Having Fun with Phobias

"A lot of people are afraid of heights, not me, I'm afraid of widths."
Stephen Wright


About 15 years ago I became very interested in therapy methods designed to shorten other's suffering. I read everything I could get my hands on which I presumed would be a refresher of the Brief Therapy model that I studied in graduate school. But no, it seemed that the new methods were using the body as well as the mind to enhance recovery from a host of problems. I was hoping that this would be a quicker therapy than laboriously searching  through past history and walking through the broken glass of horrible experiences to change trauma. So, I decided to go to a workshop that promised these shortcuts. One eyebrow raised and a "prove it" attitude went along with me.

Interestingly, the workshop was sponsored by a very enlightened group of people I worked with who were in the behavioral health section of an insurance company. They actually encouraged us to study new techniques to expand our competency and in their best interest enable us to hasten people's recovery. Win/win: quicker time in counseling [good for the client] and also less out flow of cash for the insurance company. The only problem was I was inherently skeptical of "quick fixes", nonetheless I ventured forth.

At the workshop the leader told about the process and how it was based on acupuncture points which corresponded to the Chinese meridian points discovered thousands of years ago. Hum mm, I thought, let's see if this is just talk with no substantiation. First off he asked for volunteers, asking for someone who had something that they were afraid of, something they wanted to change. Ha, I thought, I don't have anything like that. The first volunteer was a young woman who bravely stood up before all of us and said, "I have a terrible fear of heights." O, that fear, and I inwardly cringed.

A couple of years prior I was at my son's graduation from college. My husband and two sons and I wanted to see some sights and my son suggested  we go out to a see a particularly lovely gorge in near his college.  With great enthusiasm all of us walked around the entrance to the gorge which was cordoned off with a fence for safety's sake. My two boys walked right up to the fence, my husband right behind them, glancing down at the incredible view below.  I thought I was going to throw up. I couldn't look and a was a mess, cautioning them to "step away from that fence!" They laughed and started to dangle parts of themselves over the fence until I was almost in tears. Seems as if I had hidden my fear of heights rather well, they thought I was kidding. The point - I was terrified.

The leader  first attended to the young therapist, having her explain her fear of heights and asking how many years it had been present in her life and how it had adversely affected her. She candidly described how she couldn't even climb a ladder. Then he instructed her to do a series of taps on herself, all the while thinking of what she was afraid of. This took possibly ten minutes. Next, he brought a step stool and asked her if she would consider standing on it. "Sure!" she said, and proceeded to do just that. Wow, I thought, I wonder if she was planted, to con us.

We were then given the manual which instructed us in the very simple technique. We then paired off with another therapist, having one person act as the client and the other as the therapist trying the new technique we just witnessed.

I went first and as the client had to describe the fear in great detail. Mine was fairly easy to root out, it happened when I was 12 years old. My mother had always taken all six of us to the same dentist, Dr. Leishmer. He was kind and good and we did like him. Well, sadly he developed cancer of the jaw. This was fifty years ago and the treatments at that time for cancer were Draconian, somewhat like today's treatments, but far less effective. So, Dr. Leishmer came in to greet us and he was wearing a surgical mask over his lower face. That was bad enough but bless his heart, he smelled like rotting fish. Sally, as oldest went first. I took the time to walk out into the hallway, down the hallway to a door that lead out to the fire escape. This office was on the 12th floor of the building and it was a beautiful spring day. Since it was 1958, no safety measures were in place, nothing to stop me and I blithely waltzed out on the fire escape and looked all around Chicago and then looked down. Whoosh. 12 stories down. I fell to my knees and had to crawl back inside the building, shaking and nauseous. My turn was soon next and I had to go in there with poor Dr. Leishmer who, despite his cancer was working.

Years later I asked my Mom, "why did you takes us to him, that was awful." She said, "I felt incredibly sorry for him. As soon as most people heard that he had cancer they canceled their appointments and I just couldn't do that to him. He had a family to feed." How I wish she had prepared us for this experience and for her generosity in being loyal to him. Not her way. Anyway the dilemma for me was an internal one: I was sickened by this man but I didn't want to cause a scene and refuse to go in. Hence the perfect set up for a phobia, internal conflict and fear.

After my partner lead me through the series of taps, humming, counting I was to rate my discomfort level. I went from a '9' [ uncomfortable] to a '2' [comfortable], zero being the most comfortable. I still had some skepticism, was going to work in the real world? Cut to the chase here, I tried it out in many forms and was successful. My biggest triumph was going to the Empire State building several years ago, really enjoying the view, heading back to the down the elevator and saying to my husband, "remember when I used to be afraid of heights?" He answered  "I almost forgot about that", and I said, "Yeah, so did I".

