Before I explore the subject of living with loss, I would like to read a passage written by Jacob Trapp. He beautifully captures an essential part of life, the presence of love in many forms:

What is precious is you in others, others in you.
We enter into the being and lives of others,
as they do into ours,
sometimes momentarily,
sometimes enduringly.
This is what love essentially is, to be part of one another;
in simple sympathy, in close friendship, in shared stories, in sorrow and in joy.
Love is when a person exists for us with such intensity and such density
that our lives are transformed because of what they are
and speak to us from the depth of their mystery, as we do to them.
Love does not desire to possess,
Love desires to share, to give, to communicate.

Loss is a universal experience. Every person in this sanctuary has been touched by loss at one time or another, although the circumstances vary widely: the end of a romantic partnership- the loss of a job- a change in physical ability- the loss of a home- the death of a loved one. The stories behind these events are deeply personal. They tell volumes about the choices that an individual made in the past and the hope that they held for the future.

Grief is a visceral emotion. The feeling that accompanies a significant loss has often been described as having a broken heart. When we are grieving we can feel like the wind has been knocked out of us, as if we were run over by a truck or that a part of our identity has been amputated. When the circumstances are sudden, people often describe feeling numb. Loss means that there is something missing- a missing piece in the fabric of our lives. It is no wonder then that in the midst of grief we experience a sense of emptiness.

Part of the reason that grief is so overwhelming is that our sense of meaning has been damaged. The familiar patterns of behavior no longer hold true. As we try to create new ways of living, there may be conflicting feelings. For example, the end of a romantic partnership may bring both freedom and loneliness. The death of a loved one who suffered a long illness may bring both relief and pain. The loss of a job may bring both new possibilities and fear.

Grief is the natural response to loss. However, oftentimes a person in the midst of grief is told either directly or indirectly to "get over it", "buck up", "you can't fall apart", "be strong for the other people in your life" or "don't feel bad". These messages no matter how well intended are not helpful. They cause isolation and denial of true feelings. A grieving person may even learn to be dishonest with him or herself by "keeping a stiff upper lip" and filling their lives with constant activity. Trying to avoid negative emotions will not make them disappear. We must face our sorrow and the parts of our lives where we feel most incomplete in order to be able to live meaningful lives.

How is it possible to regain a sense of well-being when suffering from a significant loss? Although there has been a recent increase in the number of books, tapes, and videos, on the subject, there is no single grieving process. There are as many paths of healing as there are individual stories of loss. Some approaches may work well for some and not for others. The emotions of grieving are also like ocean waves that recede and come welling up with unanticipated force so what might be of comfort at one moment may not be the next or what was not helpful one day might be a source of reassurance and strength some months later.

The most significant loss that I have experienced is the death of my half-brother and only sibling, Michael in October of 1998. Even as I say the words, it seems impossible that he died over three years ago now. Difficult to believe that it has really been that long since I saw his face, felt his touch, and heard him call my name. Michael died of a heart attack but it was the cumulative effect of diabetes and addiction problems that really took a toll. Although he was thirteen years older, we were very close. I love him dearly and always will. I know that Michael is as close as my beating heart and at times I can feel his presence.

I would like to share with you some of the resources that I discovered in my bereavement as sources of strength and healing. Perhaps my story will shed some light on living with loss for you or someone that you care about.

People often have very pious images of clergy. When people hear that I am a minister, they often apologize for swearing! So, you may be surprised to learn that I never prayed until after my brother's death. I was raised as a Unitarian Universalist in a humanist congregation. Meditation not prayer was a ritual part of our worship services. Although I had practiced both silent and spoken meditation, prayer held no real meaning for me. After Michael's death, this changed. I came to experience what has often been described as the "dark night of the soul". I found that the only way that I could get out of bed and face the day's work ahead of me was to draw upon a power greater than myself. In a quiet moment, I would name the thoughts that were weighing me down and ask for the strength to make it through the day.

