
We ask that you break us open, God. Break our hearts of stone that keep us from feeling you in one another. Break our senses that keep us from seeing and hearing you in each other. Break our spirits open when they fail to yield to your will in our lives.
Dear God, we ask you this day to re-form us into the healing ministers you call each of us to be. We ask you to re-form us into a community of healers. Re-form the ministry this Medical Center is called to offer. Broken as we are God, bring us together as we are this day. Wounded healers that we are, help us bring you to all those in our midst. Amen.”
A Prayer for Martin Luther King Day Celebration
“Dear Heavenly Father,
We gather here today to remember. We gather here today to celebrate and to act.
We pause to remember that each of us here is a person of prejudice. Sometimes we don’t like to admit that, God, even to ourselves. But we know that healing is not ours until we can come before you, confess our humanness, and give you the filters of prejudice in each of our minds that keep us from each other and from you.
We pause to remember Martin Luther King, Jr., – a man of courage and vision – a man who responded to your call to help us confront those dark places in our souls where injustice lurks. These dark places in our souls seduce us into thinking that the color of our skin or the characteristics of our bodies are what are important to you.
Also, we remember Martin Luther King, Sr. – a man who calls us into holiness by his example of love for you. A man who had every reason to hate and be bitter with the murders of his wife and two sons, yet he refused to hate and be bitter. He chose to love you and your people instead. We remember the healing image of him sitting with George Wallace and George Wallace asking him to pray for him and we remember Martin, Sr. saying lovingly that he would.
And we celebrate, dear God. We celebrate that in the midst of a broken world, you are here. We celebrate that in the midst of injustice, hatred, and violence is justice, love, and peace if we but choose to turn our face from those shadows of our souls into the Light that is you. We celebrate today the gift of Martin Luther King Jr. and his Dad – men who had the courage to be you in our world – men who have been beacons calling us home to you.
Dear God, our prayer to you today is that these gifts you have given us, will call us into action. We pray the sufferings of our past as a people and as individuals are not in vain, but experiences that draw us closer to your love, your peace, your healing. You tell us we are to pray for our enemies, to pray for those that persecute us, to pray for those who hurt us. Those prayers are so hard for us to do, yet that is our prayer today. Each of us here suffer the scars of pain and injustice in our lives. Help us recognize that our pain and our anger are calling us into the action of drawing nearer to you. Our action today is prayer for all the George Wallaces in our homes, work places, and communities. We pray they might experience your healing love. And we pray for the George Wallaces in ourselves God. Those places inside us that lure us into thinking that our view is the right one and that others are not worthy, those places inside us that deceive us into thinking we are better than others because they are different and not worthy of our respect. We give our prejudices to you, God. We give you the injustice of our arrogance and self-righteousness that separate us from others and ask that you transform them with your love and forgiveness into acts of kindness and mercy that we may be lights in the midst of the darkness of a broken world. Amen.
A Prayer for a Community Prayer Breakfast
I feel honored to be here especially when I read the history and mission of this prayer breakfast, and for the last few weeks I’ve been thinking about my role today in offering prayer, and the conclusion that I’ve come to is to offer a prayer ABOUT prayer itself. To provide a context, however, I need to tell you that two days ago, I returned from 3 weeks in Guatemala. I had planned to go there with a friend to visit her brother who lived in a small village. BUT then we heard that the best place in the world to celebrate holy week is Antigua because they take it very seriously there. So, my vacation changed into a pilgrimage. Now for the past year, I had made a commitment to take prayer more seriously and to do it twice each day, using quotes from the Bible as the springboard for my reflections. So, Antigua fit right into my prayer commitment.
One day, my friends were going to explore Antigua, but I stayed behind to pray. Then, I realized that I wasn’t praying. I was just going through the motions because my heart was with my friends and my desire to be with them. So, I prayed: “Dear God, Help me stop being a hypocrite during my time with You.” And then I left to be with my friends. An hour later, I realized that I had left my paper with the quotes and all my notes on the chair of the hotel balcony. So, I raced back to retrieve it, and it was gone! Nowhere to be found: “All right God. I get it. You’re showing me my hypocrisy.” But, it didn’t stop there.
That night I had a dream: In the dream, my house was flooded. I went to see if my neighbors could help. They weren’t home, but I could see that their house had NOT flooded. So I thought, “I’m going to need their help as my house gets renovated but I didn’t even get them a Christmas present.” So, I went back to my house and found some token gift (or re-gift) and took it back to their house so they would think that I cared about them. Then I woke up and I immediately recognized what prayer hypocrisy is:
– I get in some kind of flood…some kind of trouble. I go to ask God for help. He’s not home. Why? Because I’m giving him TOKENS of my attention: time when it’s convenient, my love as long as it doesn’t cost me too much or is too much sacrifice.
