Grief Archives - Golden Acorns

A Walk with Dad

Posted on August 11, 2025August 11, 2025 by Emily OehlerLeave a Comment

Yesterday I enjoyed a long walk on the beach with dad.

Nearly a 90 minute discussion.

Questions. Ponderings. Silence.

The usual when we’re together.

We strolled slowly observing all that nature offers … a moon that manages our water from a far… an ocean that houses many and provides delicious food to others… clouds that delight and warn… soft soothing sand that can turn into hot coals under the sun… sea oats that wave like plumes on a Derby Day hat.. the cry of a seagull and a squeal of a child both in delight from a beach snack.

As we neared the island’s end, we moved toward the water; a new section exposed at low tide. There our conversation quieted as the hunting began.

Sea shells.

Some exposed. Some hidden.

Various colors and sizes.

Unique sea offerings, each beautiful.

“Oh, look at this one!”

“Check this one out.”

“Ooooooh, look what I found”

“Isn’t this one beautiful?”

And so it went till I had two handfuls and whispered, “this is enough.”

I looked around the shoreline and saw a raised mound of sand. Perfect. Smooth. Just above the rising tide.

I positioned each shell. Moved a few around. Looked again as I squatted at the water’s edge.

It was good.
It was right.
It was fitting.

I stood and watched as the water encroached more and more.

Our walk was nice; they always are.

There is both a sense of being buoyed up and anchored down when I’m with him.

Sure of self. At ease. Loved.

My tears poured, salting the waves that washed apart my shrine as I stood alone.

“I miss you”

July 2025 Quote: Being Where My Feet Are

Posted on August 1, 2025August 1, 2025 by Emily OehlerLeave a Comment

As I set up my calendar for the month, I select a quote I’ve found that speaks to me. I write it in my planner and leave space below it to capture phrases I hear or read that speak to me and relate to the quote. I found this practice centers me throughout the month, and helps me be more present in my conversations, meetings, and readings. For July 2025, my quote was: “Being Where My Feet Are.”

I’m once again in physical therapy. Adjusting and rebuilding my body through dry needling, physical manipulation, stretches, exercises, stretchy bands, weights, and the damn foam roller. Such precise focus on my body – and getting the chain of events to work better together with intention and muscle memory – shows me just how disconnected I am from it. I wear my body every day, but with such little thought.

Here are the quotes, lyrics, and phrases that that caught the attention of my head and heart as I lived in the “backcountry of my soul”:

It may take a lifetime to unwind you
Grief reveals and reweaves
Beneath the ache, something radical is at work
Chaos wrapped in melody
In spaces where difference and tenderness can coexist
On the day each of you were born, you were covered in the dust of the first-day creation; you were forged out of the most brilliant of celestial fires; never take for granted all of that radiates in you; you were born to blaze – don’t forget
A vigilant witness to the magic of everything
Teach us how to live tender but not undone; Help us carry the weight of this world to you—not on us
Become a living witness to the million beautiful curiosities of your life
There are some people who have sun inside
Someone left fingerprints on your heart so brightly, the light still catches on them
That you lived a moment so fully its echo still finds its way back into our lungs
God, please put my feet on the path of your will
Change is grief
We write to taste life twice—in the moment and in retrospect
Plant seeds in the garden of your own mind

If physical therapy, yoga, and mindfulness have taught me anything it’s just how disconnected I am from myself. How much of my body and mind are on autopilot … or checked out completely. These practices also show me – time and time again – just how much wisdom is in my body.

All that it stores. All that it communicates. All that it makes possible.

It’s an immense source of knowledge, as well as an articulate warning system.

My most priceless commodity that I often lug around rather than listen to.

These mind-body centered practices also show me how uncomfortable it can be, to be with myself – my body. Each intentional visit shows me a new internal landscape. The aches I find from loss. The emotional landmines waiting patiently. The pockets of pixie dust left by love. The darkness of doubt. The electrical crackle of new ideas. The constant, soft murmur of faith. The deep in my DNA exhaustion. The tension-formed boulders I carry. The fragments of others I store for rainy days. The golden thread that ties me from the earth to the stars, connected to something more than the arteries, veins, organs, muscles, and bones that are my being.

