She sat there, alone, in the corner, until she cried it all out. Nobody had told her how to grieve. All she knew were two things – the rocking chair was where you sat to be soothed by your parents, and the corner was where you stood to reflect upon your sins. So she put the two ideas together. Her parents were no longer here to soothe her by rocking her back to sleep after a nightmare or to read her picture book filled with bunnies or bears.
The corner was where you stood facing inward, away from other people, a cheap form of solitary confinement. Bereft of company, you were stuck with your own thoughts. It was a foretaste of hell for those who feel guilty, felt wrong, felt broken. Never in her life had she voluntarily put herself there. This time was different. Everything was different now.
They died, both of them, not quite together, but a bit like dominoes anyway. People couldn’t quite grasp it, and assumed there’d been an accident. It wasn’t sudden. The signs were there all along. It was tragic only so much as it was preventable. It was sad that they’d squandered their lives, dissolved into nothingness, and for so long.
So now, not knowing what else to do, she sat, in the corner, in the chair. No need to face into the corner – nobody was there. Not just in the room, but the whole house. It was so quiet it was deafening. So here she sat, in the space of consoling isolation, to visit with the ghosts of her parents. They’d never left. Sure, their bodies were gone, buried in the cemetery on the other side of the city. Cemeteries and city dumps were always near each other, always in the low-rent part of town. The industrial waste recycling center was in the same block along the section 8 houses. It wasn’t an accident.
She noted she was getting distracted. Grief was like this, this veering away, then closer, like a moth to the flame at times. Dangerous to get too close. So usually we stay away. It hurts too much to look at it directly.
But after a while the phantom pains don’t fade. The anxiety stays long enough to pay rent. They both don’t have nameable causes, so when she finally notices her spirit is off-balance, she knows it is time to stop and face it.
How did she learn this, this inner healing? They certainly didn’t teach her. Death wasn’t something you talked about, just like politics or religion. It wasn’t nice to talk about in polite company. They acted like it was something that happened other people, less fortunate people, people who deserved it. They weren’t even in the same state when their own parents died. They skipped the funerals and cashed the inheritance checks. They wore black for about a month and told friends of their loss, but otherwise didn’t grieve. Maybe that is what killed them so young. If grief doesn’t get out by tears or wailing, it gets bottled up inside and starts eating you up from the inside out.
She was determined not to join them. So here she sat, in the corner, healing herself from the inside out.
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Harvest from Mercy Convent retreat, November 15th 2015
The theme of the retreat was “Autumn: A Season of New Beginnings”. The Bible reading was Mark 4:1-20 and 30-32. These are the Parables of the Sower and the Mustard Seed. Here’s my Condensed Gospel version of them:
The parable of the sower
Jesus was again teaching beside the sea. He decided to teach while sitting in a boat in the water because a large crowd had gathered around him. The crowd stood on the shore to listen to him. They had come to hear him from every town.
He taught them many things using parables, including this one: “Think about the person who went out to sow his field. While he was sowing, some seeds fell along the path and birds came and ate it. Other seeds fell where there were more rocks then soil. The seed sprang up quickly, but then withered just as quickly in the sun because it didn’t have deep roots to gather moisture. Other seeds fell among the thorn bushes and the thorns made it impossible for them to produce a crop. Yet other seeds fell on good ground and were able to produce 30, 60, even 100 times what was sown. Anyone who has ears should listen to this!”
MT 13:1-9, MK 4:1-9, LK 8:4-8
When Jesus was alone with his disciples, they came up and said to him “Why do you speak to people in parables? What does the parable of the sower mean?”
Jesus answered them “The mystery of the kingdom of God has been revealed to you but not to everyone. For them the information is transmitted in parables so that Isaiah’s prophecy is fulfilled. It says ‘They may listen but never understand, and they may look and never see. For people’s hearts have grown hard and their ears have grown deaf, and they have closed their eyes, otherwise they might see, hear, and then understand and turn back, and I would heal them.'”
MT 13:10-15, MK 4:10-12, LK 8:9-10
Jesus said “Do you not understand this parable? Then how are you going to be able to understand any of them? The seed is the word of God. The sower is the one who shares it with others. The people along the path are those who have heard the message about the kingdom and don’t understand it. Satan has snatched away the words that were sown in their hearts so they would not believe and be saved.”
“As for the seed sown on rocky ground, this represents the people who hear the word and immediately receive it joyfully. However, because they are not rooted in their faith, they believe for a little while but stumble when troubles come because of the word.”
“Regarding the seed sown among thorns, these are the people who hear the word but are distracted and paralyzed by worry and greed, and the word is not able to take root in them and produce any fruit.”
“But the seed sown on good ground represents the people who hear the word with honest and open hearts. They understand it, welcome it, and through endurance are able to bear much fruit, even up to 100 times what was sown.”
MT 13:18-24, MK 4:13-20, LK 8:11-15
The parable of the mustard seed
“How can I explain what the kingdom of God is like? What can I compare it to? It is like a mustard seed sown in the ground. It is smaller than any other seed, but when grown, it is a huge tree, taller than any plant in the garden. It becomes a tree big enough for birds to make nests in its large branches.”
MT 13:31-32, MK 4:30-32, LK 13:18-19
I’d never thought of Autumn as a time of new beginnings. To me, it was always seen as a sign of endings. It is harvest time, a time of wrapping up, of preparing against the winter that is to come. It is a beautiful time, but short-lived, and leads to a time of sparseness and lack. It is hard to fully enjoy the glory of Autumn knowing that the trees will soon be bare and ice and snow are coming.
