Reaching toward one another
Through love and grief and the tenderness of living
Hello dear one,
What is there to say? So much feels so wrong and so unknown, both close in and in the world at large. And yet what I do know is that the last thing I want is to feel alone in this sea of uncertainty and loss.
I want to reach my hand towards yours, touching fingertips to fingertips, even if only in the space of imagination behind closed eyelids prompted by these words.
I want to place my tender heart in the safety of your open palm. I want this gesture to be a reminder that we are not alone, that we hold one another deep within the tenderness of our hearts especially when they are breaking, and even when one is gone and turned to dust.
Our twenty-year-old dog passed away this month and with him a whole semblance of a world.
“When one thing dies all things die together, and must live again in a different way, when one thing is missing everything is missing, and must be found again in a new whole…”1
Death of any kind is a powerful reminder of the impermanence of all of this. How easy and understandable it is to want to close up, hide, avoid the ache that marks the portal of grief.
But grief, for all its sharp edges, is also an opening, a portal. If we let it, it can soften us, expand us, remind us of what matters, and carry us to deeper understanding. To feel this much—to mourn deeply—is proof of how fully we have loved, how open we’ve let your hearts become. And maybe, in that, there is something sacred: the way loss weaves us into the fabric of everything, the way it ties us to one another, across time, across distance, beyond the unseen.
It’s still possible to intuit a magnificent,
individual arrival, that brings you still
closer to the accompanying faraway crowd;
to live bravely and always, as someone said,
‘to the point of tears’, to realize that you
have always had your life shattered
and your heart broken and your faith
tested by loving too much and too often
and that all along, it was never too much
and never too often, and that you were
never, ever, fully broken.2
And so, we keep loving, opening, breaking, and living ‘to the point of tears’.
We keep reaching toward one another, even in the silence, especially in the space where words fail.
Grief is love’s echo, emanating through time, shaping us, softening us, returning us to the heart of the matter.
May we hold each other here, in the tenderness of remembering, in the ache of what was, and in the quiet beauty of what is still unfolding.
With love,
Raina
Finding Stillness
Remembering: Sweet Dexter’s paws on my shoulders, his head resting in the crook of my neck. Gentle embrace, unconditional love.
Listening: To this song while taking many walks in the woods. Heart opening, tears releasing, gentle surrendering.
Holding close: All of my younger versions of self and the many memories they have brought to the surface. The heart ache of nostalgia of integrating feelings and experiences which weren’t able to be fully felt and experienced the first time around.
With gratitude: For the opportunity to walk through the experience of death and dying and grief in it’s many layers with my children. Watching their hearts open to the pain of loss, unafraid to feel it, unafraid to ask questions, unafraid to share their knowing alongside the unknown. How grateful I am that death and grief may be more common words in their vocabulary than they were in mine. May we allow death into experience of living, for one cannot exist without the other, just as love cannot exist without grief.
INVITATIONS / OFFERINGS:
Creative Support: If you know of anyone looking for creative support, branding, design, copywriting, etc. please share the Finding Stillness Studio with them!
Integrative Coaching: A new offering coming soon. So excited to share more!
Stille Shop: A wellspring of support for tending to the inner tides.
Did you think of someone while reading this letter? Feel free to pass it along to them ♡
A note on imperfection & typos — Being blessed with the gift of dyslexia means typos often sneak in, sometimes comically. As I continue disentangling from perfectionism and sharing more freely, I’m spending less time editing and trusting it’s okay to show up just as I am. Please know that any typos you spot reflect my imperfect human nature, not a lack of care or devotion. (I know this needs no explanation, but openly acknowledging this part of myself is deeply healing, so thank you for witnessing.)
This was everything I needed and more to read this morning, thank you ♥️ sending you and your family love and tenderness in your time of mourning.
I'm so, so sorry for the loss of your dear pup. Holding you and this magical space you've built here in love and tenderness <3