A Widow's Tale Podcast: Recent Episodes
Donna Marie Todd
A Widow’s Tale will help you learn how to recover from the ravages of stress, release repetitive concerns and worries and take control of your environment and lifestyle. A Widow’s Tale gives you the tools you most need to rebuild your physical and emotional health.
On the joys of having a son and the sorrow of knowing young soldiers who fall in battle lose that chance.
America is in the midst of a painful betrayal. Donald Trump's threats toward everyone, and every aspect of American democracy, are launched one after another. Americans are on a societal rollercoaster. The betrayals are as indiscriminate and unrelenting as they were in the story you'll hear here.
According to the US Department of Health and Human Services, over 700 scientific grants (or portions of grants) have been terminated during Donald Trump's second term, and his current nominee for Surgeon General doesn't hold a current medical license. This unprecedented attack on science is frightening.
I witnessed ground-breaking research back in the hills of West Virginia years ago. Research coal owners tried to stop so they wouldn't have to compensate miners who were suffocating from black lung.
For the first 17 years of my life, my only knowledge of the world beyond West Virginia came from missionaries on furlough. They brought us trinkets from places like the Congo or Korea and showed us home movies of natives wearing colorful costumes in a darkened church basement. They never talked about Muslim countries, so I'd never even heard of Iran.
When I arrived in multi-cultural San Francisco, I was newly 21. It was 1978 and large marches and protests against the Shah of Iran were already happening there. I just didn't notice it much at first.
This is the story of what I learned there and how what happened in 1979 mirrors today's events.
Our government has unleashed danger at home and across the world. Our elected leaders said they might take action, but what they did was throw up their hands and go home for a holiday.
Chaos. Everything is chaos. American Citizens are dead from the guns of ICE.
What's a senator or congressman to do? For heaven's sake, what do we expect them to do?
We've been here before, haven't we?
I grew up deep in the heart of southern West Virginia coal country where men risked their lives, every day, to line the pockets of the Coal Kings. When the Black Lung Wild Cat Strikes came, I fled to Baltimore, only to find it again. Here's the story of those times when we experienced chaos.
I invite you to listen and then share this story and invite people in your community into a conversation. Because change has to start somewhere.
I never understood why Daddy couldn't see his sister for who she really was.
When I heard that "The President" and our news-commentator-turned-secretary-of-war had invaded Venezuela and kidnapped their leader, memories flew out of my mind like F-22 Raptors on a tarmac because…
I know what it feels like to be invaded.
The story starts at my aunt's house, near Pittsburgh. I went there for a week one summer to hang out with my cousins. She lived in a brick home in the suburbs and the bathroom door had a white bag with tubing that swung from a hook.
The year I turned eight, we spent Christmas with Grandma Long. She was my mother's mother. She was very old, close to a hundred in fact. As a bride of the Great Depression, she'd birthed seven children at home and lost three of them to diseases I was vaccinated for. Mother said their deaths had changed her heart.
I believed her, because the Grandma I knew was mean to everyone. Everyone except Boots, her big gray tomcat with white paws.
She wasn't the kind of grandma who held you on her lap, only Boots got to sit on her lap. She was the kind of grandma who held you to standards of adult behavior when you were only eight.
The only room of her house that was heated was the sitting room. It had a big gas fireplace flanked by two walnut rockers her brother had made her as a wedding gift. A daybed piled high with quilts sat against the back wall. When she wasn't napping, that's where the guests sat. Adult guests, that is. Kids were to be seen and not heard. While Boots sat on her lap, we sat at her feet on a hand-hooked rug.
She was always baking something so the oven kept the kitchen warm. The bathroom was above the kitchen, and all the other rooms were cold as ice, especially the bedrooms.
She heated the beds upstairs with hot water bottles. She'd stick one under the covers at the bottom of the bed, which was really rather effective, once you stopped shaking and the shivers wore off.
I hated sleeping at Grandma's house, because I had to share a bed with Betsy, my baby sister. We fought so much Daddy called us The Cinderella Sisters. She had nails like razor blades and kicked like a mule. I snored, so neither of us slept much when we had to sleep together.
We were always forced upstairs to go to bed before it was even dark. It always happened the same way. Grandma Long would let out a big sigh and say, "I've had my fill of you kids. Let's get you off to bed."
Long after we were tucked away upstairs, the grown-ups were still swapping stories downstairs. Their laughter wafted up the steps and laid down in the hall next to the aromas of butter cookies and strong coffee.
It was a wild night outside that Christmas Eve. Sleet slashed at the single-pane windows, mountain smoke drifted up from the river, and angry West Virginia winds were chasing gray clouds around the sky like a sheriff after moonshiners.