"You can't do anything about the length of your life, but you can do something about its width and depth." H.L.Menken


What I want to leave you with is this: if you have an irrational fear and you want it gone, there are fast and effective methods out there to chase them away. I am not going to advocate for any brand name in particular but do go banish the fear. Find someone [psychotherapist, hypnotherapist] who is recommended. What is marvellous is the cure. It is so worth it: you can see all over Chicago, New York, any gorge and look and see what is way down below because you feel safe and you will enjoy it and be proud of yourself.

magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.

Anxiety as Energy- Dad and How He Humored Himself Around Life

Robert L. Ricketts 

Wit as Gentle Humor

How easy it is for one to laugh,
When lines aren't punched,
Or people trashed.
When biting comments meant to sting,
Are reduced to playful pithy things.
The quibbling quip, the ill timed phrase
Instead are met with joyous praise.
Give me the rhythm rhyme and rule
That helps relieve the words so cruel
And adds a lone redeeming tone
To any song that feels like home.  Susan R. Grout, 1998



I admire great wit and find that so much of life can be appreciated when one's wits are fully engaged and one is eager to laugh. My first homework assignment to most of my clients is: be aware and amused each day and then report back. This is just one of the blessings I got from my father who in his gentle way could make any heart melt with his warm humor and quick wit. I know this contributed to his success as a restaurateur. How did he develop this humor?

Dad was the baby of  his family and though treasured for that reason, he did not have an optimal up bringing. For one thing his mother left him and her other three children with their grandmother when he was only six months old and did not return until he was five! [I had to verify this with sister Trisha, even writing it was awful.] Then my Grandmother wanted her children back and took her case to court. Unbelievably the judge made the children decide where they wanted to live, Mother or their Father. The older three chose their Dad who had been involved with them all along. My Dad wanted to do this as well, but he chose to live with his mother because he felt sorry for her. Then, what a circus ensued! Every six months they would have to move in the middle of the night to avoid eviction and paying the landlord. One time when he was about eight,  Dad was eating cereal for dinner while his Mom was out on the town [it was the roaring twenties...], there was a knock on the door, he opened it and some men came in and repossessed the furniture. She said when she came home, "why did you open the door?" When he told this story he always laughed, he loved to entertain, even at his own expense. Obviously, this is not the recipe for family life, role models, or love relationships but curiously this man was all about love, laughter and making people feel good and comfortable. Also surprisingly he was an excellent business man with a strong work ethic and a head for figures.

Ah, but the toll this childhood had on his soul was unrelenting anxiety through most of his thirties. Surely his erratic upbringing set him up to be anxious but then, as most of the men in his era, he entered the war as a 21 year old. I know next to nothing about his stint on Okinawa, he told us "I dug latrines for three years,"  which I blithely believed until I read about Okinawa. Yeah, right. It was called "the worst theater of  WWII in the Pacific". So I doubt seriously it was nothing but the shovel for him. He never talked about it. This probably contributed to his anxiety attacks. [See the post on http://susansmagicfeather.blogspot.com/2011/03/influential-people-in-my-life-or-who.html 3/17/11 "Influential People in my Life" about Dad].

As I previously mentioned these attacks finally stopped the last time my mother brought him to the emergency room and a doctor said sternly "this has to stop, you had better change your life."  His change was wrought by a new job, selling our big house and buying his own restaurant. Getting him away from a rather difficult brother who was perpetually jealous of my Dad was an enormous improvement, but striking out on his own with a family to feed-yikes.

Did I mention another possible contributing factor? My Dad was drinking heavily. Excuse me if I am preaching to the choir, but one of the unfortunate facts about booze is it's a "depressive sedative drug". This drug initially relaxes and then it ends up being a stimulant especially when too much is consumed. That is why in moderation it is a 'feel good' experience, but with too much of a good thing, as in many things in life, it is detrimental. When he quit the restaurant downtown the doctor told him to take six months off, to pull himself together and start on a new course. The doctor also cautioned him "don't have more than one drink a day." Dad was fond of saying, "So I went out and bought a fishbowl."  My sister Sally and I still laugh remembering him in his lawn chair, drink in hand, while we were sweating our butts off cutting the grass. "You missed a spot," he'd say pointing. Amazingly he was able to draw up a new life for himself and he did recover fairly well from the months off. Yet he continued to over drink.