My body is both a map of and guide to my life’s journey.

A map in constant formation.

Storing the past. Absorbing the now. Adjusting for next.

The map of a body – a being – that is still evolving.

Here’s to being a better map reader.

Practice

Posted on July 20, 2025July 20, 2025 by Emily OehlerLeave a Comment

I started yoga about 5 months after my father died. I recently got an email from the studio congratulating me for completing 100 yoga classes.

Getting to this point has been, well, a bit mystical–and very educational.

Following dad’s death after a decade with Alzheimer’s and four months with my mom, I sought to re-enter my life, but nothing felt comfortable. My old routine felt like it belonged to someone else. Someone I wasn’t familiar with anymore.

For a while I thought, “give it time, you’ve been through a lot” or “be patient, it’ll come back to you.” What the “it” was, I wasn’t sure.

Then it began.

The whispering to and from my body.

“Settle in and get reacquainted with yourself.”

The pull to and from my spirit

“Be still. Slow down and just be with yourself.”

Then finally, the acceptance to listen to where my inner golden acorn wanted me to be.

“OK, I’ll give it a try.”

While I’d not had a practice before this, every cell in my being called out for yoga. It was a pretty odd sensation… a gravitation pull… a force at work at my cellular level.

I questioned it.

Avoided it. Mocked it. Dismissed it.

But in the end, I trusted it.

I found a local studio I could walk to. Signed up for a class. And began my practice.

Throughout my 100 hours, I’ve learned a lot. More than just poses…

My tongue is a stress barometer. The more force it exerts on the roof of my mouth the more I’m trying to control the situation (needlessly).
Breathing is magic, and a full body activity. It’s also the only thing that moves my shoulders away from my ears when I’m tense (and when I don’t realize I am).
The concept of a “practice” gives me permission to wander through my body and see what it’s up for each day with anticipation and enjoy whatever occurs—rather than judge it against myself or others.
Being upside down can be just the perspective that is needed to recalibrate in world of chaos.
Balance is not about being still but rather about making micro movements to stay steady.

As I’ve shared with some, starting yoga in my 50’s has been a humorous and humbling experience. But I cannot deny that what guided me there was right. I needed to get to know the new me. As I explored her through a steady yoga practice, I found more patience, acceptance, questions, bravery, tenderness, and peace. She was different… is different… and she’s OK.

More grounded in some ways while untethered in others.

Standing, breathing, stretching, falling, and practicing yoga has helped me realize that while I lost an external drishti of my dad (a focal point to help center you in a position), there are many more inside of me to draw upon in the greatest balancing practice of all – life.

The whisper. The pull. They just called me back to my center. To practice myself more.

“Well, hey there!”

June 2025 Quote: Let’s Get Lost in the Backcountry of Our Souls

Posted on July 1, 2025July 1, 2025 by Emily Oehler2 Comments

As I set up my calendar for the month, I select a quote I’ve found that speaks to me. I write it in my planner and leave space below it to capture phrases I hear or read that speak to me and relate to the quote. I found this practice centers me throughout the month, and helps me be more present in my conversations, meetings, and readings. For June 2025, my quote was: “Let’s get lost in the backcountry of our souls.”

I love a good plan… well, more specifically, I love a good “to do” list. They help me get the things done that matter to me. They give me a wonderful sense of control (which I know is false and fleeting). They give structure to my world that continually seems like it’s falling apart—or at best like an old car you hope will start when you get it first thing in the morning. It gives me direction when all too often I feel as thou I’m treading water in a vast ocean. They also give me normalcy, mundaneness which I especially welcomed after dad died. An anchoring, tangible item I can hold in my hand that brings me into the present moment when the swirl inside my head and heart blurs so much as the world spins.