Betsy and I couldn't sleep for all the laughter, so we pulled the homemade curtains back to watch for Santa Claus and prayed he knew we were there.
Just as our eyes could stay awake no longer, a star, not Santa Claus, appeared in the sky. Betsy, who was destined be a pastor like our Daddy, clapped her tiny hands and said, "Look Sister! It's God's star and it's so bright, the dark can't cover it!"
My sister died just before Christmas last year.
As I remember her words now, I realize that even at five years of age, she was a deep soul who had it figured out right:
When God's light reigns in our hearts, the darkness cannot overcome it.
Night Vision
I have awful night vision.
And with the end of Daylight Savings Time, the darkness feels really dark, and it always arrives before I'm ready for it.
But, my elderly Jack Russell, Mr. Pip,
HAS TO HAVE a late-night constitutional if I want an accident-free dawn. So, every night I bundle up against the cold and try to figure out which way he's headed. It's like snipe hunting at summer camp.
Fortunately, I have a fancy flashlight.
Last night when we were out, I heard a cat crying.
and immediately, my mind built a story about a tiny calico cat, stuck way up in a tree, scared to death in the pitch-black night.
I opened the back gate and wobbled partway down the river bank,
balanced myself on a granite outcropping, shone my light this way and that and called, "Here kitty, kitty, kitty!" My calls were met with silence.
But the movement disoriented me.
The riverbank no longer felt like my domain. I struggled to make sense of trees and granite outcroppings, while grapevines as thick as my wrist swayed in the wind like rainforest anacondas looking for a snack.
My heart was pounding, I began to sweat.
Footsteps crunched in the leaves behind me!
What was that?
I focused my light on the ground behind me, only to see Mr. Pip carefully tiptoeing toward me.
My flashlight hit a poplar tree, and two enormous eyes blinked at me.
Aha! There was the cat!
Only the eyes didn't belong to a cat.
I was staring into the face of a juvenile screech owl. His grey ear tufts blended perfectly with the grey of the tree bark.
We blinked at each other,
and he flew on silent wings in a huff.
I slowly climbed back up the bank,
through the English ivy and wild rose briars that clung to my pants. I made it into the yard, and closed the gate.
There's a lot of winter left.
The nights are dark and sometimes the days feel even darker so I'm grateful for my flashlight.
It's always a good thing to have some night vision.
I was a preacher's child, so I grew up in churches.
I spent a lot of time looking at stained glass windows on Sunday mornings and Wednesday evenings.
Not because my Daddy's sermons were boring. But because preachers practice their sermons like singers working on a song, and when you've heard the same one several times, your mind tends to wander when you hear it again.
Some of the stained-glass windows were inspiring, some were bland, and still others were works of art.
Take the glorious Tiffany windows I starred at for hours as a senior in high school for instance. They radiated religion out into the world with their intricate patterns and rich, jewel-tone colors. I remember wanting to wear Mary's blue velvet dress to the prom.
During middle school, I starred at geometric squares of harvest gold and avocado green in the sanctuary of a coal-country church. They matched the appliances in our kitchen.
When I was in first grade, the church had windows that were tinted a pale white.
They were just like the windows in the bathroom at school: frosted to keep peeping Toms from watching little girls pull up their skirts.
My son grew up in churches, too. He's 30 now and he was telling a friend of mine that he knew she was important to him because her color was in his soul.
Intrigued, she said, "What do you mean by that?" He answered, "Well, when we take out first breath, our souls are crystal clear.
Then life happens to us. Each person we meet adds their color to our soul. Some people touch us with love and soft colors, others touch our minds or imagination and splatter us with vibrant colors. And, of course, meanness and sorrow add the dark colors that make the shadows in our soul."
Love and beauty, sorrow and pain.
These are the things that change our crystal-clear souls into colorful stained-glass.
My son is in internal medicine practice now. He's financially secure. His fiance is also well-employed in engineering. They'll be married soon. But when I brought up those grandchildren I would love to have, he almost snapped my head off.
Why? Why would my loving son respond that way? Because the idea of bringing a child into "this ugly, burning world" terrifies him.
His Dad and I never thought about that when we were practicing procreation as a form of youthful recreation. (We were care-free about it! I wasn't supposed to be able to have a child, but that's another story, one I like to tell at women's retreats.)
We were able to afford a little house, the price of food was reasonable. Sure there was crime, but only in certain neighborhoods. School shootings hadn't started, no dark web internet was providing the motivation or instructions for that yet.
Once my sweet, caring son explained his fears about fatherhood, I couldn't forget it.