Years later when I was working for the local 'Community Alcohol and Recovery Center' I screwed up my courage to confront him about his drinking. "Dad," I said with shaking voice and utter sincerity, "I'm concerned about your drinking and from what I've learned, you are a 'maintenance alcoholic'." He looked interested and said, "Sue, what is that?" I said, "It is a person who is a "heavy steady" drinker, never really drunk but someone who maintains a certain percentage of alcohol in their system most days." He laughed, patted me on the arm and said "Never give up on me, Sue," then he pause and said, "heavy, steady, I like that." He used that term fondly about his drinking and to my knowledge it did not alter his behavior one iota. So, I did raise his consciousness but not in the way I intended. His drinking up until that time was always a puzzle to me, I never saw him drunk yet when he'd come to visit us our first stop, at his insistence, always was the liquor store. When he got his bottle he would clutch it and say "my security". He was a happy, cheerful, fun loving drinker who would occasionally burst into song. Not the usual sad profile of an alcoholic. He not only was successful at business but he was cherished by his family and had a host of loyal friends until he died. Nonetheless, I was constantly trying to save him from himself, I did so worry about him. I lost the battle years later-- he died of a heart attack, at only 67 years old. My husband and all of the brother-in-laws grieved him like a father, and all of us still tell funny stories about him. He was very well loved. Flaws? Yes. Wonderful, absolutely.

So, now that you know some of his history, how on earth was he able to control his anxiety? Obviously, not very well in his thirties but he improved as he aged. For one thing he threw himself into his new business and because it was his own venture he dragged my Mom, my sister Sally and me into the restaurant. Then as the littler ones aged they had a chance to work in the restaurant with our father. He was surrounded by hiring and by genetics with people who adored him. Quite a contrast to working with his brother. As a matter of fact, some of his employees worked at the restaurant the entire time he owned it, more than 25 years. As his business grew so did his confidence in choosing who he cared about, in other words, no more ass kissing. He was unfailingly respectful to everyone who walked into that restaurant and remarkably was able to greet everyone by name. This is thousands of customers and he could remember not only their name but also something personal about them. [It is just striking me, I have always been grateful for my good memory and that this is one of the characteristics I must have inherited from him, though I don't have thousands, only hundreds of names and histories to remember.] If a customer was rude he could handle them, best with humor. An example: a rather pretentious, seriously overdressed woman came in while I was waitressing. She asked to see a menu, popped on her glasses, read and exclaimed, "there is absolutely nothing on this menu that I would eat!"  "Lady," my Dad said, "the only thing not on that menu is spaghetti or hot dogs!" She left in a huff and we laughed and laughed.

 Taking charge, making the changes he needed and using his anxiety as energy was top on the list of taming the anxiety. Later,  letting go of how people perceived him or felt about him also helped. He even took a yoga class with my mother. Keep in mind this was in the late sixties when men at a yoga class were about as ordinary as if a llama stepped into the class. I was thrilled and said, "Great, how did it go?" "I threw my back out trying to be a pretzel" he said. At least he tried.

How to conquer anxiety, a partial list.

1. Use the anxiety for yourself as extra energy.  Think about how actors use their nervousness back stage as a punch to their performance.
2. Learn to pay attention to the body and read its signals. If anyone who is starting to have a panic would just slow their breathing [in extremis breathing into a paper bag], most panic attacks would be prevented.
3. Vow to live fearlessly each day, or as Sally says "carpe them diems". Ask yourself, "what is the worst thing that can happen?"  "Do you have to do this by yourself or could you ask for help?" "What small thing can I do today to protect myself from the [imagined?] outcome?"
4. Pregrieving?  Am I imagining how bad I might feel if and when this dreadful thing may or may not happen?  
5. Use the Serenity Prayer or a magic feather to realize that there are things that are in our control and things out of our control [people, places and things] and we must accept this and move on.
6. Distract yourself with a friend, a walk outside, a pet, a phone call, yoga, writing, a movie, bath, music, etc., etc.
7. Let go, remind yourself that the last time you checked you weren't a god or goddess and so in our humanness, the human brain is anciently wired for fear and for good reason we had to be alert so as not to be eaten by a predator.  
8. We can outsmart or train the brain which wants to go back into the fear groove by saying, "no thank you I've had enough of that" or by the distractions mentioned above.
9. Always try to be aware and amused at the world.

Since everyone has anxiety thanks to how our brains are wired, it is the wise person who uses that anxiety with relish and maybe even turns it into a passion. He did, he loved his work, his family his friends and to entertain everyone. I will always love my Dad.  I have learned the lessons he taught me, some good [memory, discipline, friendliness, business] and the not so good [ don't drink too much or it will shorten your life, driving too fast promotes tickets...] I will always be the grateful daughter. I just wish I could tell a joke like he could,  alas, I inevitably screw up the punch line.

susansmagicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.