Well, I went to the Bible and looked up the word “prayer” and in Isaiah 55, I found this: “Come to me with your ears wide open. For the life of your soul is at stake. For my thoughts are not your thoughts, and my ways are completely different than yours.” That’s when I realized that I didn’t have a clue about what prayer is really about because I didn’t know how to LISTEN to the voice of God; I was trying to change Him to fit in MY mind.
So, I come before you today with a contrite heart, sharing my struggle of prayer with you, and feeling a bit unworthy of standing before you. But, somehow it seems fitting, that before we can pray for others, we must come to grips with our own TRUTH about prayer.
Dear Heavenly Father,
We come before you today confessing that we often do not know Your ways…we often do not know how to enter Your silence so we can listen to You. We come before You confessing that we sometimes go through the motions of prayer when our hearts are really elsewhere. We ask that You deliver us from our pride that makes us think that we are praying when we are not. Deliver us from our inability and sometimes unwillingness to pray. Grow in us, instead, a CLEAN HEART – a heart that is honest so we don’t fool ourselves into thinking that we’re praying when we’re not; Grow in us a heart that is humble so that we can learn Your ways including how to pray. And grow Courage in our hearts, Dear God: that each man here, that each woman here, will be leaders in their homes, workplaces, and this community by coming to You with a heart that is first and foremost, WILLING to pray. Amen
And God Said No!
I share this next prayerful reflection often. It is written by Claudia Minden Weisz and has helped hundreds of people cultivate more courage and peace in their lives:
I asked God to take away my pride, and God said, “No.”
He said it was not for Him to take away, but for me to give up.
I asked God to make my handicapped child whole, and God said, “No.”
He said her spirit is whole, her body is only temporary.
I asked God to grant me patience, and God said, “No.”
He said that patience is a byproduct of tribulation. It isn’t granted, it’s earned.
I asked God to give me happiness, and God said, “No.”
He said he gives blessing. Happiness is up to me.
I asked God to spare me pain, and God said, “No.”
He said suffering draws me apart from worldly cares and brings me closer to Him.
I asked God to make my spirit grow and God said, “No.”
He said I must grow on my own, but He will prune me to make me fruitful.
I asked God to help me love others as much as He loves me.
And God said, “Ah, you finally have the idea.”
(Claudia Minden Weisz)
Sometimes, military culture can complicate the grieving process for the families of veterans who have died. This article by Pat McGuire explores those challenges.
by Patricia McGuire
Veterans and their families need the same things non-veterans and their families need when a loss is experienced: comfort, sympathy, emotional support of friends and family, knowledge, coping skills, time, and healing. The military culture, however, can create special grief needs as well. Complicating bereavement matters further, Soul Injuries tend to surface at the end of life for the entire family.
Stoicism, while a needed quality for an operative military, can be a hindrance in grief. Stoicism may cause grief to be hidden behind a silent or angry facade, cavalier humor, an attitude of bravado, or an “I’m fine” wall of denial. Stoicism not only affects veterans, it can affect whole family systems. One woman spoke of her friend who was married to a career Marine. She described the woman’s stoicism: “She is as much a Marine as he is. When her mother died, she was expected to grieve quickly and return to normal functioning in short order. She did.” Twenty years later, however, her mother’s death was reactivated when her husband died. This time, I gave her permission and encouragement to grieve and to take the time she needed to grieve both of these losses.
In addition to stoicism, “career-military” family systems may present special considerations. The family may have lived in numerous places for short periods of time, and this impacts family in several different ways. For example, at one veteran’s deathbed, his adult daughter identified for the first time where her bitterness for her father had begun: “It was the five different first grades I went to.” Because staff had been trained in veteran-specific issues, his daughter made this discovery as part of her anticipatory grief. She had the opportunity to work through this issue and the wall it had created before her father died. I acknowledged the patriotism and sacrifice that her entire family had made, which allowed the daughter to change her relationship to her past. This change helped her let go of some of her anger and open up to her father in a new way. Her grief after his death was facilitated by acknowledging the ways that this early loss affected her life and her perception of her father, which helped her deal with those losses prior to her father’s death.
Another issue which may arise with career-military families is that when there is a death or major loss, the family may find themselves far away from their family and support system. Because military families have not established roots, there may not be a network of support that facilitates effective grieving. On the other hand, because of these frequent moves, families of veterans may readily reach out for support because they have learned how to ask for help and form new bonds quickly. A Greek war bride from World War II cried at her husband’s death bed: “I have no family, what am I going to do?” I anticipated the possibility of complicated grief due to lack of support. An hour later, however, I found her in the hospice kitchen, with five lifelong friends from the Officers’ Wives Club. It was every bit a supportive family, just a different kind. Conversely, a young Vietnamese wife who barely spoke English said: “We did everything together. We are each other’s world.” This veteran’s isolation excluded everyone except his wife, leaving her unprepared for his death. She was at high risk for complications of grief and required extensive support to find her way materially and emotionally after his death.
