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grief

Disenfranchised Grief: Ways to Deal and Heal

December 31, 2021 By Allison

Tuscan hills

Each of us has built a collection of seemingly small losses in the last few years—cancelled trips, lost time with family, missed events like graduations and weddings.  The accumulation of these disappointments weighs heavy and cultivates disenfranchised grief.  This type of grief is difficult to identify, and a lot of us feel guilty honoring it.  When others have suffered more, what right do we have to mourn our more minor losses?

I believe it is essential to acknowledge disenfranchised grief, to speak it to someone with whom we feel safe, and then to find alternative ways to enact small joys.  I’ve recently felt a diffused, latent grumpiness.  I didn’t understand why my temper was short, and I didn’t know why I was feeling emotional.  When I paused and went within, I realized that my quiet little griefs had brought on a palpable mood shift.  The second I acknowledged my disenfranchised grief, I felt the tension in my shoulders ease a bit.  It’s okay to feel sad for the lost moments with loved ones and the vacations that never happened.  As I let my grief evolve, I distract myself in lighthearted ways.  The feelings of disappointment will diminish, and in the meantime, I counterbalance my grief with happy activities.

Memory Travel

With travel severely restricted and very stressful, I’ve mostly traveled through my past.  The last two weeks, my 2015 trip to Italy’s Val d’Orcia has been on my mind.  I’m reliving the early mornings on the deck, when the sun came up over the valley, the wild boars squealed, and the birds chirped.  Day after day, I’ve been seeing the glorious Tuscan hills in my third eye and almost tasting the fruity olive oil we drizzled on our pasta.  Rather than leave me with a sense of loss, my Italian reveries are fulfilling and hopeful.

Awaken the Senses

Throughout the pandemic, the kitchen has been my happy place.  Meal preparation calls upon multiple senses.  I see the bright produce I pull from the grocery shelves, touch the ingredients as I chop, smell the herbs as I rub them between my fingers, hear the vegetables sizzle in the olive oil, and taste the dish resulting from my labor.  After tinkering with my winter minestrone soup, I am ready to share my recipe, found at the end of this post.  Please make it your own!  Dried beans are even more delicious than canned, and dried herbs can be used in a pinch. My winter minestrone will adjust to your whims, your pantry, and your senses.

Work It Out on the Mat

Sometimes the best way to deal with grief is through movement.  This week, my yoga mat has been a place of respite.  I admit I’m not pushing myself hard.  My exercise is slow and intentional.  In the weeks to come, I’ll be ready for more rigor.  But for now, I just need to process loss and disappointment.  I am learning that acknowledging my grief is uplifting.

 

Winter Minestrone

Created by aconnolly24 on December 30, 2021

Hills of Tuscany

  • Yield: 6 servings
  • Category: Celebrations, Dinner, Soups

Ingredients

  • 1/4 c extra-virgin olive oil, plus more for serving
  • Parmesan cheese, grated
  • 1/4 c extra-virgin olive oil, plus more for serving
  • 1 medium-large onion
  • 2 ribs celery, diced
  • 2 carrots, diced
  • 3 cloves garlic, sliced or chopped
  • 1/2 tsp. chopped rosemary
  • 1 tsp. chopped sage
  • 1 bay leaf
  • 1 can diced tomatoes (14.5 oz)
  • 1 bunch kale, stemmed, washed, and chopped
  • 1/2 butternut squash, peeled and cut into ¼ inch cubes
  • 4 c water
  • 1 can cannellini or great northern beans, drained and rinsed
  • salt and pepper