Every time I see a baby now the conversation flies back in my face. I can't help but wonder if the parents are "together" or if they can afford their child's future. I can't help but fear for the day that child starts kindergarten with a live shooter drill. I know two teenagers who peed their pants during their first one.
Sure, there have always been problems in our world. Yes, there was always a dark side. When Jesus was a baby, things were really bad, too. A king put a bounty on his head and killed all the boys even close to his age. That was obviously not a good future either.
I guess each generation faces their own challenges but the challenges of this time seem terminal. If we can't do something about climate catastrophe, we'll all burn up. If truces can't be signed in the wars raging around us, nuclear war is upon us. My son is right. What kind of future is that for a child?
But as a person of faith, I refuse to give up hope and my hope is that those of us who care about the future of children (and life itself!) will begin to claim our power. I am convinced each one of us is much more powerful than we think we are or are told we are.
If we can overcome our fear and our inertia, and bring pressure to bear on the places we can create change as we apply that pressure, I think people like us can make big things happen.
I'm the Christian who holds these words of Jesus tightly in my heart:
"Truly I say to you: if you have faith like a grain of mustard seed,
you will say to this mountain,
'Move from here to there,' and it will move,
and nothing will be impossible for you."
(Matthew 17:20-21)
Yes, I think we can move the mountains of climate change, divisive politics, and greedy oligarchs! But we better hurry, because the next generation is coming, and it needs us to talk truth to power, push where we can push, and make the world a little safer for each new baby that's coming soon to a backpack near you.
I was searching for quiet amidst all the noise: Yet another tariff, more school violence, inflation, wars.
The scorching heat of our record-breaking summer had broken. A shy coolness was in the air.
I’d washed the sheets, and since I love the smell of sunshine, I took them outside to dry on the line.
And that’s when I saw her. A butterfly as big as a bird.
Each time she floated into view, I began savoring my own precious time.
Hanging up the sheets, I smiled at the thought of lying down that night and smelling the sunshine again.
In the whisper of butterfly wings, I found quiet amidst all the noise
I was in the beautiful land of Canada this past week where I learned the power of friendship, and the price we pay for broken relationships.
It's hot. Oh, and it's humid, too! That must mean the dog-days of summer are here.
I volunteer at the animal shelter and the dogs there are all wanting the same thing we are: to belong.
We all want to belong to a pack, it's instinctual and necessary. And we all want a leader who makes wise decisions and takes everyone into consideration. Because, if the unthinkable should actually happen, we want to know our pack has our back.
I was so depressed one day I couldn't even make a decision about whether or not to eat an egg. Then a shot rang out and I thought I was in a true crime drama. But what happened next reminded me that the world is still filled with magic.
Racism is ugly stuff. I thought we'd left it behind but I guess it was just hiding. I didn't know what racism was until I met it in the kitchen one day after a party my parents gave. The person targeted was someone I loved dearly. Remembering the story, even now, makes my face grow hot with anger and shame.
Back in the 1960's our country was divided over racism. We'd long ago fought to end slavery but civil rights were still a dream away. This was especially true in the heart of coal country, up in the hills of West Virginia. This is a story about the time my Dad stood up to The Three Kings: who ruled the town, the mines, and the church. Since what's old is unfortunately new again, with all the executive orders dismantling DEI and wiping black contributions off government websites, it's a timely story for today.
When you get that call that someone is dying, you leap in the car and go. Death doesn't keep an appointment book and cancer plays by its own rules.
The catastrophic events of climate change (like hurricanes, wildfires, tornadoes, and floods) force you to abandon your sense of safety.
I remember writing a report in 3rd grade on the reason for Thanksgiving. Mine was a little different than Tommy Spencer's. But then, I didn't dress up in a headband with a rooster feather in it either.
No matter what is happening in the world of man, nature has her own rhythm. Something amazing is often right in front of us, but in our rush to "accomplish something" we miss it. Take a break to listen to this story about just such an almost-missed opportunity, and then take a break to walk in nature and see what she's up to. What you find is likely to delight and surprise you. And, who can't use a little delight and surprise these days?
It feels like time is running out to do what we came here to do. How are you spending your days these days?
When you sell your house, it's a lot of change all at once.
I've been finding hidden messages at the back of the sock drawer, flipping through memories from childhood, teen times, and adulthood. Memory after memory flashes from every corner, from every found item.
Some of our memories are like life preservers, they hold us up when we're in deep water. But other memories speak to all that went wrong. And those memories are an anchor that drags us down to the bottom and holds us there until we run out of either courage or breath.
Our memories are our stories. And our stories remind us that each moment of our lives is a sacred place in time.
