living in the moment Archives - Sacred Healing of Grief Wounds

Winter is a Season to Cherish

Winter is a season to cherish, especially in the winter of your life.

This view from my desk was on January 11, 2025. I was still recovering from the flu and had no intention of dealing with the snow on my front steps. However, the stillness and purity of the white blanket across this scene gave me a sense of calmness that carried over into one of the best night’s sleep I’ve ever had.

We had warmer temperatures over the next few days, and the icy mess from this snow melted. I felt better each day and eventually dealt with the last remnants before the next snow arrived late last Sunday.

Snow Removal Joy

Then, the temperatures plummeted as the evening progressed. By Monday, the morning low was 13 F, and the high was 24 F. I prepared to remove the 2 inches of snow as soon as I awoke. This airy and light snow made a standard broom my best snow removal tool.

Here’s the layering I used over leggings and a cotton turtleneck during my outdoor winter chores.

My fingertips got a bit cold, but the rest of my body was fine as I swept off the front steps and a portion of the back deck. The blue gloves are the most unusual items in this assortment of banishers for winter’s cold. Here’s how they came into my life.

When I worked for the Denver Department of Environmental Health, I watered the plants of one of the scientists, Cindy B., while she was on vacation. She gave those gloves to me in thanks. They are called Foxgloves, and the tag said they were for gardening. That seemed ill-advised, and I never used them in the garden. However, I realized they were perfect as an added layer of insulation inside gloves when I shoveled snow off the sidewalks in front of my Littleton, CO, home before walking to the bus that took me to downtown Denver.

I think of Cindy with a smile every time I pull the Foxgloves over my hands, realizing winter is a season to cherish.

The Seasons of My Life

I am still excited to clear snow off surfaces like my front steps and back deck. In the spring of my life, as a child in Central Florida, I dreamed of experiencing the change of the seasons. I was in my mid-20s when I first saw snow on a skiing trip to Killington, VT.

I spent my summer years in Florida, which always seemed to be summer. We did have a break from the heat with annual visits to Downeast Maine. During my autumn years, I first experienced all the nuances of seasonal change when I lived and worked in Colorado.

Shortly after my retirement, I moved back to Florida for five years before the mountains lured me northward again.

Now, I embrace each day in the winter of my life, enjoying the goldfinches and juncos that visit my native meadows for winter seeds. Various birds find sustenance in the seed, fruit, and suet at the feeders, and a bird bath is warmed to keep the ice away.

As the winter’s hold loosens, Spring plants will begin to emerge. Although I love my native plant gardens, I also love spring bulbs. In my garden, there is room for plants that originated in different places, just as there is room in my life for people who chose to stay where they were born or who left to experience new places to live and thrive.

Nature Heals and Enriches

My need to be one with nature has brought me spiritual healing from grief, physical well-being, and joy as I delight in all the plants, animals, and people God has brought into my life.

I look forward to my next phase of life enriched with clarity, deeper truth, and purity as I release what feels heavy in my soul to embrace the wisdom and light of this sacred season of life.

From Fear to Joy in the Dentist’s Chair

My path from fear to joy in the dentist’s chair took many small steps. It certainly was aided by advancements in dentistry. I was not too fond of dental visits because I had a mouth full of cavities as a child. While city kids received fluoride in their drinking water, country kids like me didn’t. That’s my excuse. The reality of choices early in life is they can have consequences as we age.

From Fear to Joy in the Dentist’s Chair

I assembled all my dental paraphernalia to illustrate I take my dental health seriously. And also, I want to introduce a habit I’ve developed over the last year that makes my dental visits an absolute joy.

Most recently, I had two visits in seven calendar days. They were scaling and root deep cleaning to remove the tarter and bacteria that love to lurk at the gum line. Convention expects numerous injections to numb the entire area to effectively and quickly release the damaging plaque.

As a result of the meditation I use daily, my persona has transformed from a hurried doer to a calmer appreciator of rest. For example, I begin slow, shallow breathing after the hygienist numbs my gums with a topical. Then it returns to regular breathing, except I slowly extend my out-breath.