Instructions

  1. Warm olive oil over medium heat and sauté onion until light gold, about 8 minutes. Add celery and carrots to pot with 2 tsp salt, and cook to a rich golden brown, about 8-10 minutes. Add kale, garlic, rosemary, bay leaf, and sage. Cook over med-low heat for about 5 minutes, taking care to keep the garlic and herbs from burning. Add water and tomatoes, turn up heat, and simmer for 15 minutes. Add squash and cook until tender, about 15 minutes. Then, add the beans and cook until heated through. Remove the bay leaf. If soup is too thick, thin with hot water. Serve in bowls, garnishing each with a drizzle of extra-virgin olive oil and one spoonful grated Parmesan cheese. Variation: For a thicker soup, use two cans of beans.
  2. Warm olive oil over medium heat and sauté onion until light gold, about 8 minutes. Add celery and carrots to pot with 2 tsp salt, and cook to a rich golden brown, about 8-10 minutes. Add kale, garlic, rosemary, bay leaf, and sage. Cook over med-low heat for about 5 minutes, taking care to keep the garlic and herbs from burning. Add water and tomatoes, turn up heat, and simmer for 15 minutes. Add squash and cook until tender, about 15 minutes. Then, add the beans and cook until heated through. Remove the bay leaf. If soup is too thick, thin with hot water. Serve in bowls, garnishing each with a drizzle of extra-virgin olive oil and one spoonful grated Parmesan cheese. Variation: For a thicker soup, use two cans of beans.
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Inspirations

New York Times on disenfranchised grief

Slow Looking

Beauty in Grief 

Filed Under: Ideas, Improvise, Inspiration, Meditation, Safe at Home, Stories, Travel Tagged With: COVID, creative sanctuary, disenfranchised grief, grief, mindfulness, pandemic, pandemic life, slow living, winter minestrone

Beauty in Grief

October 24, 2017 By Allison

 

“Beauty, in a way, justifies our existence.”
–François Cheng, Oeil ouvert et coeur battant

My cousin Robb and I grew up amongst lawyers.  Drawn to the arts, we both forged paths that were atypical in our family.  Robb became a painter, and I studied literature.  We were both teachers.

Last week, Robb died unexpectedly.  I feel the pain of this loss in my bones.  And memories arise.  When we were little, large family gatherings at Grandma and Grandpa’s farm were a wall of noise—wild children waiting for the Easter egg hunt to begin, or, in December, demanding to know when Santa Claus would arrive.  We existed in a joyful, buzzing mass of cousins.

Happily, Robb and I got to know one another as adults.  Once we met at Caribou Coffee and spent a few hours talking about our favorite museums and gossiping about our siblings.  A few years back, I attended one of his shows—in a parking ramp!  It was brilliant!  The curvy, cavernous, concrete space allowed me to see the genius of his bright and bold paintings.  To no one’s surprise, our cool cousin Robb put on a cool show.  It is the most cosmopolitan Des Moines, Iowa has ever felt to me.

That evening, my brother and his wife purchased their first Robert Spellman piece, detail of which I share in this post.  It hangs in their front hallway, and my eyes fall on it each time I enter their home.  Robb left the painting untitled, explaining to my sister-in-law, “this started as a woman and morphed into so much more.”  I see echoes of the organized chaos that defined the Spellman get-togethers of our childhood.  In Robb’s energetic swirls, I see us charging through Grandma’s house, fueled by sugar and time with cousins.  I sense the members of a family gathering around tables.  In the center, I see Oneness.

My cousin experienced beauty and created beauty.  There is also beauty in our grief.  We loved Robb.  He graced us with his attention, his presence, and his art.  His life was beautiful, and he leaves beauty in his wake.

 

Inspiration

Robert Spellman Studio

 

 

Filed Under: Inspiration, Meditation, Stories, Uncategorized Tagged With: abstract art, beauty, contemporary art, cousins, Des Moines, family time, grief, Robert Spellman

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Thank you for dropping by Creative Sanctuary! I am a French professor in Kentucky, grew up in Iowa, and I often travel internationally. This blog gathers, documents, and connects my passions--travel, cooking, stories, France, and tea culture. Bonne lecture! --Allison Connolly

My Book, Published by Roman & Littlefield

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