I'll Let You Go --the Grace of A Happy Death

"Seems to me it wasn't all that long ago that when an OLD PERSON DIED  the UNDERTAKER put him in a COFFIN,  and then you sent FLOWERS  to the FUNERAL HOME where the MORTICIAN  held the WAKE. Then after the FUNERAL,  they put him in a HEARSE  and DROVE him to the CEMETERY, where the BURIED  his BODY in a GRAVE.
Now when a SENIOR CITIZEN PASSES AWAY, he is placed in a BURIAL CONTAINER and you send FLORAL TRIBUTES  to the  SLUMBER ROOM  where the GRIEF THERAPIST  supervises the VIEWING. After the MEMORIAL SERVICE,  the  FUNERAL COACH TRANSPORTS THE DEPARTED   to the GARDEN OF REMEMBRANCE, where his EARTHLY REMAINS  are INTERRED  in their  FINAL RESTING PLACE."  George Carlin

The above is not a scolding, but a mere reminder that we have sanitized death and dying sometimes to a very silly level and George was willing to make fun of that. Wouldn't be better, more real, if we just talked bluntly about death and dying?

In grade school most of us loved to solve riddles and one I remember was, "what does a housewife search for and hates to find?"--- Dust.  Another, more modern riddle, "what do most of us avoid examining and must experience"?--- Death. Ashes to ashes dust to dust, a modern day riddle solved.

A couple of months prior to her death, my sister Sally overheard my Mom say to one of her friends on the phone, "my daughter is with me and then the rest of them [me and my siblings] are coming to watch me die, isn't that sweet?" Sally really laughed and gleefully told us this remark.  Mom toward the end of her life was overt and candid about her impending "ashes to ashes" experience. I do not believe I ever heard her utter the popular phrase "passed on" about any of her friends who died before her or  about her own death. In her apartment complex, anyone she would meet would ask her how she was getting along and she'd say, "my life is ebbing away". Since most the of inquirers were approximately her age, they would just nod knowingly, and push their walkers away at a glacial clip. By contrast, the younger people would invariably say something like, "O, Jane you look great," stumbling all over themselves to deny the truth what was right there before their eyes. She did have fire in her eyes and always that witty remark but she was so greatly diminished in her last year.

Being in an old people's home really brings your mind around to how precious a healthy and active life is. Some of the people residing there had few visitors and this was an up scale place that went all out for their residents. I believe it is because no one wants to look at the end of life, especially the thoughts of our own impermanence.
I can't say I blame anyone for not wanting to examine their own death, or as Woody Allen said, "It's not that I'm afraid to die, I just don't want to be there when it happens." And currently in our society we keep death as a secret as possible with our over emphasis on youth, eternal youth, everlasting youth, we do not want to be there when death happens, at all. In my work I promote living fully until the last breath of life with love and joy all around. However, wonder if one of your last experiences is in a country that is having an earthquake, a tsunami, radioactive fallout? Wonder if you contract a particularly virulent form of cancer? How would you be, how would you want to be? I remember many years ago reading in  James Clavell's Shogun, the warriors would prepare themselves each morning with "today is a good day to die". That is how we all should be preparing for our own deaths, daily, with grace, wisdom, awareness and humor. I realize that finding something tranquil or humorous in painful illness is a reach, but the discipline of keeping calm, being meditative, can serve us well.

In my field, Psychology, in past twenty years, there has been a refreshing embracing of the art of "mindfulness" and meditation. Many studies have shown that the simple act of being still and letting the thoughts in your head roll on by without grabbing them with a choke hold has a remarkably palliative effect. I am a type A+ person, love to and need to move, so even though I have practiced a form of meditation for over 25 years I am still fairly lousy at it. Below is the handy dandy method I espouse.

1. Forget what you have been told about meditation, you do not have to be holy, mindless or even sitting up. So instead I would like to introduce:
2. "The Cheater's Method of Meditation".
3. Plan to wake up 15-20 minutes before you have to get up and get going.
4. Go to the bathroom and then get back in bed.
5. Lay on your back, rotate your arms so that your palms are facing up to the ceiling.
6. Let the thoughts in your head just go. Do not grab them.
7. If this feels too difficult, just allow yourself to calmly breath. Watch the breath. [Turning the palms up like that interferes with falling back to sleep.]
8. Do this daily, aim for 15-20 minutes. Even five minutes can improve your day immeasurably, it could be a good day to die.  

I have been happily engaged in this form of meditation for years and truly enjoy the peace and the settling in that comes with it.

This last year was a big one with Mom dying and the meditation practice has been invaluable. It helped with the times I spent with Mom and afterwords dealing with her death. She said to me the last time that I saw her, "you know Susan, you are helping me die and this is something that you will remember all your life." She died gracefully with her daughters at her bedside. She talked about helping my Grandmother through her last days. Mom was holding her hand and GG leaned over to her and said, "let's run away together." Then she died, running to, hopefully, a lovely place.

Mom would always end each phone conversation the same way, "I'll let you go." And now on a daily basis I am letting her go, with love and gratitude. Amen

magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.