I like to think of myself as discriminating (in a good way) but not prejudiced. But in today's times, it's important to think about how we contribute to prejudicial attitudes about other people based on political opinion or childhood conditioning.
This is the story of how I first met racism and the way that impacts my life today.
This isn't the first time America has had a housing crisis. A recent encounter with a homeless camp brought back a story about my great-grandmother. Twice widowed, she solved a problem for herself and for others. Maybe it's time to let stories from the hard times of the past inspire how we address problems today.
I think most of us worry about money more than we'd like to admit. No matter how much we have, it seems like it's never enough.
But have we entered a time like the one that made my Grandmom put her money in the mattress?
Listen to her story, and mine. Maybe it's time to give that idea some new consideration.
With all the political huffing and puffing in advance of the 2024 election cycle, the big issues we face as Americans are, again, off the table.
Affordable health care, homelessness, food insecurity, mass shootings and more.
Social media is slicing and dicing us like a red tomato into little voting segments. We're being fear-mongered into seeing each other as dangerous. Is that the America you want?
Let's come together and prevent a second Civil War.
This Memorial Day, let's take back our freedom. People died to keep you free. Honor that.
The formation of a human soul is complex business. As children we sift through ideas but also marinate in the stories of our family and the rituals that are passed down from one generation to the next. This is the story of one such formation.
When I was a kid, we didn't play organized sports. We roamed the neighborhood like feral cats. But we mostly behaved because, back then, any parent that caught you doing something wrong had permission to punish you any way they saw fit, whether they were your parents or not, so like I said, we mostly behaved. But there was this one time when things went very wrong.
After hearing a Easter sermon about "taking up my cross" I saw a cat torture and kill a baby bird. And thus my ministry to save the birds of Elm street was born.
I picked the wrong year to start coloring my hair. Over twenty years ago I waited 9 months to have a baby. Now I'm waiting to have a knee replacement and feel like I'm 90. Getting old is NOT for sissies.
New Year's Eve festivities in my childhood were exquisitely boring, the ones in San Francisco so celebratory I can't remember them, and then my husband rolled one in by having a massive stroke, but we won't dwell on that. You never really know your relatives until you spend the holidays with them. Here's an introduction to some of mine!
I wrote this for Appalachian Voice magazine many years ago. It's a story about a boy I knew back in the hills of West Virginia. If you're in need of a feel-good story this holiday season, this might just fit the bill! Merry Christmas from my heart to yours.
I'll never forget what happened in the Zickafoose sisters cabin the Thanksgiving day the moonshiners arrived. You won't either.
I never had a birthday party until I turned 25. Then gave myself one and never looked back!
I never had a birthday party until I turned 25. Then gave myself one and never looked back!
I was always on the outskirts of high fashion. But when the fishnet hose and mini-skirts arrived in my school, I was determined to have them!
It was a dark and stormy Halloween eve when I ended up somewhere I wasn't supposed to be.
We've all had one: a bad hair cut that just can't grow out fast enough! This is the story of a sheep-shearing beautician who gave me just such a haircut, and it scarred me for life. (Well, not really, but I do have an un-natural fear of scissors and clippers.)
Back when I was a kid in West Virginia, we didn't go to the pool, we went to the swimming hole, down at the bottom of Old Man Reynolds pasture.
This is a story about the time we almost drown there.
Best enjoyed wearing your Big Girl Pants.
When I was 12 I knew a woman who was bedfast with rheumatoid arthritis for 14 years. When her caregiver could no longer care for her she was sent to a home for invalids, where a difficult new thing called Physical Therapy was tried on her condition.
She earned her Badge of Courage when she survived it and learned how to transfer herself from a bed to a wheelchair, open a can, and go to the bathroom by herself.
We watched Star Trek together and drank Coca-Cola when got back home. She encouraged me to do the impossible when it was necessary.
When I was 12 I knew a woman who was bedfast with rheumatoid arthritis for 14 years. When her caregiver could no longer care for her she was sent to a home for invalids, where a difficult new thing called Physical Therapy was tried on her condition.
She earned her Badge of Courage when she survived it and learned how to transfer herself from a bed to a wheelchair, open a can, and go to the bathroom by herself.
We watched Star Trek together and drank Coca-Cola when got back home. She encouraged me to do the impossible when it was necessary.
Back when I was in middle school, we took a survivalism class. It was called home ec. All girls had to take it. The boys took shop. We learned to sew and cook; they learned to change their oil and hammer a nail.
We should never have dropped those mandatory classes. Now we have young parents who can't cook a potato or change the oil in their car.
Back when I was in middle school, we took a survivalism class. It was called home ec. All girls had to take it. The boys took shop. We learned to sew and cook; they learned to change their oil and hammer a nail.