Here are the quotes, lyrics, and phrases that that caught the attention of my head and heart as I lived in the “backcountry of my soul”:

The Universe only pretends to be made of matter, secretly it is made of love
What is sometimes called “loss of focus” or “loss of motivation” is often accumulated fatigue
Your calm matters more than your answers
When you let go of trying to get more of what you don’t really need, it frees up oceans of energy to make a difference with what you have
May your vibes shift the whole damn frequency of the room when you walk in
Be brave enough to start at something new
This single grain of cosmic sand contains infinite wonder
These holes in our hearts are holy sites and we should treat them as such
I wish you could see what I see; it’s all such joyful chaos
Chasing the fringe of infinity
I want to become a river; I want to flow into wonder
Intermission is over
Daydream with me a forest made of our prayers we thought were being unanswered—but were just growing roots

A few years ago, a sister-friend surprised me with a trip to one of her favorite cities, Boston. She planned it all out so I’d get to see all the tourist favorites like the “Make Way for Ducklings” statue, “one if by land and two if by sea” church, the Beacon Hill Bookstore with Paige the squirrel mascot, and one of our shared favorites, the Foo Fighters. This trip was both adventure and salve as it occurred a few months after I left mom’s and merged back into life following dad’s death.

We romped all over and I was grateful to be in a new place with no attached memories.

We followed my friend’s activity plan building memories as we walked, ate, laughed, photographed, and drank together with ease… until we missed the ferry and our plan disintegrated. What emerged from a missed checkmark on our itinerary was a phrase that opened up the rest of our weekend to the unknown and one I rely on to this day to help me navigate through, beyond, and in spite of my plan.

“It’s not the adventure we planned, but it’s the adventure we didn’t know we needed.”

I pass this phrase on in hopes that it gives you acceptance of the moment in you’re in and the freedom to forge ahead into the unknown with curiosity, passion, hope, and ease.

This is, after all, your adventure. Make the most of it.

January 2025 Quote: I Believe in Wonderment.

Posted on February 2, 2025February 2, 2025 by Emily Oehler1 Comment

As I set up my calendar for the month, I select a quote I’ve found that speaks to me. I write it in my planner and leave space below it to capture phrases I hear or read that speak to me and relate to the quote. I found this practice centers me throughout the month, and helps me be more present in my conversations, meetings, and readings. For January 2025 my quote was: “I believe in wonderment.”

One year ago, I wrote in my January quote post that “I saw the beauty of the end of something done amazingly well” in regard to the end of my father’s life after a decade with Alzheimer’s. In the 12 month’s sense, wonderment just might be the best word to encapsulate it all, especially grief. As Meriam-Webster’s defines wonderment as “a cause or occasion for wonder (marvel, miracle, rapt attention, a feeling of doubt or uncertainty), astonishment, surprise, curiosity about something.” Throughout this past month here are the quotes, lyrics, and phrases that that caught my attention:

There is no greater adventure than the present moment
The fierce urgency of now
With hope comes resilience and with resilience came new beginnings
Mavin, misfit, and muse
Turn it over and turn it over, and see everything in it
Who are you to deny God’s perfection and possibility?
Doubt is the space between good and evil
Courage to love with a rigorous inside-out consistency
Mystery and manifest come from the same source, darkness
To be faithful to take the next step; to rely on more than the map; to heed the signposts of intuition and dream; to follow the star that only you recognize
How much love? All the love
Because a broken heart is easier to share
What are you going to do with all that dark? Find a way to glow in it
Seek that which is best for another person
It’s like studying for the test instead of learning the lesson
I am steady

I learned a lot throughout my “year of firsts” (a grief phrase to capture going through one of everything without your loved one). And, there is much I’m still processing, and will be for a while, as the pain of love and our unknown next are big things to try to come to grips with. It’s like looking in a room of mirrors and seeing your reflection continue on and on and on and on and on with no end.

My Core Truths for Grief

For me, the mixture of loss, love, and wonderment led me to these core truths about grief:

(1) God will show up, always, but not as you anticipated or wanted – but as you needed … and the same is true for your dead loved one.