Influential People in my Life or Who will You Mourn

It is well past midnight and I am reading a particularly lovely passage in Major Pettigrew's Last Stand and I am smiling then abruptly burst into tears. Why? Well, I would love to be able to share this book with the other member of my two-person-Friday Book Club and I cannot, she died in September. For years my mother and I shared, extolled, ranted, raved and immensely enjoyed our exchanges about books that we had mutually read. This happened mostly on Fridays due to my "religion" - I haven't worked on Fridays for years, but truthfully it could have been any day of the week. The reading and treasuring these books was especially heightened in intensity when Mom and her husband had to sell their house [which she did single handedly] and move into a retirement  complex [again, almost single handedly] and she had to give up hundreds of her books. I took this on as my mission, the least I could do, sending her six books every six weeks. Lucky for me, we liked many of the same books. Also fortunately, I have a dear friend who has remarkably similar taste in literature as Mom and I could easily rope her into the game. She read every one, even the ones she railed about. She read 'em all. She often said, "Susan, I don't know what I'd do without these books," and with that kind of gratitude it was my delight to seek out books she would particularly enjoy. I recommend this activity for anyone who has a friend who is ill or family member that you wish to be closer to, it is stimulating and very satisfying rather than reverting to "how's the weather where you are?"

There are many reasons that my Mother reaches the top of my list for remarkable and influential people in my life. As I thought about this it came to me that the people you admire and enjoy are the ones that you will grieve when they die, and they must be included on the influential list.

My Mom, by nature, was never very huggy-kissy and I was one of six children so there was no danger of being over indulged or spoiled. We learned independence at an early age. We ran free and as one of my sisters stated: "ours was a  lively and raucous household". There were lots of artistic endeavors and always tons of music, perhaps to the neighbors chagrin.  My Mom was quite an artist and drew for Marshall Fields & Co. back in the 40's which she had to abandon for her family but she never stopped being artistic. Music was one good way of keeping all six kids happy during long car rides. It is particularly sad to me that so many families are all on their isolated pods and not interacting while traveling.  Everyone in our family not only learned to sing but also  to play an instrument. Ah, the harmonies. I really believed that if you had more than two people singing there would naturally be three part harmony. Lucky, so lucky to be exposed to all of the  music and singing at such an early age, and has brought so much joy to my life. What  I admired about my Mother was her willingness to change, bend and grow from rough experiences. My Dad had a series of what we now realize were panic attacks when he was in his late 30's, believing each time that he was having a heart attack. Many a time she rushed him to the emergency room until a Dr. told them he had to make some big changes in his life,  adding that he could not continue to do what he was doing. He decided to quit his job: he had been working at the family restaurant with a very unpleasant brother and grew to hate the job. He loved restaurants though and so he and Mom sold the big house and bought a restaurant in a town 20 miles away from the restaurant in the big city. Very hard work, grinding long hours but they eventually made a success of the restaurant. During these tumultuous years she ended up packing up all six kids, pets and the family belongings four times in about four years before they finally settled into the home where my father died when he was only 67. Widowhood was rough and we gathered around our grief stricken mother. A most remarkable thing happened, my Mom who was not known for her light- heartedness became fun and entertaining. Married to the life of the party her role had been to basically clean up the detritus of the star of the show, my Dad. Now was her time. She surprised us all by getting re married at the age of 75 and up and moving to her new husband's stomping grounds. They had about 9 or 10 good years and then he started to lose it, either minor strokes or dementia and though it was difficult [and so was he] she didn't leave him and took care of him until 3 months prior to his death. I don't believe his family has ever appreciated what she did for him and them. Because her husband did not like to travel she became the one who would come out west to see us. She was there at all of the weddings, the funerals and an annual summer visit. It is hard to think, no more, never again. Her generosity is legend in the family, she financially helped each of our children with college, she aided in paying for surgeries, until very recently she sent us a check for our birthdays and always "a buck for luck". So I not only loved her, I admired her and realize that she influenced me greatly. I hope I can live up to some of her happier traditions, her creativity and her generosity. Tomorrow: What my Dad and Nelson Mandella Had in Common

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magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.

Recovering from "Great Pain"

When there is great trauma in the world, the thoughts and heart go out to all of the people: Japan, Haiti and New Zealand who are all overwhelmed with earth quake catastrophe, huge loss and overwhelming grief.  I am narrowing grief down to a personal level and hope that this can aid in the lessening of great pain for anyone reading.

It is almost, but not quite, impossible to describe to someone who has not suffered a huge loss what it is like and why it takes an inordinate amount of time and energy to recover. Age and time help, that is true and I am drawn to the words written a century and a half ago by Emily Dickinson.

                             After great pain a formal feeling comes---

The Nerves sit ceremonious like Tombs--
The stiff Heart questions was it he, that bore,
And yesterday or Centuries before?