Consider a third young American bride living in Germany while her husband served in Afghanistan. He was due to return in time for the birth of their first child. Unfortunately, the young woman went into labor early and their child was delivered stillborn. She was far from home, family, and anything familiar as she struggled with her overwhelming grief. Her husband returned to her as soon as possible, which in this case was a week later. He was grieving the loss of their child, feeling like he deserted his platoon, and struggling with symptoms of Posttraumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). She was grieving the loss of their baby, the loss of innocence that she saw in her husband, and changes within her own body. This couple required intensive support as they faced their changed world. Their return to home was delayed due to legal issues related to transporting their child’s remains from one country to another. Plans had to shift to assist her parents to travel to Germany. This whole family system needed extensive support due to the complexity of the situation.
In her book, Peace at Last: Stories of Hope and Healing for Veterans and Their Families, Deborah Grassman explores the impact of military service on veterans at the end of life. She offers insight into some of the possible effects of combat on veterans and their families. Providing the book for family members to read helps them better understand the military influence on their loved one, their family, and themselves. This enhanced understanding can facilitate peaceful life closure and more effective grief recovery.
Veterans may gain a deeper appreciation of life by surviving combat and recognizing each day as a gift. Others may superficially integrate their experiences and carry on with their pre-war lives after returning from war. A third group may be changed by their combat experience and be unable to effectively cope. These latter two groups’ coping styles may adversely affect the family. Veterans in the last category may have struggled for years with bouts of depression, anger, nightmares, or from being overly protective or controlling. The veteran may have coped by using drugs and alcohol, or might have isolated himself in order to feel safe. Families living in this environment may have been abandoned, abused, or developed dysfunctional coping mechanisms to deal with these behaviors. This kind of lifestyle might precipitate divorce, creating multiple families by the time the veteran comes to the end of life. A common saying among Vietnam vets that overly simplifies this issue is, “Most veterans with PTSD have been married three times.” There may be three different sets of children at a veteran’s death bed. Perhaps their first family was abandoned when the veteran first returned home from war and he was unable to reconnect with them. These children may be angry. When the veteran remarried and started a second family, these children may have lived with abuse, drugs and alcohol, and developed dysfunctional coping mechanisms. After a second divorce, the veteran may have gotten into an addiction recovery program, as well as received help for his PTSD. A third marriage is often to someone who already has children. These children may reap the benefit of the veteran’s recovery and think their stepfather is very special. Imagine this veteran’s death bed with all of these family members present! Providing support for all of these family members with a wide range of forgiveness, estrangement, and anger issues creates a highly-charged environment for needed therapeutic work in order to facilitate some resolution. I strive to keep my heart open to all of these different family members and recognize each of the particular losses and relationships with this veteran. The past cannot be changed, but new understanding can help to change their relationships to the past.
When there are multiple families, judgments about one another are often passed. Guilt, shame, and blame are often the fuel that has been used to avoid the pain of the underlying loss of healthy relationships. This can negatively impact decisions that need to be made as the veteran is approaching the end of life. For example, the person who is legally able to make the decisions for the veteran may be someone from whom the veteran has been estranged. The current significant others of the veteran may find themselves disenfranchised at the time of the death, funeral, and burial. Another common contention after the death of a veteran with this kind of multiple-family constellation is: “Who gets the flag?” There is one flag provided for each veteran, yet there may be more than one person who feels that they deserve it. In these situations, it can be helpful to work with the VA’s office of Decedent Affairs, also known as the Details Clerk, to arrange for the provision of more than one flag.
Presentation of the flag in a respectful manner is of the utmost importance. Because many families today choose cremation, there may or may not be a funeral or memorial. In these cases there is not a formal presentation of the tri-corner flag to the next of kin. One VA nurse saw a family leaving the details office after their loved one’s death with a flag in a small rectangular box. He was upset by this “indignity” and called the team together to find a way to correct it. The solution was found when the Korean War Veterans Service Organization (VSO) agreed to use this need as an opportunity. The VSO provided education to a local Boy Scout troop about proper flag etiquette and flag folding. The Boy Scouts now meet bi-monthly with the VSO to fold flags. Together, they have maintained a supply of folded flags for that VA facility. The flag is now formally presented in a dignified way to the family at the time of death.
Other family members might have anger or bitterness about their veteran not getting a medal, service-connected disability, or pension. These feelings can interfere with effective grieving: “Dad was wounded in combat and he never received his Purple Heart. They lost his records.” This veteran and his entire family had chafed over this injustice for many years. After his father’s death, one son doggedly pursued his father’s records until the Purple Heart was awarded posthumously. This act helped the family begin to move through their grief. In a similar situation in which the Purple Heart could not be obtained, Deborah Grassman, their nurse practitioner, made a “purple heart,” ceremonially pinning it on the veteran while citing the heroic deeds that he had done. The bereaved family survey subsequently identified this act as extremely meaningful.
