Tag: writing101

What Am I Doing Here?

On Easter Sundays, my whole family went to Mass together. First my older sister filed in, then my dad, my three older brothers, and then my mother–who held my baby brother. I got the end, closest to the aisle. I also got the Pinch in the armpit when I misbehaved. The Pinch was accompanied by my mother’s thick Boston accent in my ear, “Knack it off, or you’ll get a licken in front of God and Everybody.” I knew what a licken was but I’d never had one. Still, I was pretty sure it would hurt–which didn’t bother me so much as the idea that to get a licken meant my bum would be exposed in church, during Mass, in front of Everybody–including God.

I quickly learned that baring oneself involved a bit of shame. So, what am I doing here, blogging and baring myself in thought and word in such a permanent way? And why now?

Perhaps, I am here now because I recently turned 50 and am much less inhibited. Yet the truth is, I choose to bare myself before God and Everybody because I realize that we are all on the same journey travelling different paths but for the one moment when you read something that I write and it touches your spirit, and I read something you write that enhances my own.

What I’m doing here is seeking out and sharing nourishment for the pilgrimage—because it isn’t easy and it is rarely pretty.

~Sheila LaSalle

Tags spirituality, writing101

Christianity loss

On Grief and Faith–Redux

Grief splinters and breaks us. Yet, it also provides us with the opportunity to allow for the light of faith to seep into the crevices and renew us.

Tags addiction, Grief, writing101

Catholic Christianity

Open Letter to a Grieving Mother

Post author By SheilaLaSalle
Post date September 22, 2015
13 Comments on Open Letter to a Grieving Mother

I know your loss.

I know how suddenly it feels as if something shifted, as if the air were let out of the room, and you are left to struggle in your attempt to walk upright in a now tilted world.

I know your anger. I know the desire to slam the wall and shake a fist at God.

I know the ache, not just in your heart but in your whole body.

I know how grief, years later, can be like a rogue wave that catches you unaware and takes your breath away when you least expect it.

I know that our mind and spirit can only handle so much at one time. One moment, you will catch yourself laughing and realize just how long it has been since you felt like laughing and the next, you may catch a glimpse of someone who resembled some part of your child and you will want to cry.

I know that because it goes against the natural circle of life, we may never completely absorb such an inconceivable loss.

I also know another mother who endured the agony of watching her child suffer. Her name is Mary, the mother of Jesus. Powerless, she endured the agony of watching her son beaten, crowned with thorns, and nailed to a cross. As a mother, I imagine she felt each lashing, each piercing, rip through her heart.

She knows our loss. She knows our pain. She knows our suffering.