We should never have dropped those mandatory classes. Now we have young parents who can't cook a potato or change the oil in their car.
I don't guess that there's s a way to prepare to see your mother fully naked. I know no one tried to prepare me. I was maybe thirteen, and it just happened, on a stormy afternoon in late summer, just as I was developing my own "woman's body." Seeing her changed everything.
I don't guess that there's s a way to prepare to see your mother fully naked. I know no one tried to prepare me. I was maybe thirteen, and it just happened, on a stormy afternoon in late summer, just as I was developing my own "woman's body." Seeing her changed everything.
I learned very confusing information about sex in our "health" class during PE. When I got my first period, I assumed I was dying, since "periods" were mentioned but no one said anything about blood.
I learned very confusing information about sex in our "health" class during PE. When I got my first period, I assumed I was dying, since "periods" were mentioned but no one said anything about blood.
When you don't get picked for volleyball or asked to the school dance, a horse may just end up as your best friend.
I was rescued during a difficult year in middle school by a cook named Tiny. She taught me that the bullies torturing me were just as insecure as I was. After all the positive lessons she provided in self-esteem, I watched her give her own up to keep a man.
My pastor father was a white man involved in the Civil Rights movement. This is the story of how he stood up to the Three Kings, the power-brokers in a mountain town determined to keep things as they were.
When trouble is looming, you need your Big Girl Pants.
Social intrigue begins early. There are always the popular ones, the bullies, and the things we don't want to do that others think are "good for us."
This is the story of how I "got to" go to Scout camp where the first thing I "got to" do was dig a latrine. Things went downhill from there.
The most fun I've ever had was on the back of a horse.
I was a clumsy child. I flunked out of ballet. I fell on my teacher after trying to turn my feet out in fourth position one too many times. Atop a horse, I was regal and elegant. Wrapping my legs around their power has always been magical for me. I dreamed of having a dappled gray Arabian but that dream never came true.
Sometimes things happen to you that you can't forget. Sometimes those things stay with you when you're an adult. Experiences that influence you in ways you aren't always aware of, or sometimes you are aware of them, but you just can't do anything about it. This is the story of how that happened to me.
I grew up in West Virginia. Everyone assumes that it's a poor state but some of the richest people I've ever known live in West Virginia. That's because it's a feudal state. You're either a baron or a serf, there's not much in between.
As the divides between the "haves" and the "have almost nothings" continues to grow, you might find this story of life in the 60's informative.
We live in a world on the move. There are secrets to knowing how to make a move and still keep a little peace in your life. Here's the story of how we did it.
Kindergarten forced me to leave my childhood dreams and start memorizing 26 letters in an arbitrary order. It was the beginning of my realization that often "education" is more about forcing young minds into compliant boxes than inspiring knowledge.
As the first born, I was a Princess with many welcoming arms and laps. Then my baby sister was born, and everything changed. I hadn't realized how protective I was of her until an e bully picked on her in elementary school. I almost killed him for it.
My sister and I never watched cartoons in the morning like normal kids, because we never knew who was in the basement.
I was always moving somewhere. But my birth was a much anticipated event back in the hills of West Virginia!
The Urkanians celebrating Easter on Sunday reminded me of the Easter I experienced when I was six. I'll never forget that exploding egg.
What would you like to use again, pay more attention to, or see differently? Resurrection means doing exactly this.
Spring is here and nature is busy with procreation. The birds and the bees provide such an interesting mirror for human behavior.
Sometimes it can be hard to see where you're going in life, especially when fear joins the party!
Sometimes things happen that you can't anticipate and response isn't optional. Sometimes, you just gotta do what you gotta do! But responding in a way that lets you honor the sacredness and fragility of your own emotional system is very important, especially when the crisis happens to someone close to you.
Spring is pushing hard against the cold earth. Winds of change are everywhere. Do you find yourself waiting for what's next, too?
Life can get dark. Winter days drag on, political roulette between nations threatens war, people get sick, inflation soars.
Sunshine can be hard to find. That's why it's important to go looking for it.
The American retailer is hot on it to make cash off your expressions of love. Flowers, balloons, dinners out, cards, and jewelry with diamonds and hearts. But if you only had 30 days left on this earth, what would you do with that time? How would you express love during that tiny window? Never trade an interesting question for an answer!
I'm a birder. I feed the birds at several feeders and have my favorites, one in particular. I even feed them mealworms (which is part of this story). This last week we had a storm, a big one. Thirteen inches of snow. And it changed the life of the wild things. It changed me, too.