If PTSD is identified for the first time as a veteran is dying, the impact on family needs to be factored into their bereavement needs. Some family members feel relief: “I’m so glad to know it has a name. I knew something was wrong but I didn’t know what. Now this makes sense.” Other family members might feel guilty: “I wish I would’ve realized this sooner, I would have_________ (listened more carefully, gotten him help, been more patient and understanding, etc.)”
If the veteran had PTSD, physical or mental disability, or long-term illness prior to the death, the family member may be exhausted from providing care; they may not have the energy to grieve. In her book Chronic Sorrow: A Living Loss, Susan Roos (2002) writes about “significant losses with no foreseeable end” in the context of children with disabilities. Veterans and their families may share a similar experience. This may lead to frequent periods of sadness with no stable periods to allow time for grief and adjustment.
The family may have financial concerns near the end of life. For example, if the family has been supported by the veteran’s disability check, they may want extensive futile care because they do not know how they will survive without the veteran’s check. They may have provided care for the veteran for years and thus been unable to maintain work outside the home. It is important to acknowledge the reality of this practical consideration and recognize that the family’s questions about money may not indicate a lack of love, but instead may be a first step in providing the practical groundwork for their future welfare and their ability to grieve. Providing social work services can help the family with financial strategies and resources. The veteran may also be concerned about the financial plight of their family after he or she dies. This concern might cause the veteran to fight death so the disability check continues. One veteran lived for 40 years as a quadriplegic in a VA nursing home. He said, “My job is to stay alive as long as I can so my wife will have the money to raise our kids.” When he died, his family spoke of “growing up at the VA,” and there were as many staff mourners as family at the memorial service. Many such families have provided care and support for their loved one for years with little or no recognition. Acknowledgment of their patriotism and a word of gratitude for the sacrifices they have made may bring tears to their eyes. Those tears often represent the internal healing that is taking place. We developed a ritual that recognizes the family members who have been caring for veterans by pinning them with a small patriotic angel dressed in red, white, and blue. The family is thanked for their sacrifices and service to America by providing care and support to their veteran. A small card is given to them so they will remember the meaning behind the pinning. The card reads: “Caregivers are important too! Because we know you have also paid a price for our freedom, we honor you with this pin. It’s our way of acknowledging the many ways you’ve been impacted by the military and also the many ways you have provided care to our veteran. We are grateful.” (Go to “resources” tab for information about how to obtain pins).
Caregivers are 93% female. Most caregivers are spouses (72%) and parents (12%) (National Alliance for Caregiving, 2012). Today, there are more services for family caregivers than ever before. All VA medical centers now have Caregiver Support Coordinators (Johnson, 2012). They are experts on caregiver issues and are knowledgeable about VA and non-VA resources. They manage a menu of options to support veterans including in-home care service, respite care, needed equipment, home and automobile modification, peer support, and caregiver support groups. The VA also runs an interactive website for caregivers (www.caregiver.va.gov). The Primary Family Caregiver Benefits include a stipend (post-9/11) paid directly to the caregiver, which is centrally funded and managed. The caregiver may be eligible for health insurance through CHAMPVA (a health benefits program through VA), travel, lodging, and mental health services through VA or by contract. This kind of support allows veterans and their families to have more time and energy for their bereavement and emotional needs.
In addition to needing support when a veteran is facing illness and death, family members may also need help in understanding a veteran’s response to loss. A veteran’s inability to grieve someone’s death might be due to their fear of unresolved grief from comrades who died in combat, and this fear can sometimes cause the veteran to detach from grief. This was true for a veteran and father of four whose youngest son was killed in a hit-and-run motor vehicle accident. The veteran went through the formalities of identifying the body, arranging the funeral, and receiving the outpouring of support from his community; yet he remained impassive throughout the process. His wife and family were appalled at his lack of emotion. When the veteran came in for counseling, he reported being on a convoy in Vietnam 40 years earlier. One of the trucks hit a young Vietnamese boy. It was a dangerous area and they were under orders not to stop. This veteran was devastated by seeing this innocent boy left presumably dead and unattended. When his own son died in a similar manner, he could not allow himself to feel the grief for his own son until he had acknowledged the loss and grief of the parents of the Vietnamese boy. The latter was the focus of the bereavement intervention.
Another young soldier serving in Iraq was notified of his grandfather’s death; the Red Cross was prepared to bring him home for the funeral. The soldier declined to leave his troop, and the family was very upset with his decision. As bereavement counselor, I discussed with the family their son’s need for stoicism so he could face war every day. If he came home for the funeral, he may have felt that he had deserted his troop. He could also be opening himself up to an emotional bungee jump, bouncing from his feelings of his grandfather’s loss which could also trigger grief over deaths he was seeing in war, only to have to go right back into war two weeks later. Thus, the bereavement intervention did not focus on trying to convince the grandson of the need to return home, but rather on helping the family choose to validate the young soldier’s choice. Intervention also focused on planning a family gathering when the young soldier was home again and emotionally able to participate in working through his grief for both his grandfather and his fallen comrades.