(2) The emotions of grief are like a squirrel that’s been day drinking – all over the place – but let them come and go as they need as they can be vicious when bottled up.

(3) While grief is personal, it should be done in community, whether that is a formal group or with friends and loved ones.

(4) There is much laughter to be had in grief and it’s not only OK, it’s good.

(5) Grief resides in your bones forever – it changes your spiritual DNA – but the love remains in your heart, always accessible.

As I completed my end of “the firsts,” I chose to begin my next year focused on wonderment. I’d experienced a great deal of wonderment (astonishment, surprise, curiosity) throughout each milestone in 2024, and I wanted more of this electrical charge in 2025. This connection to the energy of life and the golden thread beyond. Just hopefully without so many moments of snot nosed tears.

Hey Dad,

Posted on January 17, 2025January 16, 2025 by Emily Oehler2 Comments

It’s January 17…

and I miss you.

It’s been a loving, hard, glorious, heartbreaking, happy, tear-filled, bizarre, adventurous, faithful year of firsts…

and I miss you.

I can’t believe it’s been 365 days and a round of holidays. I can’t believe how time moved differently this year – part molasses, part fast forward, part reverse in memory lane. I can’t believe I lived a year without you here, but yet you were – just a bit more elusive

and I miss you.

I’m glad you’re at ease now…

and I miss you.

I know you shook your head at times and rolled with laughter at others as you watched us move forward. Living with death was kinda your specialty at work and I really missed your expertise along this wonky road. I do appreciate thought how you always showed up when I really needed help…

and I miss you.

I wear your blue wool v-neck sweater as I smell your old Speed Stick deodorant looking for a substitute to your hug…

and I miss you.

I’ve ached for one of our hugs – just one more to tied me over. One more moment of immersive love – a felt sense of wonder, certainty, encouragement, solace, comfort, joy, gratitude, and peace – transferred through your embrace. There is no substitute and that truly sucks.

and I miss you.

I enjoy our conversations as I lay in bed before I start my day but what I wouldn’t do for a boisterous “hey there!” from you…

and I miss you.

I tried to keep things steady, and time and time again smirked when I realized how many of your quirky habits are also mine…

and I miss you.

I kept many of our traditions in place, but truthfully, some I put down. As a creature of habit, I know this might have been hard to see. I also know you’d be OK with changes as long as we did it as a family…

and I miss you.

I also know our deviation from tradition revved up your mischievous middle child mentality. Yes, our feisty – and somewhat unconventional – approach to mourning has been right up your alley…

and I miss you.

I do appreciate your visits from your gold lame Elvis moment to singing together in the chapel. Damn though if I can’t hear “How Great Though Art” without a laughing now…

and I miss you.

I have to say, it can be hard when you sneak up on me and spin up my emotions… but then again you always loved a good surprise. In these moments I realized that tears and laughter can coexist. Even now you continue to teach me how to live in the “and” spaces of life…

and I miss you.

I hold you tight with an ever-present tube of Chapstick and hankie—or sometimes a bowl of ice cream…

and I miss you.

I really appreciate your continued guidance. As usual, you steered me toward family and faith – and on more than one occasion, to splurge on spontaneous fun…

and I miss you.

I know you’re happy about the role church played this past year. Hymns, scripture, sermons, committees, Sunday School, staff, pastors, and members all connected around me – a bubble of Presbyterian goodness…

and I miss you.

I have to say my friends were also incredible…. cards, check-in texts, calls, surprises, and space held for my emotions with a side or two of bourbon…

and I miss you.

I wasn’t sure about vacation at the beach or Christmas this year. They were different, hard, OK all at the same time…

and I miss you.

I will admit I didn’t realize the lasting impact of having “Joy To the World” sung at your funeral—and the added emotions that will forever arise when I sing it on Christmas Eve. A bittersweet tune of joy and longing…

and I miss you.

I met you in music. I saw you in the stars. I sought you at the shore. I heard you in the chimes. I felt you in the sunshine. I ached for you in the quiet…

and I miss you.