I've always loved snow days! They give us an excuse to stop and rest. We can take the time to make and eat comfort food and reconsider about what's important. After a third pandemic year, maybe we all needed some snow days! And snow days bring out the beauty of nature on display. We're at 13 inches and counting in the mountains.
It's been a long year dealing with COVID. Maybe we're all more worried about things than we need to be. At least, that's my epiphany moment!
It's been a long year dealing with COVID. Maybe we're all more worried about things than we need to be. At least, that's my epiphany moment!
On a cold winter day, I watch the world fly into my window feeder, and contemplate the state our nation during COVID, again.
There are so many changes coming at us in this world, we're all so exhausted by COVID and climate change weather disasters and the isolation of our social brains. Sometimes. no matter how strong you are, t's hard not to be afraid. So maybe making friends with fear is a great starting place for life in the new year.
These are harsh times: COVID (again), bombings, school shootings, inflation, the intentional spread of dis-information, mistrust. We're wired for negative bias yet born from love. Trust may just be the missing part of our holiday equation!
I remember when waiting used to be exciting! Then waiting became a dreadful activity. And now I'm back to finding it intoxicating again. Life ebbs and flows and waiting is a big part of it, especially when you're at the beginning and end of it. These days, the planet itself is waiting for help to arrive.
Sometimes it's the little things that we remember. Sometimes it's the little things that get us through grief. And sometimes, it's just fun to eat spoil your supper with a sweet. Especially during the holidays!
Winter is a harsh mother. She has her own ways and her own rules. The creatures that break those rules often pay a large price.
Winter gives us longer nights to sleep. Bears and rabbits take advantage of these longer rests. While we light up our houses and plan late-night parties.
What is this is the year to rest in the quiet of winter? Winter is a good time for thinking.
This Podcast Is a Guided Meditation to Counteract Black Friday.
The greedy world you live in always makes you feel like you are never enough. That you can never have enough, or do enough, or be enough.
But this is a capitalistic lie. You are always enough and you almost always have enough.
So join me in an act of counter-capitalism by participating in this guided meditation to celebrate your abundance and offer gratitude.
Because your every breath is a gift and you are precious.
It's that time of year again when we're being encouraged to buy, buy, buy. To slap plastic and get ready for the holidays! The bounty of Thanksgiving is lost amid the hype. Time to remember what's real and to be grateful for life itself. This episode comes with a bonus guided meditation that will help you remember how wonderful life really is.
As I grow older, I find that what I am valuing in life is changing. Worry about money is being replaced with worrying about time. Whether I'll have enough time to do the things I want to do, like tell stories in the British Isles and eat seafood in Greece.
What once seemed so important now doesn't. COVID and years of widowhood have changed my perspective.
As a grief professional I exhibited my Navigating Loss Program at a large funeral convention this month and I got quite the education in an American death.
The seasons change all the time. So gently at first, then with that first breath of icy air or the bright colors of fall leaves. We change, too. And our seasons are always on the move, then comes that startling change, the one you can't ignore. Yeah, that one.
All of life involves change. Sometimes the changes come gradually and sometimes change is forced upon us. Adaptivity is a human strong-suit but one we often neglect. I'm at one of those points where I'm choosing to change before I'm forced to. And I'm not the only one...
Sometimes the day-to-day grind wears us down to the nub. But when we have a chance to shift our perspective, it's amazing what we can see.
I lost my husband when our son was newly sixteen. His birth was relatively painless, since it was a C-section. (The recovery from surgery, was not much fun, but epidurals are pretty amazing things.) But it was just this month, when he turned 26, that I delivered the placenta. This is the story of a mother's love and the length of time it often takes us to finish birthing our children.
Our childhood rooms hold memories and treasures. When we leave them for adulthood, sorting through them is a rite of passage.Todd men have had and used guns for generations. While I'm not a gun person myself, when our son had to sort through his room as he moved off to medical school, he found treasure in the closet, along with memories.
Sometimes the world around us imitates our crazy human life. Take the squirrel microcosm for instance.
Letting go of the life that used to live you is hard. I'm on my third commercial dumpster and feeling lighter every day! Sometimes we own our stuff and sometimes our stuff owns us! Know what I mean?
There are so many things being solved by math today. All except the most basic things. Like economic justice, the saving of our planet, the prevention and cure of disease. Is it time to look at things differently? When will X=Y? When will all life matter enough for us to behave differently and realize we are NOT in charge.
I just filled a dumpster with stuff in my house and yard that wasn't even mine. It's been 10 years since my husband died and it was time to get rid of his Man Cave junk. What's in your junk trunk?
Every loss we experience leaves us with broken dreams. Things we wished we would have done or said, plans that will not materialize, trips that won't be taken, and people we will no longer see or be friends with. Our broken dreams cut us like glass until we touch them one more time and then let them go. This is a story about love and loss.