Supporting Veteran Grief
As part of a focus on comprehensive care, unresolved bereavement needs of veterans need to be assessed when they are being treated for physical and mental health issues, homelessness, substance abuse, and PTSD. These needs can best be addressed by a clinician who has been sensitized to the special needs of veterans. In 2003, Wounded Warriors: Their Last Battle, a presentation developed by Deborah Grassman, was produced by the National Hospice and Palliative Care Organization (NHPCO) and distributed widely throughout both the hospice and VA communities. Her presentation sensitizes clinicians, veterans, and their families to issues that may otherwise be overlooked or misunderstood. (Click on “resources” on this website to view the updated version). The same stoicism that allows veterans to be the helpers of the world may prevent them from reaching out for help or support. Messages of “big boys and girls don’t cry” were learned as children and reinforced in the military. This message needs to be reframed by clinicians. When a veteran is talking about the pain of loss and attempting to hold back the tears, they can be reminded of the courage it takes to allow their feelings to show. It may be helpful to sit beside rather than in front of the veteran to allow emotional privacy. Alternatively, the clinician might bow their head and sit quietly when tears escape from behind a stoic wall. I let veterans know that tears are a normal reaction to pain and are welcome. I have a picture in the bereavement office of a face with a beautiful tear running down it. I ask veterans who struggle to externalize tears to study it and tell me what it elicits for them. The picture acts as a reminder of the beauty of grief expressed. I also use a prescription pad and “prescribe” crying in the shower, in the car, or wherever the veteran feels safe. Some veterans are more comfortable with humor and respond well to being told that I get a bonus if they cry. Everyone grieves in their own way, so there are not always tears. The gender differences between men and women have been studied for years and many men are more likely to express their grief by doing something active: planting a tree, building a memorial, or organizing a fundraiser for a needy veteran family. Tears may or may not be part of their grief journey (Doka and Martin, 2010; Golden, 2010).
In caring for veterans with PTSD, it is important to know that they may not trust easily. My initial efforts need to focus on gaining their trust. This can make something as simple as scheduling an appointment difficult. For example, when a veteran is identified for bereavement counseling, a telephone call is used to make contact. Not unusually, there is no answer and a message is left encouraging a call back. When this is unsuccessful, a second call is made and again a message is left. If the call is not returned, a condolence note is mailed to the home. Persistence often pays off at this point and the veteran may reconnoiter and peek into the bereavement office a few times. If I pass muster and seem trustworthy, the veteran will schedule an appointment to address his or her grief issues. A basic premise of passing muster is the understanding that “we serve those who first served us.” Veterans need to know that I am aware that veterans are trained warriors; they need to know that I value their service and recognize that freedom is not free.
These issues may also be apparent when a veteran is diagnosed with a terminal disease. The veteran may not want anyone “to see me weak.” They may go so far as to say, “When I can’t take care of myself, I’ll just go off into the woods to die.” I met one such veteran during his several admissions to the hospital through his illness. My interventions focused on encouraging him to be a gracious receiver. I educated him about Dame Cicely Saunders, founder of the modern hospice movement around the world, and what she said at a conference a few years before her death. Using a wheelchair for ambulation, she stated, “I used to think that being a giver was the most important thing. Now that I need help myself, I realize that being a gracious receiver is the most important thing.” He was encouraged to see how helpful his gracious receiving could be for him and for his comrades. As his illness progressed, he was able to make healthier decisions about his care. The veteran allowed his friends in the “Vietnam Brotherhood” to participate in his care and ultimately his death. Many of these men had only witnessed violent or mutilating deaths in the past. In combat there was no time to mourn the deaths of comrades. This veteran made a courageous choice to allow the brotherhood to come together as a group to grieve while they provided care and support to their dying comrade. They were dressed in their Vietnam Brotherhood jackets; many had long hair, ponytails, and tattoos. Although their tough exteriors were intimidating, they provided tender physical comfort by repositioning the veteran, giving him drinks of water and food, and even participating in circles of prayer. By relying on their camaraderie and overcoming their fear of vulnerability, they created a dignified death for their comrade and a new concept about death for themselves.
The Commander of a local chapter of the Korean War Veterans Service Organization (VSO) was asked about the impact of combat on the members. His eyes clouded over: “We all have PTSD to some degree. It’s just a matter of what we do with it.” He spoke of some members who self-medicated with alcohol, but of many others who channeled their pain into contributing to the community. Honor guards are one of the services this chapter provides. They are frequently at the local VA cemetery to honor their newly fallen comrades by providing military honors, an interment ceremony, and the presentation of the flag to the next of kin. He acknowledged that when he participates in these events, he is attending to his own bereavement needs by honoring the buddies he lost in service so long ago.