I’m grateful that time and time again your smile found me, felt rather than seen, but beaming all the same…

and I miss you.

I am and will always be OK because of the love you pour into me and the faith you demonstrated for me…

and I miss you.

Just know that throughout this past year I always chose from the heart…

A heart that is sore. A heart that is lonely. A heart that is held. A heart that is full. A heart that is different. A heart that is scarred. A heart that is larger…

and a heart that misses you…

“Until we meet again…”

I miss you.

December 2024 Quote: “Go Easy, My Love – Go Easy”

Posted on December 28, 2024December 28, 2024 by Emily OehlerLeave a Comment

As I set up my calendar for the month, I select a quote I’ve found that speaks to me. I write it in my planner and leave space below it to capture phrases I hear or read that speak to me and relate to the quote. I found this practice centers me throughout the month, and helps me be more present in my conversations, meetings, and readings. For December 2024, the quote that centered me was “go easy, my love – go easy.”

I found this quote in a poem by John Roedel, and knew it was the advice, reminder, and mantra I would need throughout December. Not just to balance against the added Christmas activities and expectations, but for more personal reasons. This would be my first Christmas without Dad, and the last of the “firsts.” This quote gave me permission to move with ease in the tender moments of the holiday season and be with my heart not my head of “must do’s.”

Here are quotes, lyrics, and phrases that that caught my attention during the month…

Habits of the heart
Claim time with the holy
Prayer does not fit us for the greater work, prayer is the greater work
Rest allows us to do what matters most
Grief that remains with us until we pass is just unexpressed love because we never have enough time
The glorious impossible
God sadly has given you the experience to hold them through this painful time
Welcome to the dream space
We are divine
Our spirit knows better
There is space for the unknown
The light resides inside the darkness
You’re locating yourself
Will you trust in your divinity enough?
Reclaim rest as holy
So, if you are too tired to speak, sit next to me for I, too, am fluent in silence
When you can’t look at the bright side, I’ll sit with you in the dark
Who are the sharpeners of your vision?
You can just be

Go

The quote showed up differently for me throughout the month. It began more of a command, “go easy!” as I struggled to decorate—as each decoration put me in the setting of dad’s final days last year, and a time of year he cherished most. A complex contradiction of lights, smells, and embodied memories in every Christmas decoration. It morphed into permission to walk away from some traditions, “my love, go easy.” It was a balm when my emotions continued to bubble up – a reminder to be with them rather than push through them, “easy, my love.”

Easy

The quote also inspired me to step off the glittery holiday carousel and really sit with my shit. I didn’t want to wallow, but there was too much to feel. So, I listened. “Love, go.” And I went to my first “Longest Night” service at Westminster Presbyterian Church. Held on the Winter Solstice, the day with the most darkness, the contemplative candlelight service provided space to be in community as we each individually connected with our loss and acknowledged it. Scripture, meditation, and music. The simple service did not eliminate our pain or try to whitewash it away with good news. It simply gave space – acceptance – that hurt and hope, loss and love, were part of living with heart. That we see and feel the light because of the darkness that is there. Each one makes the other seen and felt.

The service closed with silence. Each person centered on their heart’s emotions. Then if compelled to, they rose to light a candle as they prayed silently for light in their – or their loved ones – darkness.

Each person invited to remain in the tiny white chapel as long as they needed, in the warm glow of the sacred light we generated in prayer. I was the last one there. Alone in the scared stillness, snot-nosed, and held by divine grace.

My love

The tears fell. Poured. In what was clearly a needed release. My unexpressed love and unprocessed loss bottled up, now fully released. “My love, go.”

Alone, I walked to the back of the chapel. There I found the brass plaque with Dad’s name and life dates on the columbarium wall. I laid my hand on it, spoke to him, and prayed for many in my life—those who buoyed me this past year and those who need support now too.

As I turned and stood in the doorway to the chapel, it was then that I noticed just how much light our individual prayers of comfort and hope generated.

Go easy.

My love.

Go easy.

