Safe Passage: Words to Help the Grieving Hold Fast and Let Go (Healing Meditations, Meditations for Grief, and Healing After Loss)

By Molly Fumia

Comfort Words for Loss, Grief, and Bereavement

“Here is a book of exquisite honesty and profound depth. Along the way, grief becomes a dance in the dark and suffering turns to love”—Sue Monk Kidd, Author of The Secret life of Bees and The Dance of the Dissident Daughter

Too many of us are familiar with the feelings of grief and bereavement. For those new to and for those long suffering from loss, Safe Passage is a grief handbook to heal loss of every kind.

One of the best books on grieving. The grieving process is slow, but each step is necessary for recovery. In this classic grief and loss book with over 100,000 copies sold, Molly Fumia says it's ok that you're not ok, and gently guides us through any stage of grief with her profound wisdom and insight. Her kind comfort words for loss and encouragement helps us to contemplate our feelings and creates a space where healing your mind and soul is possible—even after loss.

Find healing and hope. Healing grief can seem impossible, but Fumia assures us that there is hope to be found. As an expert on grief, and as someone who has experienced devastating loss, Fumia provides a deeply thoughtful roadmap for the difficult journey we face when bearing the unbearable. In leading us through the pain of grief and grieving, this book on grieving provides a helping hand to all those lost in grief.

Inside Safe Passage, find:

• Steps to guide you through each stage of grief
• Comfort words for loss from a critically acclaimed grief expert
• A grief handbook for healing grief, finding peace in the everyday process of grief

If you found comfort in books on grieving like Grief Is Love, The Grieving Brain, or Things I Wish I Knew Before My Mom Died, you’ll love Safe Passage.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Conari Press
• Release date: Aug 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781609255459

Molly Fumia

Molly Fumia holds a master's degree in theology from the Graduate Theological Union in Berkeley, California. Molly is the author of books on the transformative nature of grief, including Honor Thy Children, Safe Passage, and A Piece of My Heart. She lives with her husband and seven children in Los Gatos, California.

Book preview

Introduction

You might want to simply open this book to any page and begin.

Or, you might want to start here…

This is a book of meditations for the grieving. A friend once said that writing it was a brave thing. But I knew the braver thing would be to read it.

It is true that grief is a journey, often perilous and without clear direction, one that demands to be taken. Sometimes, it begins quietly. Your reaction to shocking news is measured, like a tossed stone in a placid lake, circles of meaning slowing widening, reaching into more and more of your consciousness until you understand how much you have lost and grief washes over you.

But more often, grief begins cruelly—a few words, the sharp suspension of reality. A moment of disbelief and then the hailstorm descends, feelings like knives slicing through bone, a relentless attack that will continue into undefined time. Denial, fear, despair, anger, powerlessness, regret, guilt, loneliness—any or all of these feelings batter you mercilessly, causing you to doubt a way out of your pain.

To whatever degree you grieve, the emotional invasion is inevitable; the feelings are valid and real. This book is an attempt to put words around your feelings—something like facing the enemy. You can fight them, or you can live through them.

The very act of struggling to breathe when grief has deprived you of air is a sign of your spirit stirring. Even as the heart is breaking, the pieces begin to inch back. Even though the little things bring sobs up to your throat, and confusion has crushed any sense of normalcy in your life, something within you is plotting survival.

I offer these meditations as one map of your journey through the blackest night to the slow, gentle dawn of acceptance, unexpected wisdom, and new possibilities.

If you would, allow me to start at my own beginning. The first step to healing is to be brave enough to actually feel. For me, that prospect was terrifying. So I pushed the feelings aside for a long time. What I didn't know is that grief can be postponed, but it will not be denied.

Thirty years ago, our firstborn son, Jeremy, died in infancy. I was young and in shock. I was given bad counsel—don't put yourself through it, there is nothing you can do. My husband and members of our families went to see him. Everyone said good-bye except me.

I did not grieve for him; at least, not then. Not when we buried him, along with all of our hopes and dreams for a love that would outlive us rather than disappear into the empty space where Jeremy should have been.

Ten years later, after four more children, after a decade's worth of life and blessed wisdom, the dark chamber of my emotions where I had carefully stored my grief burst open. My anguish over the death of my son had stayed with me, waiting for me to call it forth. And when I did, I found myself overcome with sadness so painful, regret so harsh, guilt so penetrating, I knew that the feelings had compounded themselves into a powerful force that now controlled me, demanding that I pay the vast debt of my denial beginning immediately, without debate, without mercy.

Yet still the healing began and brought revelations. I learned that grief is the most patient and persistent of life companions. We all grieve. Being alive requires of us a relationship with the mysterious, life-long experience of letting go, whether it be the small daily dyings that mark our existence, or the gripping, transformative experience of finally saying farewell to someone we have loved.

I realized that grief is an ancient, certain link between all those who have ever mourned. My experience mirrored that of others, and I was comforted. And then I was empowered, immersed in the connectedness of all human suffering. I considered the causes of grief in a world drowning in sorrow.

The sources of grief are as varied as the grief-stricken. Spouses and partners, parents and children, beloved friends and compassionate onlookers—no one is spared the shattering loss of a loved one from old age and accidents, a legion of cancers, heart disease, AIDS, alcoholism, starvation, neglect, quirks of fate…

As we grieve, so does the world. We are confronted with death by inhumanity in every new headline. Violence, hatred, greed, ignorance, revenge, senseless disregard for human life—the dead seem to blend together in a common grave while the bereaved cling to a solitary, deeply personal memory. Blessed are those who peer into the images of devastation and define the faces of both the lost and the left behind.

Clearly, it is human connection that fuels the movement through grief. I know something about how you feel, as you do about me, and we are somehow changed. We find ourselves living in a larger world, sharing in the real sufferings of our time. And from that joining, we are also destined to share in the real joys now hidden, as yet unimagined, awaiting us as we emerge from our time of mourning.

Every corner of the world is a stage for the new possibilities offered by the sharing of grief. As one example, I offer a story from one of my trips to El Salvador. I found there what many others have found: a