When the dentist tells me, “This is going to pinch,” I’m in the middle of a slow, steady out-breath. I don’t flinch, groan, or react to any injections throughout the procedure to numb half my mouth. That is one whole side, up and down. The slow breathing puts me in such a calm state, and I’m perfectly still. Fear is a distant memory.

I can honestly say during the first procedure; I never felt pain. Never.

Conversely, I felt pain radiating out my tongue toward the tip during the first injection at the second procedure. Yet, I didn’t perceive this as painful or upsetting. Why? Because I know the sensation will be short. After all, the purpose is to numb the area.

My Dentist’s Reaction

As I’m in this euphoric, meditative state, I seem to know what the dentist or hygienist needs me to do. So it took a few seconds before I realized the dentist was talking to me about my demeanor.

“I’ve never had a patient as calm as you during the numbing process. And I don’t like being on the receiving end, either. So how do you do it?”

I explained my slow breathing strategy.

“So you breathe deeply in and then slowly out,” she said.

“Not exactly. It’s more of a continuously shallow, slow breath.”

As the dentist and hygienist continue their animated banter, I drift into my peaceful, dreamlike state.

Parting Thoughts and Suggestions

It’s hard not to laugh a little and think how much they reminded me of myself when I was in the constantly doing mode. And that’s another helpful mindset in the dentist’s chair. It’s your mind, and you can take yourself somewhere else anytime you desire. Don’t worry. When they need you to move, they’ll let you know.

As a child, I was not too fond of dental appointments for a simple reason. I was stuck in the past, anticipating a repeat of an uncomfortable experience. However, if you can move your thought patterns from the past, where the source of fear exists, to the present, it’s simple to be in the peaceful, easy feeling of now.

The next time you walk into the room with the dentist’s chair, take a moment to look at the chair. When sitting in it, close your eyes, lean back, and feel the comfort of a perfectly designed piece of furniture. Then, take a deep breath and sink deeper into the luxury of the dentist’s chair. You have begun your journey from fear to joy in the dentist’s chair.

When You Want to Smile

What is the answer when you want to smile and know it’s a way to avoid the inevitable sadness and grief of losing a loved one?

Some Factors to Consider

Indeed, the answer may include many factors.

Your relationship with the loved one.
A support system.
Personality.
Outside influences.

What You Can Control

Although none of the factors in the list above is under your control, there is one area open to you – how you choose to live.

Surrender.
Allow the grief to come in.
Acknowledge this part of the healing process.
Live in the moment.

My Personal Experience

When I returned home after twenty-one days of dealing with the nuts and bolts of widowhood, I was delighted to see my weeping cherry in full bloom. The deep blue skies accentuated my joy.

Throughout the twelve-hour drive from central Florida to northwest North Carolina, I focused on living in the moment. All along the interstate in South and North Carolina, the pure white dogwood blossoms created the illusion of an open weave lace pattern among the leafless trees. Soon the vibrant purple of redbud trees joined the dance, both in native and landscaped stands.

When there were vistas of blooms at rest areas, I walked my dog where I could see the entire scene. In the North Carolina Welcome Center, I strolled through the pollinator garden created by the local garden club chapter. For me, nature always pulls me into living in the moment.

Tears still flowed in private moments, sitting in my car when my deep sadness overcame the moment. I surrender then and continue to submit to grief. The intensity isn’t linear. Instead, my grief follows a path including both current and past losses. This time I’m allowing the flow of emotion, welcoming quiet solitude, and feeling the difference.

The Next Phase

With this newfound flow, I feel hope. As I move through grief, my strength increases. I’m learning how to allow life to move at a slower pace. Completing necessary tasks, I feel alive, more whole.

Each week I dip my toe a tad deeper into my adopted community. Perhaps the local garden club chapter will offer the expertise needed to add season-long perennial color. Does the inaugural High Country Jazz Festival appeal? Or maybe the monthly Candlelight Ghost Tour in Wilkesboro. When you want to smile, I find life offers all the opportunities we allow to come into it.