Wherever you are, however you are, please know that all of it is welcome here.

I just watched The Whole Story with Anderson Cooper and whoa. So timely because it put faces and history to my longing for communal grieving for our collective losses.

I wept, laughed, cried, and its lessons are continuing to grow in me. Please watch it – season 3, the episode on the Simril(l) family, one branch spelled with a single L, the other with two. One side of the family Black, one white.

It started with a man tracing his family roots and discovering that his ancestors enslaved people who share his last name. What unfolds is the story of two families, bound by blood and history, who choose to face the truth together. My heart is contracting like it’s ready to give birth as I remember.

They meet across the lines of race, pain, and time. They gathered side by side in the same church their ancestors once shared – then separated with blacks in the balcony, and slave owners below. Now integrated as family.

They walk through cemeteries, naming what was hidden. Instead of sugarcoating, they name the pain, the privilege, and feel the loss. And ten years in they keep showing up.

This is a picture of communal grief. Losses met with courage and love, transform us. Naming what has been silenced doesn’t divide us. Instead, it roots us deeper in truth, in belonging, in love big enough to hold it all.

I wonder, how many of us are living with inherited silence? Stories of harm, separation, survival. And what happens the moment we tell the truth?

Since I believe we are one, I’m also reflecting on:

What stories in our family lineage are ready to be named?

Where has silence kept us separated from ourselves, others, our communities, our world?

What would it mean to approach our history with love instead of shame?

If you can, watch the Whole Story episode on the Simril(l) family and listen to this week’s Grief Heals conversation. We belong to one another, and the truth, even when it hurts. What now constricts us may not permanently constrain us. What if it has the power to set us free?

Hi love,

The day I recorded this, I got yanked off my feet when Bella ran after another dog. The retractable leash extended, I flew in the air and landed flat in the street with knees, palms, elbows bleeding.

I’d just loaded Garth Brooks' “The Dance”, so while I’m sobbing, this song played in the background. Fitting, since this day would’ve been my wedding anniversary. Chip died five months before we were set to be married.

But that’s not the whole story.

The fall came while I was out looking for Red, a red husky puppy who wandered into our lives with sores on his body and heartworms in his blood,

who chose us, brought comfort, gentleness, and the ache of impermanence. I’d told him just the day before, “Please don’t leave me.” And when he looked up at me I heard, “I’ll always be with you.” And I cried.

This episode of Grief Heals isn't one thing. It’s a spiral. A dog. A song. A fall. A memory. A graduation inside a prison where a man met his baby girl for the first time. And somehow all of it

Grief, love, surrender, uncertainty, presence

Come together.

I didn’t feel Chip when I visited the cemetery. I felt him more inside the prison when a man reached out to tell me about the loss of his wife. We held hands. We cried. And grief moved through us like a friend who doesn’t ask for answers.

I talk about journaling, about dialoguing with grief, about the kind of forgiveness and love that happens after death, and even the complexity of things we find out too late. The things that never got said, but can get said now. Conversations we didn’t have with them, but still get to complete.

If you’re someone who’s navigating love in all its layers, judged yourself for feeling something, or not feeling something, apologized for your tears…

May this episode feel like sitting together for a while with no pressure to be anything other than what you are today.

Please reply with any memories, questions, or tenderness that opens for you because we belong to each other.

P.S. Red came back. He was out wandering free, but he chose to come home.

xoxo

I hit record not knowing what I’d say, just knowing that I felt tender and full and needed to say something, anything, about how grief has been moving in me…

What came out was a web of stories threaded by longing, scripture, comfort, hunger, shame, healing, and breath.

There’s the line: “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” And how Neil Douglas-Klotz says that in Aramaic, “blessed” can mean “ripe.” Ripe are those who mourn. That cracked something open in me because I didn’t mourn when I was young. I didn’t learn anything about mourning…

I learned to stuff, deny, ignore. I learned what our culture models.

And I was unripe.

I read a story of a little boy who was hungry, ashamed that he didn’t have food. One day a girl quietly gave him half her sandwich, and continued to do so each day, until she didn’t come back to school.

Years later, his daughter asks him to pack two sandwiches because there’s a boy at school who doesn’t have lunch.

I am learning to give half a sandwich to younger parts of myself. The ones I silenced with food, or busyness, or shame. The parts hungry for love, comfort, safety

The parts that thought those things made her bad.

This episode isn’t polished. I wander, I spiral, I tear up, I confess.

I share about masturbation at six years old, stuffing myself with food well into adulthood, soft belly breathing and how grief can stop us, soften us, witness us.

Grief says

“I see you. You matter. You make sense.”

Healing is not a straight line. There are no straight lines in nature.

Maybe this isn’t a “message” as much as it’s an invitation—to be exactly where you are. To feel what’s ripening in you. And to soften the belly. Just a little.

I’m with you in it, Lisa Michelle

P.S. A few gifts that accompanied this episode:

• The Hidden Gospel by Neil Douglas-Klotz — the idea of “ripeness” instead of “righteousness” has been changing everything for me.

• Mind Your Body by Rachel Sachs — her work deeply supports this practice of befriending our hunger, our pain, and our shame.

• Hi Ren by Ren — a musical prayer about mental health, rigidity, healing, and softness. Trust me. https://youtu.be/s_nc1IVoMxc?si=eznS0taktBrzQ1K3

• I’m also captivated by Elizabeth Zharoff’s show because she is so vibrant!!!! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gGKgklIV7Ko
  

I’d love to hear what ripens in you. Just reply.