If you are a theist, your prayer may be directed to God. If you are a pagan, you may ask for the embrace of the Goddess. Even if you are an agnostic or an atheist, you may find that this form of intentional thought may be a source of hope for you when addressed to your higher power or to the Spirit of Life. When I began praying, I did it because I had no choice. Now I find that prayer is an important part of my life particularly when I am in search of deeper meaning.
When my brother died, I was an Intern Minister at the Unitarian Universalist Church in Berkeley, CA. I was also preparing to meet the Ministerial Fellowship Committee, the credentialing body of our Association. I knew that I would be asked during my interview with the MFC about how I was coming to terms with my grief. For this reason, I sought out a pastoral counselor. Therapy is not something that was done in my family. Looking back I wonder if I would have had the courage to seek that help if it had not also been a part of my professional development. However, I highly recommend counseling to anyone who is coming to terms with a significant loss.

Even if the loss was anticipated, we are never prepared for the reality. Loss brings a sense of incompleteness. This is because someone or something is missing from our lives. The incompleteness is also a result of all those actions or non-actions that we no longer have control over. In other words, regrets about words that were spoken or unspoken, actions that were taken or not taken, hopes and dreams that will never be completed. A pastoral counselor or therapist can help you to work through what was left emotionally unfinished.

If you do not like the idea of sharing one on one, you might prefer meeting with a support group. When I was in Martha's Vineyard, Hospice held a Bereavement Group for people who had lost siblings. It was a remarkable opportunity that I could not pass up! Five participants and a facilitator met for eight Monday afternoons. She would ask us open-ended questions. Sometimes we would bring in pictures or written reflections. Our stories were very different. Our common ground was the love that we felt for our siblings and a profound sense of understanding. If you are interested in learning more about counseling or support groups, please contact me at any time.

Grief can be triggered by all kinds of things: a strain of music, scents in the air, special places, a desire to share an experience or ask advice. Often these thoughts and feelings are unpredictable. I try to remain open to these emotions while I have them. Sometimes I share them with a trusted friend or reflect about it in a journal. Other times, it is enough to simply pause and breathe deeply. There are also some predictable times: anniversaries, birthdays, holidays, when the sense of loss can be profound. I try to treat myself tenderly on those days. To make plans with people who would understand.

August 3rd is my brother's birthday. On that day, I often fly a kite with a friend. Michael had a playful spirit and I have his kite made of brightly colored nylon. The first summer after his death, I remember a feeling of elation as the kite took flight. My friend and I took turns holding the string. On that sunny August afternoon, the wind at Cesar Chavez Park took the kite ever higher until it was a bright speck in the pale blue sky. We didn't talk about anything profound that afternoon but it felt good to be connected to my brother through something that he used to own and to have someone who cared about me by my side. I encourage you to create such rituals in your life.

The thoughts and prayers of one's community do indeed offer strength and peace. The hugs, calls, visits and notes that I received meant so much to me. I learned the hard way how important it is to be a caring presence for someone who has experienced loss. Sometimes people tell me that they feel awkward or afraid of saying the wrong thing, believe me that acknowledging the loss and showing that you care, is at once the simplest and most profound gift that you can offer. Never hesitate to express the love in your heart!

In preparing for this sermon, I found all the sympathy cards that I had received. I have them tied with a satin ribbon in a drawer of memorabilia. The images on the cards were an affirmation of the beauty of life: flowers, landscapes, birds in flight, to name a few. They are a reminder of all those connections that endure: friends, family members, colleagues, my minister, and members of my church.

Today we celebrated the blessing of Nicholas Shaw Yalanis. As a faith community we witnessed the dedication of his parents and family to the raising of this child. Also as a church, we committed ourselves to be a special presence to him offering our protection and wisdom. New life brings with it a promise of the future in which we can play an important part.

Concluding with the words with which I began:

What is precious is you in others, others in you.
We enter into the being and lives of others,
as they do into ours,
sometimes momentarily,
sometimes enduringly.
This is what love essentially is, to be part of one another;
in simple sympathy, in close friendship, in shared stories, in sorrow and in joy.
Love is when a person exists for us with such intensity and such density
that our lives are transformed because of what they are
and speak to us from the depth of their mystery, as we do to them.
What is precious is you in others, others in you.