But I like this new idea that was offered at the retreat – think of Autumn as a time to sow seeds. They have to be planted in the ground in Autumn, and rest quietly underground in darkness, in silence, unseen, in order to grow into what they are to become.
The poet Mary Oliver said “Is it not incredible that in an acorn something has hidden an entire tree?”
I saw a church sign recently that said “We can count the seeds in an apple, but only God can count the apples in a seed.”
Seeds are powerful things to think about.
It is also a gift to be invited to see old things in new ways.
My Mom gave me shiny pennies. My Dad gave me leaves. I’m grateful that they gave me simple things to remember them by. But interestingly, these things are both brown. I’ve been drawn to brown for a few months now, sketching with it, writing with it, painting with it, making jewelry with it. Different shades of brown – chocolate, caramel, sepia, café au lait.
I’ve been meditating on the fact that Dad was red-green color blind, so most of the time he saw nature as brown. The army green that I wear as my neutral color these days would have been brown to him. Autumn was his favorite time of the year because he could finally see colors.
While at the retreat I made some art to think about him and how he saw the Autumn world, the time when he was happiest. This is the first one I made. It is 7” x 10”.
I was going to make a simple one on a 4 x 6 index card, but I couldn’t find them in the craft supplies so I decided to work bigger instead. I’m glad I did.
I had some leftover materials so I made a second one. They work perfectly together. It is hard to see that here, and I don’t have a larger scanner. You could click on the pictures, print them out, and put them together to see what I mean.
While making these pieces I had quite a bit of understanding and peace come over me concerning my parents. I’m grateful I took the time to make this art, and also grateful that I was in the craft room alone so I could cry a little.
One thing I’m coming to understand is that there is great beauty in just allowing experiences to be what they are without defining them. I’m also learning that life is richer if it is a blend of things – for instance, happy/sad/wistful/grieving/hopeful is a valid feeling, even though we don’t have a word for it. Just like with Autumn leaves, they are more beautiful if they are a range of colors – reds, greens, yellow, orange, brown – all on the same tree, and often on the same leaf.
It was a gift from my Dad’s spirit that when we happened to take his ashes to scatter, it was the peak of Autumn in the mountains. This is where I sat to disperse his ashes, some 20 years after he had died.
You know where you stand with Autumn.
Not tall, not short.
But between.
Between life and death,
awakening and slumber,
the present and the future,
the known and the unknown.
Autumn is a time of harvests, of reaping
yet also sowing, of planting.
Hardy bulbs planted now sleep deeply,
hibernate like mother bears,
deep underground,
in darkness,
in silence,
in stillness.
Both awake in spring,
with flowers, with cubs,
new growth, new life
out of that stillness,
that silence,
that darkness.
We too are called into that cave, that tomb, that dark earth into the death and resurrection of Jesus.
We too are called into quiet, into stillness, so the seeds that God has planted within us can grow.
Ritual to honor a deceased parent
This uses something called “Hell” money. Chinese people use this fake money to show respect and honor to their deceased relatives. It is a way of keeping their memory alive. The Chinese have no “hell” or “heaven” – it is simply the afterlife. It is closer to “purgatory” or a “holding” area. It isn’t a place of punishment – it just simply isn’t a corporal existence here with us. Western missionaries translated the idea as “hell” because they did not understand it. You can obtain Hell money online (I used ArteCrafts on Etsy) or if you are fortunate enough to have a Chinatown section in your town, you can get them there.
If Western culture had a way of showing honor to deceased parents, I’d include it. They don’t. They don’t have a way of respecting and releasing grief. The Mexican Day of the Dead ceremony is very healing – you welcome back your dead ancestors for the day so they are still with you. In Western culture, you visit the grave (maybe) and pretend everything is fine. I’m all for adopting other culture’s ideas if they are healing. This represents my own twist on the idea.
These are the ingredients:
A candle.
Lighter.
Water to put out the fire if necessary.
Tray to hold the ingredients.
An incense stick for each person being honored.
A bell.
Regular and gold-orange Hell money.
You need a safe place to burn things – we used a fire pit. This should preferably be done outside, but could be done inside with a fireplace. There should be a way for the smoke to go up and outside.
To begin –
Cover your head – a hat or a handkerchief will do. This is for safety and for reverence. Avoid a ball cap.
Light the candle and put it at the top center of the burning area. This is not in the middle. Consider if the area is a clock. The center where you will burn the items is in the middle, where the clock arms are. You put the candle at the 12 o’clock position.
Light the incense sticks – one for each person you are remembering. Stick them in the burn area at the edge – at the 9 or 3 o’clock position. Angle them in towards the center, but not sharply. Say the name of each person, saying “I welcome (name) into this moment. I honor, love, and miss you.” (or other words that feel appropriate for you and your relationship)
Ring the bell once, calmly and reverently. This marks the beginning of silence.
Then burn the hell money one at a time, taking turns for each person who is participating in the ceremony. Have several different kinds of hell money. Some include representations of clothing or household goods. The idea is that you are “sending” these items to your relatives to make their stay in the otherworld easier.
If it feels right, burn one together in honor of your shared grief for the other’s parent.
Then burn the golden-orange hell money last. Only burn one of each.
Then ring the bell to signal the end of the ceremony.
Leave the incense burning. You can waft over you to bring some of its healing to you.
Regular Hell money looks like this
Gold-orange money looks like this –
betsybeadhead 
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