Great loss does have that pendulum feeling of immediacy and 'centuries before'. I tell people that I see in counseling, "the best you can hope for is that it will not remain as physically painful, it will become more like a whisper, a wistfulness of a memory." This is true when I reflect on the loss of my daughter. Granted, I am mourning only one tiny person, yet "my heart stiffened" at that time and my mind locked into an oblivion of pain. I was relentlessly grieving not only for the baby daughter but for every age of the daughter that I would be missing. My resolve was to tough it out so I could be an adequate Mom to my darling, healthy, little boys who were only two and five years old.  They were as lively and funny and dear as always but their antics not only made me laugh but then I would cry, which I, of course, tried to hide from them. Life goes on and people expect you to recover quickly and be the same person that you were prior to the death. I couldn't and I wasn't.  Again to Emily describing the weight of loss--


This is the hour of Lead--
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow--
First---Chill---then Stupor---then the letting go---

I was so young, only 28 and all the previous deaths in my life were expected, Grandparents in their late 70's, so nothing had prepared me for the overwhelming grief that would be my constant companion for years. Did I appear a mess and glum? No, I hid it well and in fact had many joyous times. I also did some incredibly foolish things like telling my parents not to come to be with me, no memorial [in those days it was funerals], rejected friends who babies born around the same time and did not seek help for months. When I did seek help it was with a peer support group that in a small way did aid in my recovery but truthfully I needed more than that. I did lots of reading and talking to others who had experienced a similar loss. I found out just how a big club it is and I was humbled. I learned so much about grief and grieving, and this loss jet propelled me past my peer group and gave me insights that I carried into my counseling practice.

Here is a partial list of the things that I found were essential in my recovery and helpful to the grieving people in my counseling practice:

1. Budget more time than you think is necessary to allow expression of the loss.
2. Get appropriate help. This can be in any form that you find meaningful- most importantly with friends and family and then what works for you: the churches, professional counseling; a peer group; shamans; spiritual guides etc.
3. Review frequently: what is getting in the way of feeling better? How is holding on to anger, hatred, despair, victimization, bitterness serving me? Am I keeping the past as present?
4. Self care is a very important part of recovery to wit: am I abusing drugs, alcohol etc.? Am I eating nourishing food, getting enough sleep, exercising? Am I withholding the truth from myself, my friends, my family, my support group? Am I minimizing?
5. Prioritize your sense of humor. Find reasons to laugh even if it is only at yourself. Watch amusing films, read books that are humorous, be around people that make you laugh. Be around children and pets that you love and find amusing. The AH-HA! is very close to the HA-HA.  All of this takes commitment and diligence, sounds funny to write this, but this is true.
6. Be response able, in other words watch that you are not just reacting to situations and the world but that you are responding in a loving, respectful manner. This includes setting acceptable limits for yourself, being accountable for your actions, being willing to let go of old roles and of course, telling the truth and running.
7. Learn the art of forgiveness. While acknowledging the truth of hurts inflicted  purposefully or inadvertently by others, be willing to step up, say something and then let go of the outcome.
8. Dive down deep, to quote Goethe, "knowing is not enough, we must apply; willing is not enough, we must do." Record this journey in some form for yourself: make a journal; have meaningful conversations; create a painting or collage; make a quilt; write letters etc.
9. Do good loving actions for others daily: remember kindness doesn't cost a cent; be lavish in your loving those close to you; express that love often to those you love; do volunteer work; be aware and amused every day of your life and sharing this joy with others. 

I could go on an on mainly because this is part of my life's work. It has been my privilege to work with so many people and help them through the "hour of lead" to emerge on the other side to the hours of joy.

Tomorrow: On the Loving Influences in My Life and Being Disobedient

susansmagicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.

O Little Flower Who Grew from Love

Our daughter, Sarah Emily had she lived would be celebrating her 40th birthday tomorrow. I want to honor her. Here is a post I wrote four years ago about the experience of losing a daughter.

In this sculpture from the Chicago Art Institute, the people are mourning a dead baby

One of the most painful experiences of my life was the loss of a daughter that I only knew inter utero. 'Stillborn and borne still in my heart', even writing that phrase makes my solar plexus ache - it is literally physical. Yet this happened to us over thirty five years ago.  Long ago I wrote this poem to describe this small but very significant death.

Fine Bones 

The finest bones in all the world,
I've held next to my heart.
The longest walk I ever took
was with those bones.
The lightest package I ever carried
 weighed the most: snow encased in lead.
Up a mossy knoll I trudged with my true love
 and that tiny package filled with cremated dreams.

Down to the cold water's edge we crawled
 to throw a piece of our life away,
 on the tide
 we tossed all that remained
 of our beloved baby still-born
 yet borne still in our hearts.

