Molly Fumia holds a master's degree in theology from the Graduate Theological Union in Berkeley, California. The author of Honor Thy Children, Safe Passage, and A Piece of My Heart, books on the transformative nature of grief, she lives with her husband and seven children in Los Gatos, California.

CHAPTER 1

Beginnings

"Consolation springs from sourcesdeeper far than deepest suffering."

—WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Walking by the sea, I pick up a starfish that is missing an arm. Losing you has been likethat, like a limb actually was torn from my body.

As I gently place it back on the sand, I notice that despite the cruel amputation, amarvelous and beautiful creature has survived. And I remember the miracle of the starfish:the arm will grow back, and it will be whole once again.

There is an instant between awakening and awareness that I float free of remembranceand reality. For only a moment, things are as they were, and this present pain is not at all.

I wish not to move on, but to stay safe in that nothingness, to linger, while I can, justahead of the dreaded truth.

The center of my grief is like the dead of winter; the white, frozen stillness surrounds me, adeep, interior chill pervades my body. I am terrified that I will always be this cold.

The slight warming wind that will unsettle the ice is not yet perceptible.

I cry and I cry. I respond to every turn of the day with tears, wondering, now and then, howmy incessant weeping appears to those around me. It is coming clear to me. Only tearsencourage time to pass. Only tears anoint the endless waiting with tender hope that thedays to follow might flow more kindly into understanding.

I am so tired. These callous circumstances have stolen away my energy and mymotivation. I am left without the power to continue moving; I can hardly imagine thestrength even to stand in place.

I want only to give in to my exhaustion, to sleep and sleep until I can wake up to another,less evil reality.

What is it like, this place set aside for grieving? It is wherever we are surrounded by thedarkness. And where does the healing begin? Huddled in the dark, listening to long-lostvoices, not yet searching for the light.

I wake, haunted by a searing sense of the unfinished. By how things might have been. Ifonly I possessed the magic power to give us a second chance. But I am no wizard; thetrick I must perform is to accept what is.

This pain is a companion, but can it ever become something more? The answer is in myability to befriend my own experience.

"In dealing with fear, the way out is in."

—Sheldon Kopp

Grief is not passive, but active. Grief reveals and challenges while it deals with the horriblefacts. It lends itself to truth in a way that no other emotion can. It identifies all of theparticipants in tragedy and allows them their role in the universe.

And in all of this, I now somehow take my place.

We struggled so hard to be together, and now we are apart once more. I can't imaginestarting over with someone else. You were my last destination.

A kaleidoscope of feelings has ensnared me. Denial, anger, guilt, despair, acceptance.One does not end for another to begin, rather the emotions tumble about and crashtogether just beyond control, and without regard for my wounded, weeping heart.

I am waiting to become disentangled. I want to separate one color from another, so that Imight see more clearly what assaults me. I want to address the fullness of my tears onefeeling at a time.

They tell me to take it easy, give yourself time, just sit for a while. But that doesn't work.They tell me to keep busy, go on a trip, take up something new. That doesn't work either.To do nothing, to do everything. Nothing works. Nothing works.

Mourning is like re-entering the womb. We find a dark place where we can weepunheeded and become whole in our own time. Emptiness turns to hope in this safe refuge,this comforting cavern echoing endings and beginnings, slowly transformed again into apassageway to our other, older life.

I was shocked that I did not die from grief. And I know now that I will not die from it,because I choose not to. I may run, or shake wildly, or lie paralyzed on the ground for awhile, but I will not ultimately succumb.

I find myself going over and over the details of your death with everyone I know. To speakand speak again of this event proclaims its awful truth to me, perhaps not yet quiteconvinced, perhaps not sure of my place in its unfolding.

And so I allow this repetition, knowing that words are possibilities—of explanation, ofcomprehension, of absolution. My testimony, once familiar, will reassure my trembling, stillquestioning heart.

"Understanding does not cure evil, but it is a definite help, inasmuch as one can cope witha comprehensible darkness."

—Carl Jung

If only I could have spoken to him before he chose to end a life. It would only have taken afew minutes to tell him about us, to describe the ways we all love each other, to paint apicture of our happiness and our innocence.

I could have changed his mind. He would have understood that she deserved to live. Iwould have looked into his eyes and made him see himself in mine, and he would havedecided differently.

Even though I am surrounded by friends, I think about images of the past that are stillpresent for me.

Which of these ghosts, if any, deserves my attention? It seems unkind to banish them allfrom among the living, from a place that was once theirs.

But I want to laugh again, to participate once more in lively conversation. While I welcomethose memories that have been invited, I will eventually close the door on those whichhaunt me.

I haven't eaten in days. Eventually, I'll have to eat. When I feel like eating again, I hope Iwon't feel guilty, but will respect my sense that it is all right for me to live, even though youhave died.

Running from my grief, I am not silent or still long enough to let it in. But the fullness ofexistence is facing both life and death, and taking the risks involved in that confrontation.

To have loved you is to have opened up to a willingness to feel your loss. This is the timeof reckoning. I must stop to feel my sorrow.

How are you how are you how are you. Fine fine fine.

Not fine.... Terrible.

She tells me to call and we'll have lunch or go shopping. She says I have to do something,but those aren't the things I want to do.

I know what I want to do. I want to cry and cry shamelessly and I want her to hold mewhile I'm doing it.

Grief is a trail of dreams, fulfilled and unfulfilled, all that could have been, never can beagain. On this forlorn night walk, the path to new promises is still beyond the horizon,awaiting the hazy, yet inevitable, future.

I am disoriented by death. I do not know where I have been or where I am going. Thefamiliar landmarks are out of view, coldly covered by death's icy grip.

My confusion has, at least, demanded that I cease moving. Standing still will restore mysense of direction, and what remains of my inner fire will warm the way toward healing.

I am afraid to be angry. Rage betrays the need to accept what has happened. Yet I amalso afraid to accept. Acquiescence might suggest that I have given in to fate and to theinjustice of your being...