Getting out in nature with the wild things can inspire our souls in ways that are healthy and vital. Too much of our lives are spent in needless worry, spinning the hamster wheel of the economy we rarely benefit from. Wild things spend their days being free. Sure, there are the quick life and death dangers, but those moments come and are gone. We humans cling so tightly to anxiety that we become ill. Get free of it.
Come to the hills of West Virginia for a 4th of July pig pickin and learn how that day still impacts my dating choices.
Ever find yourself believing all the negative things people say while ignoring the positive ones? Yeah, me, too. Maybe we should change the order of that.
Whales and birds talk to their young, beginning in utero, giving them instructions on everything from when to hatch and where to go fishing. If listening has this big an impact on animal life, imagine how what you're listening to impacts you.
If you're reading this, you survived a world pandemic. But the cortisol and adrenaline that you survived on for over a year aged you. I know, because I had COVID (twice). I remember that super-stressed feeling from the years after my husband passed. But you survived it! Time to release all that stress and focus on moving forward with intention and joy. Here's a way to do that...
I began exploring my shadow selves shortly after my husband died. Not because I wanted to but because I had to. There were parts of me that wanted it to be okay that I was afraid and angry but I was too much of a Southern girl to acknowledge them. Now is the right time to acknowledge the power of these suppressed selves and to let them walk in the light along side us so they don't do anything in the dark that can hurt us.
It's been a long year of isolation. Perfect for internal contemplation. Something is waiting to be born inside you. Do you know what it is yet? Perhaps a lesson from the sea will help.
Nature is bursting with energy right now so is a good time to take that into yourself and recover from the darkness of this last pandemic year!
Nature is pollinating the world like crazy this spring. She's trying to insure the survival of plants and trees with the help of bees, butterflies, hummingbirds and other pollinators. Now that you're older and wiser, and survived a pandemic, what would you like to help to survive? It's an important question for us all and one with a highly personal answer!
Spring is a great time to get out and see how new life is leaping up, filled with promise for the future. Your life is a promise, too, and sometimes it's easy to lose sight of that.
It's easy to feel abandoned and scared during a pandemic. Easy to see ourselves as alone and unloved in the best of times. But the reality is that we are always being watched by the eyes of love. Here's how I see my life issues reflected in the Easter narrative.
My mother was a 43-year breast cancer survivor. She and I shared a rare musical bond. This is the story of the last time we made music together. A mystical moment that I'll always remember and the gift it gave to her, to me, and to everyone who heard it.
Regrets are like those mean kids in middle school who whispered about you in the hall or that nosy aunt who tossed your childhood sins on the table at the family reunion and invited everyone to taste your shame.
We all have regrets, and they often keep us from fulfilling our dreams. Don't let the past ruin your future. Keep regrets in their rightful place - at the end of the hallway.
Are you dragging your tired, broken dreams around with you in a too-heavy backpack? If so, unpack that nasty old thing. See what's in there and let that stuff go! It's spring! You've got new dreams trying to live through you. Make room for them!
I want to pull this winter off like a pair of ill-fitting long johns. Walking in the woods I tripped over an ancient secret that nature uses to escape the sludge of winter. Maybe it can help you, too?
COVID has brought every last one of us a traumatic experience. This trauma runs the gamet: Broken lives, broken dreams, broken bank accounts, broken marriages, broken families, and way too many funerals. Trauma's biggest impact is that it reduces our sense of safety. To feel safe again, we must grieve what we've lost.
Find out what happens when two women go to the wilds of Madison County in search of a pristine paradise. Surprise! Life is never what you plan for and Monster Truck shows may not be your thing.
Sometimes we need to get away. We need to take a little trip for NO REASON AT ALL. When we do, we give ourselves permission to find the beauty that lives all around us, to watch a cloud, and see a landscape transform as the miles roll by. A little trip is good for the soul.
This has been such a year of angst and anxiety. So many tumultuous events and divisiveness have unsettled us all. But we can find happiness and release anxiety even in times such as this. When we reclaim the ancient practice of surrender, we are freed to enjoy our life.
When you ignore your fear it holds you hostage. Fear is an ancient friend. Fear once alerted you to lions in the tall grass. Fear serves a purpose, it's there to keep you safe.
When you learn to love your fear and trust it to guide you, it will reveal hidden dangers (like those lions in the grass). Fear knows what's keeping you from fulfilling your dreams.
It's so easy to be held hostage by our fears, especially now. It's tempting to either give into fear or slap on a "Brave Face." Something different happens when you let fear be a messenger.