We believed inside that box -- a powder, a talc
 so fine it would swirl like smoke into the heavens.
Instead we encountered sad orange chunks-
 bones amidst the ash.
We decided she was made of sterner stuff,
 Joan d'Arc
 who resisted the flame.
I writhed, sobbed and shook
 so human in my rejection
 of this noble philosophy.

Even now, can she hear my sorrow
 that gathers on the dark side of my heart?
After all these years, in my mind
 those perfect fingers and toes
 still glow, rosy round.
You have such fine bones, Sarah Emily.

Nothing in my life of 28 years had prepared me for this death. I had miscarriages prior to this but carrying a baby girl, a very wanted baby girl, full term and have her born dead was indescribably painful. Many have walked this path, most commonly in foreign third world countries. I had not encountered anyone until after March 28th, 1975. Then the women and a few men came forward to share their sorrows and losses of children. It is indeed a club that you do not ever want to be included in. However I welcomed the people who were brave enough to greet and stand by me and my husband in our pain. Some friends could not, would not acknowledge us and of course there were the poor misguided who brushed this aside as no more painful than the loss of a pet. I am not sure to this day which is worse: being blown off or completely shunned.

There is so little to write about the baby herself, I was urged by the Dr. to not look at her and now I know how foolish that was because my husband did and said she was beautiful. It pays to be disobedient sometimes. What I do know is that she had grossly compromised kidneys and that my body had set up an attack akin to what the babies go through that become "blue babies" [RH factor]. This was not an easy pregnancy and I knew from two successful pregnancies that something was definitely wrong. I kept at the Doctors and they kept reassuring me that all was well, though they were troubled by my exhaustion and water retention. Sadly, at that time our hospitals didn't test for the "Kell factor". Unwittingly and innocently my husband and I created this blood problem for the tiny astronaut inside of me. We are beyond fortunate to have the two healthy gorgeous sons [and now four healthy wonderful grandchildren] that we have.

I have had a few dreams of Sarah Emily and they are always peaceful and lovely. Like her, like her short life, she lives in my heart.

susansmagicfeather copyright 2015 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.

NDE- Near Death Experience and Carrying a Tune

The joy of living is greatly enhanced when you intimately know about death. THIS IS NOT SOMETHING YOU ACTUALLY WANT TO EXPERIENCE. [Interesting. I accidentally hit the cap lock for that sentence.] Emphasis aside, no one courts this kind of experience, it happens. Mine occurred when I was 24 years old. As horrific as they can be, I was having a miscarriage, and worse, it was not proceeding well. My husband rushed me to the hospital. They gave me an emergency D & C and seemingly that went well until I was wheeled into the recovery room. I immediately started  violently shaking and as my husband said I was, "red hot to the touch." Downhill from there: my BP plummeted, my breathing became shallow and my skin color drained away. The Doctor finally came in and my husband reasonably asked, "what the hell is going on?" To his chagrin the Doctor replied, "I really don't know". He called the crash cart and immediately started a vena cava line into my heart. Desperate measures for a critically dangerous situation. This was my husband's experience and it was terrifying.

You never know what life means till you die: Even throughout life, tis death that makes life live, gives it whatever the significance.  Robert Browning

By contrast this was my experience: I was calmly and euphorically floating above all of the chaos, floating rather blissfully on the ceiling looking down. To this day I am unsure  exactly how long I was there, floating above it all, but the euphoria continued. Finally a deep voice came to me and said, "You can stay here and go on or you can go back, you must decide." I was feeling so good, so blessed...but then I took another look down. Below was my 24 year old husband, who I passionately loved, sitting in the hospital chair. He had his head in his hands, elbows on his knees, slumped over crying. Then it came to me, that I had a beloved eight months old baby boy who delighted me every day. Right then I chose to go back into that body.

My poor little body had been so ill used by the operation. It turned out that the hospital that had in inadvertently given me a staff infection intra utero. As soon as they discovered that cause they were able to treat me with antibiotics and I slowly healed from the ordeal. 

When we finally, days later were settled at home with our baby and me on the mend, I did report all this to my husband. I knew he would find it odd, my experience of floating above the bed, seeing him and the Doctor from above and having to choose life.

Interestingly neither I nor my husband talked about this near death experience for ten years. From my perspective that was a mystical, profoundly moving incident that I had never even heard. I knew then that I couldn't begin to understand what had happened to me. One thing was, I knew that I looked at the world very differently.  I investigated this experience, by myself yet kept this experience to myself.