The Tears, The Visitor, and The Golden Threads in Grief

Posted on December 21, 2024December 21, 2024 by Emily Oehler1 Comment

Grief has been an odd companion this year. It’s morphed within me month over month.

What began as drowning, shifted.

What became erratic, evolved.

What became a shadow, loosened.

What became a constant hum, faded.

What came in November was a backlash.

The Tears

Ten months of my emotional evolution in mourning landed me back in grief’s grip. Back with vengeance were the at-ready tears.

This time however, I met grief more equipped. I knew it. I accepted it. I let it be… to run its course a bit, me just along for the ride.

It wasn’t that I was more sad or felt bad. Perhaps it was my body’s way of processing my next level of emotions. An excavation of the deeper unknowns in my heart, and tears were pockets of lost love that needed release for the wound to heal more thoroughly.

So, constantly throughout my fall and early winter days, I just let the tears fall.

No questions. No withholding. No stopping (as if I could).

They just fell now and then throughout each day – almost like a dusting of snow; gone before you realized their presence – a light cleansing.

As Christmas closed in, I knew the pain the tears sought to wash away… or soften the sting. Dad was Christmas. In so many ways he embraced the full magic of the season—from the Jesus to Santa, the nativity to the angel on our Christmas tree, he delighted in it all.

I listened to every single Christmas Eve sermon he delivered in my life.
I drove through a massive ice storm watching car after car after car slide off the interstate so I could hear him read a story to the young children on Christmas Eve, often from “Angeles and Other Strangers.”
I would hold my breath at the end of each Christmas Eve service waiting in anticipation for him to shout with full delight: Merry Christmas!
I would watch him package up a gift for mom in an unusual way, from nesting boxes for a tiny item to a house-wide scavenger hunt.
I would wait and see which package bow he would remove and wear on his head Christmas day.
After retirement, between mom and I in the pew, I would savor how he sang “Joy to the World” doing the echo bass refrain against mom’s soprano voice … “and wonders of his love—and wonders of his love” as his body bounced to the tune; the tune we closed his committal service with.

And like has happened throughout my grief journey moments arose between the tears. Moments, no, golden threads to him emerged that stitched through my heart like internal scaffolding. Strengthening fibers of nostalgia as I lived forward. December’s thread pulled me in through grief on Friday.

The Visitor

On Friday afternoon, I noticed the songbird sound of my Uber driver’s voice. “You have such a beautiful accent. Where are you from?” I laughed internal as I remembered Dad would always ask others about their accent – curiosity leading to connection. “Ethiopia.” We talked a bit about the wonkiness of the English language and then she shared, “I came here to have my son. It was a 17-hour flight. After I got here, he had problems–his lungs weren’t developing, and they did a c-section at 34 weeks.” (Note, full-term is 40 weeks.) “Oh my, is he OK?” “Yes, he’s well now but the bills are a lot.” “Do you have friends or family here?” “No, I’m totally alone. Just me and him. But I wanted a child for so long, IVF. It’s OK. We go back to Ethiopia in a month or so.”

A single mother.

An unknown country.

An unexpected child.

A faith of gratitude.

I could just about hear dad’s voice from the pulpit share this story in his Christmas Eve service and smiled.

She stopped on my street and parked for me to get out.

A golden thread tugged at my heart. I thought once more of Dad – one to give freely to those in need, especially at Christmas. I leaned forward in the car… handed her the $100 bill Dad taught me to keep in my wallet for emergencies… and with all my George Oehler delight said, “Merry Christmas!”

November 2024 Quote: “Stay Fully Wild, Star Child”

Posted on December 3, 2024December 3, 2024 by Emily Oehler1 Comment

As I set up my calendar for the month, I select a quote I’ve found that speaks to me. I write it in my planner and leave space below it to capture phrases I hear or read that speak to me and relate to the quote. I found this practice centers me throughout the month, and helps me be more present in my conversations, meetings, and readings. For September 2024, the quote that centered me was “stay fully wild, star child.”