We are living in a time of financial and personal pandemic fear. But the truth of the matter is we've all had fear since we were small. We met fear in different ways as little people, but we've all encountered it and it's changed us. This is the first in a series of reflections about how our fear controls us and ways to meet it where it lives and hopefully, use the information it has to better our lives.
Sometimes it's hard to see what's right in front of us. Sometimes it's hard to do the right thing. Maybe it's time to do both as we remember struggles from the past and the work of Martin Luther King, Jr.
Pick a star word and let it guide your year!
The frightening levels of political rancor and COVID infections are keeping us at arms-length from one another. But looking heavenward shows us planets rotating around the sun in an orderly fashion; each without worry about whether the others are doing it in the "right way."
It's been a dark winter already. As I plant my indoor bulb gardens, I'm feeling as shriveled up as the tulips and amaryllis. Careful watering is the secret to a bulb garden blooming. We're a lot like bulbs, we have everything we need to grow already inside us but we, too, need careful watering. Who and what will nurture your growth this winter? Think carefully about the question because you deserve to bloom in 2021.
Who isn't ready for 2020 to be over? But here's the thing: If you don't mourn your losses from this devastating and challenging year now you'll be dragging a moldy steamer trunk the size of Texas, full of dirty clothes, into the New Year. Mourning is an ancient, sacramental practice that is so appropriate for this time!
It's hard to fight off feelings of unworthiness under the best of circumstances but Christmas, the season of perfection, ups the ante. So let's examine where all this unworthiness comes from. Hint: It's not your fault.
I was as skeptical as most about "miracles" until something in my own life changed how I felt about the mysteries beyond my knowing.
It's been a brittle and brutal autumn. Between the pandemic and the election, I feel lucky to be sane. Nature is inviting us to let go. Here's how.
Transitions are an ongoing part of life. This year we're in the middle of a presidential transfer of power and a pandemic.
All sacrifice should be honored. A story about partners, loyalty, and an unexpected companion in grief at the moment it mattered the most.
We live in cages of our own making with old habits and patterns that keep us trapped inside belief systems that no longer serve us.
It's hard to stay upbeat in the fear and isolation of COVID. It's particularly hard when you're alone. But there's a technique you can use to hardwire happiness into your brain! It's easy, it's fun, and it really works!
Maybe it's the late-summer heat, maybe it's the political insanity of the 2020 Elections, maybe it's too many days a cooped up in our own minds during COVID, but what's simmering on the back burner of our minds deserves our attention. A slow stew of ideas is cooking just as fall arrives.
Have you been going through cycles of shedding old ideas and jettisoning emotional baggage? Are you widowed or are you recovering from heartache? If so, are you becoming someone new in the process? I examine this idea in my own life after meeting a new friend.
So many things we hold dear are facing extinction during COVID and our prayers are not the only ones God hears.
With COVID 19 on the rise and 4 million ill it looks like American Kids will be home-schooled AGAIN this fall. Here's what might be really good about that!
COVID numbers are disturbing, so is the information about the economy. But how long can we afford to stay hyper-alert emotionally? How long can we allow ourselves to be beaten up by divisive political rhetoric from the far left and far right in the news and social media? How can you find peace in the small things?
What I learned at 23 in my years along the Big Muddy about dancing, racism, and a life that's far from perfect.
Safe or not, out we come! But it's not quite the same. It's like Noah after the flood or me, when I had hepatitis in the 5th grade.
It's a special day, the day we remember those who gave us life. For those who have lost their mothers recently, the day is especially poignant.
The problem with all this isolation is that we are neurologically hard-wired for social connection, for touch, for communal support. Acknowledging that we're missing these essential social pieces lets us take the first step toward self compassion.
Grieving without the comfort of family and friends is very difficult. "Navigating Loss" author Donna Marie Todd shares how to create a private grief ritual you can use at home during COVID-19 isolation.
A virus isn't really alive until it finds a host. COVID-19 is literally borrowing its life from us. What can we borrow from it?
Navigating Loss. In this pandemic, we've all lost something. Grieving is an important part of healing from loss. Here's a quick first lesson from the founder of A Widows Tale in how naming what you've lost and sitting with your breath can help you feel better today.
Ever get tired of people asking why you can't just get over your spouse's death? What's it been now? Two years?
One of the most painful part of grief and widowhood is the feeling that you're invisible. It's a couples' world and your alone now.
When your spouse dies, all the decisions are suddenly up to you! Listen to a conversation about becoming your own best friend.
Every widow has a story and in the sharing of our stories, we find healing. Hear Donna Marie’s story of how she lost her husband.
Listen to the story of how the information in A Widow’s Tale was developed and why you can benefit from it.