Ten years passed and we were walking down a Seattle street about to go to the opera when I said; "Do you ever think about the time that I almost died." My husband stopped dead in his tracks and said, "I thought you were going to die and I was devastated. I was afraid of getting left to raise our eight month old baby by myself." "That must have been awful for you," I said, " yet I still can recall the euphoria and the choice." I added, "Why do you suppose that we've never talked about it?" "Too scary??" he said. We laughed nervously. As conversations on death go it is about on a par with Woody Allen's quip, "it is impossible to experience one's own death and still carry a tune."

Many years later I ran into a woman on the street who had heard that I'd a near death experience  [NDE] and she could hardly contain herself. "Two months ago I had a heart attack and was revived and had a NDE!" "Wow", I said, "I haven't told many people about that, I am glad to know someone else had a this experience." One thing led to another and I agreed to give a lecture to Hospice and since she was on the Hospice board, we agreed to give the program together. We live in a very small community and ordinarily you expect ten or so people show up for these monthly hospice meetings. We announced in the paper that we were speaking about our personal NDE. That night we set up the room with approximately fifteen chairs arranged in a circle. To our amazement almost 70 people showed up for the program. In the audience was a woman who, after I told about my experience, she related her NDE that was stunningly similar to mine. As I did, she felt touched yet isolated by this experience. Today it is not unusual to hear these stories, but more than 40 years ago you just didn't hear about the NDE at all.

I wrote all of the above to explain why having dodged the bullet at such a young age I feel so grateful to be alive. I chose life, I chose my husband again and my now 47 year old son and I would do it again. I was then blessed with another son and would gratefully choose to live for him too. 

Sadly, one that was taken from me, my tiny Sarah Emily chose not to come alive into this earth. I honestly believe that she assessed all of the illness that she'd be saddled with and chose to float on elsewhere.


susansmagicfeather copyright 2011 and revised 2018 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.

On a Long and Fulfilling Marriage

Here are the secrets to a long and happy marriage, simply and succinctly.

First: choose well.

I did. We started our friendship in college at the tender age of 19. He lived down the street from me so we would run into each other and we also enjoyed many mutual friends. Most importantly he could make me laugh and he, in turn, got my jokes. So it was always fun and stimulating to be with him and his friends who tended to challenge us intellectually. As we grew closer, I began to admire many qualities about my husband that I now know are imperative in a good mate. He was forthright, competent, honest, funny, clever, hard working, bright, handsome and kind. These qualities help a marriage survive and then thrive.

Second: be a good pal.

I tell young couples, " be the kind of pal that you would like to have". Added to the attributes of my husband I add: be attentive, interesting, spontaneous, generous and humorous. I often say, " be aware and amused every day and then tell me the funny stories". This is a seemingly silly request, but sharing joy with the ones you love each day is critically important.

Third, be kind.

I say "remember that kindness doesn't cost a cent and it pays enormous dividends."

Fourth, tell the truth...and duck!

Love, respect and trust require honesty to flourish. Nothing is as destructive to a relationship as dishonesty. Your partner may not like to hear your truth but do tell the truth anyway. This may lead to arguments and you will argue, accept that. However there is an art to this, please use your business skills and negotiate fairly, disagree respectfully, compromise when you know that you should. It is OK to agree to disagree and if things get too tense take a time out. Every court of law allows for a recess.

Fifth, treasure each other.

When I almost died at age 24 [a near death experience], it rattled us to our core and we have never, not once since that day, have taken each other for granted. We are in each other's heart. The close call has kept death on our shoulders and that is a good reminder to "carpe them diems" as my sister would say.

Sixth, age well like fine wine.

Since we have grown up together, we are history to each other and both of us appreciate good history, so we try to create it every day. We make sure we talk in a loving manner [mostly] and we are interested in each others dreams and desires. We strive to bring something fresh and new into our lives even if it is just a good book, an interesting observation, a walk or bike ride. Now we are aging together. My hearing needs volume, his knee needs regeneration, I'm shrinking and he's balding. We hold each other in high esteem and we hold each other up. Our lives are so intertwined our roots link---yet we are separate trees. He's the long to my short, the width to my depth, the question to all my answers, my duct tape and my pal. We give each other an enormous sense of being right with the world, forever and ever as long as we both shall live, amen.

Tomorrow: My Near Death Experience and What It Taught Me

susansmagicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.

Susan's Magic Feather

On this inauspicious day, Tuesday March 8th, 2011, I decided to put some of my best thoughts on life, and living a good life, down for anyone who is interested. Why "magic feather"?  If you remember "Dumbo" [and everyone, without qualification, should see this 1940's classic] he believes that a magic feather can make him fly. We all need a bit of a magic feather [and a cheer leader like that mouse Timothy] to start any endeavor to take the leap and  to spread our ears and open our heart. So here goes everything, I am standing on that tiny, high platform above the circus crowd and that little mouse is about to hand me a tiny white feather...

Tomorrow the secrets of a long joyful marriage.

susansmagicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.