November is many things. The unofficial start of the holiday season. A month centered on gratitude and decadent food. But for me, it’s mom’s birthday month. For those who don’t know her she is a 5’2” red-headed force for good. A preacher’s wife who hugs everyone, dances as the mood strikes, dishes out delicious southern food, lives as a faithful Presbyterian, enjoys adventures, has a competitive streak, is quick to laugh, and is surrogate mom to many. And, she embodies my quote this month.

Here are quotes, lyrics, and phrases that that caught my attention during the month…

What is the work your soul must have?
Stillness is another door into the temple
Taste your words before you spit them out
Silence is a massage for the soul
Don’t ever believe we are thinking machines who have feelings – we are feeling machines who on occasion think
You pick who disturbs you
Love loud and shine bright
Grieve the past and the present, but don’t grieve the future—we’re not there yet
You threw dirt on me and flowers grew; I’d be mad too
Worrying is like worshiping the problem
Time is available to live in
Silence is a symphony of truth
I go in search of a great perhaps
Scapitude: a combination of scappiness and fire in the belly that gets shit done
Beautiful means “most self”
Evermore

Respite Adventures…

In the weeks after my father death from Alzheimer’s, mom and I stood side by side in the kitchen and erased his upcoming appointments from the family calendar. The months suddenly looked overwhelmingly open. What remained was the standing Thursday calendar block for respite, when she’d take Dad to a wonderful half-day program for fellowship, and she had a break. In the moment, I offered, “Let’s keep respite on the calendar so we focus on fun.” She quickly agreed with a sparkle in her Carolina blue eyes.

For four months, our respite adventures together were weekly as I stayed with her as we both shifted from the loss of her sun and my moon. As I merged back into life and work, we connected each month for joint respite. For those not familiar with respite, it’s defined as, “a short period of rest or relief from something difficult or unpleasant.” For full-time caregivers it’s essential, and I’ve come to believe critical to everyone as we move through the complexities of life.

For 10 months, Mom and I have respited in a variety wild of ways – big and small. We ate (all the biscuits), drank (an Old Fashion everywhere we respite), played, laughed, and cried with each adventure. Indoor skydiving, lunar moments (beach sunrise, solar eclipse watching), star gazing, Cheerwine festival, fried local oysters, shoe shopping, flamingo feeding, artistic painting, pedicures, movies, Swan Lake ballet, the oldest saloon in Texas, her first Uber (a Tesla with rainbow interior lights), our first Airbnb, fondue, Van Gough immersive experience, climbing Pilot Mountain, and plenty of ice cream – just to name a few of our respite adventures.

These adventures soothed my soul and generated incredible memories. But the best part is to be in mom’s presence, fully wild as a star child. She remains curious, eager to learn. She literally stops and smells all the flowers and communes with the birds – my own Snow White. She is truly with people she meets – open, sincere, supportive – friend and stranger alike. Simply put, she lives with her heart.

And…

Our respite adventures have not been all joy-filled as grief now resides in our bones. But with a focus on rejuvenation, we learned to live together in a space of “and.” Laughter and tears. Delight of new memories and ache from old ones. Action and stillness. Anticipation and sadness. Moving forward and looking back.

And, the understanding that love exists in it all.

A Walk with Grief and Wonder

Posted on November 27, 2024November 27, 2024 by Emily OehlerLeave a Comment

I walked to yoga early this morning. My path is down King Street — a long historic area lined with shops.

In the darkness I noticed the city hung little white lights in the trees that line the brick sidewalk for 1 mile. The lights brought to heart my dad … a life long Santa Elf, eternally age 6 at Christmas time—a true believer and filled with wonder.

He would love this.

Tears fell. Ten months into grief after the death of my dad, I’m now use to their spontaneity and just let them flow.

Sadness swirled. Lights twinkled. Tears fell. I walked on.

Two blocks later I looked over and saw this new display. My heart fluttered with wonder. I walked up close and inspected it with a dorky kid smile on my face reflected in the window glass. I walked on.

As I neared the yoga studio I looked up with light in the sky and cotton candy pink clouds. The smile on my face moved to my heart.

Hey dad.