As many as 30,000 veterans live in State Veteran Homes and there are many other long-term care facilities caring for veterans. These settings can provide an opportunity to address unresolved grief from fallen comrades decades earlier.
One State Veterans Home in Ohio provides such a service. This was developed when Deborah and I were providing clinical consultation services to the staff so they would better understand how to care for the unique needs of veterans as they die. Deborah asked a Vietnam Veteran, “Is there anything from the war that might still be troubling you now?” The veteran, hardly able to talk due to severe COPD, nodded his head. Then he said, “My brother and I both went to Vietnam, but I was the only one who came back.” Tears slowly ebbed down his cheeks while Deborah and I waited in calm silence. Then, he added: “I didn’t even get to go to his funeral.”
We explained that we could design a ceremony to honor his brother and create space for his grief. We explained the value of unmasking unresolved grief. The veteran’s face visibly lightened and he eagerly participated in the designing of the service. Deborah and I then realized the gaping wound in many of the veterans at the State Veterans Home, so we invited all of them to the service to mourn their comrades fallen during battle. About 25 showed up! We also addressed the guilt that some of them felt — survivor’s guilt, guilt of killing other people, guilt of things done or not done. This launched a program called the Fallen Comrades Ceremony that has been done throughout the country for veterans of all ages and eras.
Veterans Need to Mourn the Deaths of Their Comrades
The source of the gaping hole in our society caused by the aftermath of war is unmourned loss and unforgiven guilt/shame from the deaths of comrades killed in war. The hole this leaves in surviving comrades’ hearts continues to exert its influence throughout their lives until the deaths are acknowledged, honored, mourned, and redeemed. We believe that our civilian society has a responsibility to help heal the Soul Injuries of our nation after war. Soul Injury ceremonies can help restore wholeness to our broken nation; we struggle together to heal the wounds of war.
Opus Peace has developed a Fallen Comrades Ceremony. The resultant service can be a model for other organizations to provide so that our nation can be healed of this gaping wound. If you would like to help heal our nation of the aftermath of war, please consider sponsoring a community event that invites combat veterans to come mourn their fallen brethren. Contact us and we will come help you. Don’t miss this opportunity to heal the aftermath of war in your community. Throughout the United States, there are Fallen Comrades ceremonies taking place. These can be healing to both veterans and their families.
Most VA Medical Centers offer memorial services honoring the veterans who died in their facility annually. These services should be formatted in a ritualized ceremony that acknowledge and promote effective grieving and the ceremony should have a military context. Many VAs provide bereavement ceremonies or events to provide support for the veterans and their families for Memorial Day, Veterans Day, Fourth of July, and other holidays. Community hospices and other long-term care facilities should be encouraged to participate in these events or to hold their own veteran-centric programs.
The military culture influences both veterans and their families. They may face issues that do not impact the general population. This is also true of veterans and families of loved ones dying on active duty; however, hospice services are not provided to families prior to an active military death. Bereavement care to the surviving family members should follow the above guidelines coupled with standard bereavement guidelines that focus on sudden and violent death.
There are two organizations that are uniquely equipped to provide bereavement counseling and support to active duty personnel, their families, and extended families: Vet Centers and Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors (TAPS). Vet Centers provide individual, group, and family counseling to all veterans who served in any combat zone. Services are also available for their family members. TAPS is a national non-profit organization that offers extensive peer-to-peer support and education about traumatic death and the active duty military’s specific grief needs. Some hospices partner with these agencies to provide services. Other hospices partner with the Red Cross to offer bereavement services for active military deaths. It is important that Hospice staff receive specialized training in order to perform this task.
You can receive free pamphlets from your closest Dignity Memorial funeral home. Use them to educate Veterans’ families. You can also download the pamphlets below by clicking on them.
Current Link: https://opuspeace.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/07/Dignity-Family.pdf
Reestablish peace in your world through the art of forgiveness.
by Deborah Grassman
The process that precipitates pervasive inner peace is forgiveness. Unforgiven guilt and shame often culminates in the creation of a Soul Injury.
Although seldom recognized, forgiveness is one of the keys for living in the “now.” I have to forgive every disappointment and interruption that interferes with my experience of the moment. Every time I am told, “No” by God, another person, or life itself, I have to actively forgive the world for things not going the way I had hoped. Then I can reencounter the ever-present now; I reestablish peace in my world. I call this my journey from “Oh no!” to “Oh well…”.
One time, I asked my mother, “Who is your best friend?” She replied, “Whomever I’m with at the moment.” I liked that answer. I hope I can live out that wisdom. Similarly, I hope that I can answer the question, “What’s your favorite thing to do?” with “Whatever I’m doing right now.” Then, I’ll know that I’m living in the now, and the key for doing so is forgiveness; I will be able to forgive the world for everything that is not “now.”
