GRATITUDE JOURNAL
The Audacity of Being Grateful During Periods of Colossal Grief
You Might Be Surprised at What Can Happen
I’m expanding on a Shortform article I posted a few days ago for the 10-Day Challenge:
First, I reiterate the importance of practicing gratitude. In fact, did you know that the regular and daily practice of gratitude expands the area in your brain associated with learning and decision-making? Embracing gratitude reverses priorities, helping us to appreciate the large and small.
But, can you imagine the audacity of being grateful during periods of colossal grief? It’s hard to imagine, at least for me. And yet, if you think about it, when you’re grieving, your whole body is attacked with stress. Each cell of your body is affected by the grief in a way that overwhelms you. There is nothing wrong with this. It’s a natural, human reaction.
Neuroscientists began to realize that there is a connection between the brain and stress. In other words, how a person processes stress, trauma, and grief, becomes a holistic strain and will cause areas of your brain to shut down. According to neuroscientist, Glenn Fox, practicing gratitude “improves resilience, lowers stress, and boosts overall health.” Trauma and injury recovery is shortened when people lean into gratitude. This includes grief. Mind you, grieving isn’t something you walk through, practice gratitude, and then put it on a shelf. The same goes for trauma and injury recovery.
The way I interpret this is, of course, I will grieve, but can I also see the twinkle of goodness in my moments of grief? Is it possible to see the beauty? When a person passes away, can we celebrate their life instead of memorializing their life? Or, can we celebrate and honor them? Can the two be married?
Fox’s research in this crazy thing we call gratitude shifts our attitude and brain in ways that help us focus on the good and the bad. Any good therapist will tell you that walking through the pain and suffering is key to getting to the other side. Gratitude comes with the process. Sounds crazy, right? The way Fox states it, “So instead of only trying to figure out how to correct what’s gone wrong, can we figure out how to optimize what is just fine? … Can we build strength and tenacity and resilience so that individuals can be their best selves, rather than simply ensure that should they get sick, we know how to ameliorate the symptoms of that illness?”
I believe neuroscientists are discovering that using a daily gratitude journal helps you practice being in the moment. For me, this has helped me become more aware of the small gifts in life. Perhaps there are things in your life you take for granted, and this is true for all of us who live in first-world areas of the world.
I love how Ravyne Hawke shares her gratitude as she participates in a monthly theme of gratitude. Read her essay here:
Sometimes it is as simple as sleep. Ever since I was bedridden for 6 months, I have come to realize that sleep is underrated. The other thing I’m grateful for is water, as indicated earlier.
When I travel to places considered third-world countries, I learn a lot about others and myself. After a long trip years ago, I returned home, turned on my faucet, and celebrated the clean, hot water.
Many first-world countries practice annual water shutdowns, especially hot water. When you don’t have hot water, you aren’t able to easily sanitize dishes. You must boil the water first. The same goes for bathing.
When I returned home, I turned on the faucet. I remember staring at the water, allowing my fingers to tingle in the warmth. Oh, so good. And then I whispered, thank you. Since then, when I turn on the faucet, my heart whispers thanks for the gift of hot water that I have access to. I recognize the privilege, especially in this fall time of the year.
Were there other things in my life that I was taking for granted?
Here’s a gratitude journal entry:
I’m thankful that the sun came out today. I have been cold, and it was nice to see the sun, despite the chill in the air.
My dog licked my nose a couple of times today. I’m thankful for her love for me.
I’m thankful for the truck drivers who didn’t have work during COVID but are doing their best to make deliveries now.
I’m thankful that my hummus came out better than expected.
My husband came home safely.
I grumbled at the rising cost of my Peet’s tea, but I’m thankful that I have funds to buy from a merchant.
I love how Glenn Fox talks about his dying mother and how her gratitude journal might include something as simple as a piece of chocolate or as colossal as a blood transfusion. Both become equally important.
Reflecting back on the devastation of my father’s passing, I wanted to insert the gratitude. I’m coming up on the 25th anniversary of that day. As much as the first year sucked the life out of me, I know walking through the pain meant that this man had a significant presence in my life.
I had never wholly expressed my gratitude for him, and so his death lingered on within me in ways that became unhealthy. Years later, when one of our cats passed away, I burst into tears as we drove away from the vet’s office without our cat. Within 15 minutes, I blurted out, “This pain is what I felt when my dad died!” And there it was. I exposed the hole that had never healed.
So, I began to write about my gratitude for this larger-than-life presence — my father. I was grateful for my dad’s quirky, endearing ways. He wore a Pendleton shirt in the winter with these soft-soled boots. Oh, how I needed to smell that shirt after he passed. I was grateful for being able to smell.
When he couldn’t drive anymore, he would call and ask me for an “errand day.” That became code between us for, “I need to get some errands done. Would you mind driving me?”
One time sticks out. It was my dad’s birthday, so, of course, I changed my plans to spend the day with him.
“First stop is the grocery store,” he said in his baritone voice.
“Okaaaay. Why the grocery store? Isn’t that something you want to do last if you’re picking up milk?”
“No.”
As he grabbed a cart at the entry, he marched to the bakery counter. The man was 90. I was running to keep up with him.
“I’m here to pick up an order,” he said to the lady behind the bakery counter.
Within minutes she emerged from the back with ten sheet cakes. Each one said “Thank You” scrawled across the top in blue frosting.
“What…?”
“Never mind,” he said, cutting me off. “Let’s go.”
After loading the car up, he sank into the passenger seat, looked down at a piece of paper, and said, “Ok, next stop is the Goodyear.”
At each stop, he got out, grabbed a cake, and took it into a shop. He approached the people who had provided a service to him for many, many years. I often thought my dad was more loyal than a dog. He gently slid the large sheet cake onto the counter that became a friendly gate between shopkeeper and customer.
“Thank you,” he would start. “It’s my birthday today, and I wanted to thank you for how you have been here for me over the years.”
I witnessed this ten times that day. I also witnessed the kindness reciprocated between him and those shopkeepers. He was a regular. And when I say regular, I mean, he had the gift of creating a bond between himself and those endeared shop owners. They weren’t just kind to him. They would talk about stuff. My dad, when he could still drive, would not just get copies made. He would spend 20–45 minutes chatting about life. He got to know them, and they got to know him.
When he was sick, he called me at work and asked if I could stop at the drugstore to pick up his medication. When I got to the drugstore, I realized I didn’t have money. I looked up at the pharmacist, apologizing.
She said, “Are you Dr. Kopf’s daughter?”
“Yes,” I said sheepishly.
“Take it. I know he’ll come in to pay when he can.”
Guess who taught me the value of gratitude and kindness?
Who do you think showed up to his memorial service when he passed? You guessed it. Every single one.
Gratitude Entry:
I’m grateful for all those people in my dad’s life and how he taught me to enjoy people’s kindness. It’s one thing to offer kindness, and it’s another to receive it.
Loyalty is not to be scoffed at. It is a reward of trust between two people. I’m thankful Dad taught me this.
Now, when I think about my dad, I am thankful for how he modeled his life. I’m not sad that he left. I’m grateful that I can proudly call him Dad. I’m thankful for the moments we had together. I celebrate you, Dad.
Papà, grazie per l’amore che hai avuto per me. Sta cambiando la vita.
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