Forgiveness can have very practical applications. I jog along a two-mile rural road. Trash litters the edge of the road, corrupting its beauty. I frequently complained about the litter with a tightness in my jaw and neck as I did so. Then I realized that I had a choice: I could forgive the litter for being there and enjoy the landscape anyway, or I could pick up the litter. I decided on the latter. My garbage bag in hand, I picked up each can and wrapper. Initially, I was thinking mean thoughts about the litterers. Then, I realized that I was littering my mind with resentment, robbing me of “now-ness.” I switched to blessing each litterer, and actually had great fun on the rest of my clean-up adventure. Forgiveness is like that; it transforms moments so I can live in the vitality of the now.
Desmond is a Vietnam veteran who knew how to maintain peace in the now. During a Quality of Life meeting with him, our team acknowledged his military service, which he appreciated. “’Nam vets never got their due,” he told us. We offered an apology for the way he had been treated when he returned from the war. When asked how he was doing spiritually, he told us, “I’m good in that department because I always keep my feet wiped.” He explained that some people don’t keep their “feet wiped” on a daily basis. Instead, dirt accumulates, surfacing as they approach death, which was the case with Jim.
Jim was a World War II vet. He was weak with a cancer that would take his life in a few days. After I introduced myself and we spoke quietly for several minutes about hospice care, I asked him if there was anything from the war that might still be troubling him. He said there was, but he was too ashamed to say it out loud. Motioning me to come down close to him, he whispered, “Do you have any idea how many men I’ve killed?”
I shook my head, remaining silent, steadily meeting his gaze with my own. He continued.
“Do you have any idea how many throats I’ve slit?”
Again I shook my head. The image was grim, and I felt my eyes begin to tear. Jim was tearful too. We sat silently together, sharing his suffering. No words needed to be said. This was a sacred moment that words would only corrupt.
After several minutes, I asked, “Would it be meaningful if I said a prayer asking for forgiveness?”
He nodded. I placed my hand on Jim’s chest, anchoring his flighty, anxious energy with the security of my relaxed palm. My prayer, like any praying I do with patients, reflected no particular religion. “Dear God: This man comes before you acknowledging the pain he has caused others. He has killed; he has maimed. He hurts with the pain of knowing what he did. He hurts with the pain of humanity. He comes before you now asking for forgiveness. He needs your mercy to restore his integrity. He comes before you saying, ‘Forgive me for the wrongs I have committed.’ Dear God, help him feel your saving grace. Restore this man to wholeness so he can come home to you soon. Amen.”
Jim kept his eyes closed for a moment, tears streaming down from unopened lids. Then he opened his eyes and smiled gratefully; his new sense of peace was almost palpable. It was a reminder to me of just how heavy guilt weighs.
The reason I prayed for Jim with my hand on his chest is because anxious energy usually rises. Think about when you get excited. Your voice usually gets higher; energy gets flighty. You might place your hand on your chest or near your throat, unconsciously anchoring yourself. A calm, centered person’s energy usually resides lower and deeper. If a calm person places his or her hand on an un-calm person’s sternum, it can often help this person feel secure, more weighted, less anxious. I often sit with my dying patients with my hand on their chest. I teach their loved ones to do the same (see Anchoring Heart Technique under Tools.)
When “lub dub” is lacking, missing, or abused, then conditions are ripe for precipitating a Soul Injury.
by Pat McGuire
“Since the human heart is never completely born, love is the continuous birth of creativity within and between us.”
~ O’Donohue, Anam Cara: Spiritual Wisdom from the Celtic World)
The first sound any of us hear in this world is the steady “lub dub” of our mother’s heartbeat. Throughout our lives, if we are lucky, there is a great deal of touch from nurturing family members, friends, and pets. This keeps us connected to the “lub dub” of our humanity and also to “the heart that is never completely born.” This is the significance of the eternal, ubiquitous “lub dub.” When “lub dub” is lacking, missing, or abused, then conditions are ripe for precipitating a Soul Injury.
When we are confronted with losses or disappointments of any kind, our primal sense of connectedness is reduced. I have had the opportunity to facilitate many groups throughout my career as a bereavement coordinator providing Family support, cancer support, grief support, addiction recovery, and facilitating The Hero Within book communities. No matter the purpose of the group, one of the basic needs of the attendees is a sense of connection. Coming together with others with the same issues can be very healing. However, these groups generally fill one hour of a week and the need for connection has no such limit. These feelings of disconnection are felt most intensely in the middle of the night.
At the ending of the group meetings, through consensus of the group, we end in a circle. Holding hands, each person says whatever is on their heart. It struck me more and more how strong the energy pulsing from hand to hand was when we were encircled in this way. I called this to the attention of the groups. I reminded them that even when we were not holding hands, our hearts continued to ”lub dub” together. I asked them to remember that when they were home alone at three o’clock in the morning, they could reconnect with the group by feeling their own pulse. The message of the “lub dub” is: “We all have to do this life ourselves, but we do not have to do it alone.” The groups responded well to this intervention, often saying that during chaotic times, “It brings me peace.”
I have also responded to this intervention, but in an even larger way. Just thinking about the great lub-dub of this universe draws me into my center where I am the birther and the birthee. When I open myself to the lub-dub among people, the energy in the room changes; we are no longer separate entities, but rather one entity of shared humanity; it’s a communal abiding spirit. This is the value of community: common unity. Creating small communities restores personal wholeness, TOGETHER.
I was lucky. I came by this naturally. I was born into a family with 13 children. Although there were some serious disadvantages with being part of so many, there was also a distinct advantage: I learned how to be part of a thriving community that took care of each other — we lub-dubbed together; we restored personal wholeness together. Now, my parents and two of my siblings have died. Several years ago, I left my hometown and many of my siblings in New Jersey to move to Florida. I found myself longing for the lub-dub missing from my heart. It was painful; it was lonely. It wasn’t until I transferred to the hospice unit that I again discovered my community heart.
Deborah Grassman was my boss. She had built a thriving community of hospice staff who loved and respected each other in a communal way. My pulse quickened as I was welcomed, supported, and grew into this new environment. Mainly, I felt safe. Deborah did not allow bitching and back-biting; instead, she showed us how to open up to our hostilities so we could own them and use them for personal growth.
Now, I am partnering with Deborah to create healing communities everywhere. I have started three Hero Within book communities in just the past three months. I call it lub-dubbing, and I am seeing healing transformations right before my eyes. It is, indeed, exciting to witness.
When I tried to explain lub-dubbing to Deborah, she said: “Sounds like you are experiencing what the Beatles sang about: ‘I am you and you are me and we are all together.”
“Yeah. Something like that,” I told her.
Creative Cocooning: Learning how to navigate transitions so we can let go of who we are and open up to who we are capable of becoming.
by Pat McGuire
A cocoon is a safe place for dramatic change. Cultivating the courage to change is the purpose of cocooning. It is also an important step in healing Soul Injuries. Personal losses, fears, and brokenness can then be used as catalysts for metamorphosis and growth. The concept of “cocooning” is important throughout the life cycle during times of transition: divorce, job change, entering/leaving the military, death, illness, mid-life changes, identity crises, aging, etc.
To achieve pervasive peace, we have to learn how to successfully navigate these changes — how to grow into deeper dimensions of ourselves so that we can accommodate new demands. These times of transition can be fraught with resistance and turmoil. Learning how to navigate transitions so we can let go of who we are and open up to who we are capable of becoming is invaluable. At Opus Peace, we call this process “cocooning.”
We spend much of our daily lives like caterpillars: mindlessly crawling along feeding our habits that give us comfort, power, and security. Then, something (divorce, job change, death, illness, general disgruntlement, mid-life changes, identity crises, aging, etc.) interrupts our crawl, causing us to look beyond our horizons and long for butterflyness – a yearning that completes the destiny we were born to fulfill. The transformation from caterpillar to butterfly is largely ignored and avoided in the “feel good” culture that we live in. Yet, my experience has led me to realize that, paradoxically, the cocoon holds the secrets of healing. It is in the cocoon where successful transformation occurs.
Sadly, society feeds on false images that convince us that we can become butterflies without having to become cocooned. Advertisements and other cultural influences promote one of two approaches:
Neither of these approaches produces effective change. They only create frustration due to the repeated disappointment and guilt that is created! Thus, we don’t learn the cocooning process.
Yet, cocoons have much to teach us…
A crawling caterpillar spends most of its life devouring its food source, but when it is time to become an adult, it wanders away from food. It finds a sheltered, safe place to PUPATE, or transform, into an adult. It sheds its skin, revealing a protective shell known as a chrysalis, which protects the caterpillar while it transforms.
During this metamorphosis, much of the caterpillar’s body is broken down. It actually LIQUIFIES! During this liquified state, the cells are called IMAGINAL CELLS; they are like stem cells in humans. These cells become undifferentiated, developing the potential to become any type of needed cell. This transformation process is known as holometabolism and takes about two weeks for most species.
Thus, the “cocooning” process is a safe place for dramatic change.
Change in us requires that we:
· Shed our skin and liquefy old habits and attitudes that keep us stuck in “same.” This means letting go of something we’re grasping (attitude, belief, relationship, habit, expectation, or even life itself). This invokes fear and resistance because it takes us away from our comfort zones.
· Build wing structures by listening to the Grace of our Being calling us into Butterflyness where we can redeem our destiny. This means opening up to something different, new, uncomfortable, uncertain. This, too, invokes fear and resistance because it takes us away from our comfort zones.
More information about transitions and “cocooning” are in Deborah Grassman’s book, The Hero Within: Redeeming the Destiny We Were Born to Fulfill.