Grief is like Glitter...

🌊✨ See this beautiful turtle mural? 🐢

Something about it describes how my life feels right now. The ladder at the bottom feels like me, trying to climb back onto the wagon I’ve somehow fallen off. I’m trying to find my way back to sharing, writing, and connecting here. 🌈

I know... I've been quiet. 🤫

Truthfully, I’ve experienced loss. Great loss. 💔

Deaths in my family. Deaths in my community. The deaths of living earth beings whose lives touched mine. 🕊️

When I look at the standing bear in that mural, I think of my chosen father, who died this past June. He was my mentor, my advocate, and he supported me when I couldn't support myself. Now, he's gone far away into the stars.

So much grief.

The turtle reminds me of the Turtle Shuttle, which I’ve also let go of this past summer. It went to a good home, to Sam Guzzie, a muralist embarking on a journey as a death doula, helping people navigate grief. There’s something tender about that. Something I’m still sitting with. 🌿

And me? I’ve felt like a mess. I haven’t known how to grieve “properly,” or even what that is supposed to look like.

When I met with a Deaf death doula, she told me something that stayed with me:

“Grief is like glitter.” ✨

It finds its way into places you didn’t know it could.

Some days you don’t notice it. Other days the whole room sparkles. ✨

You think you’ve cleaned it all up… Then, months or years later, you catch a glimmer in the sunlight. ☀️

Sometimes it’s inconvenient. Sometimes it’s breathtaking. 🎶

A song. A smell. A familiar laugh. A place. A season. 🌼

I keep returning to those words as I try to understand all the things I’m carrying.

More grief keeps coming, piling up.

There was a sliding turtle I found dead on the side of the road. When I first drove by it, I thought it was alive so I did my normal duty of pulling over to rescue it from being hit by a car- but it was too late. Maybe someone would say, “It’s just a turtle.” But it was a life. And I felt its loss. 🌍

There was the loss of another chance to hold a Nature Retreat in the mountains. I wonder if the Universe is nudging me to look more deeply at how to build a sustainable retreat for our community. I still believe in that possibility. And I’m disappointed. I wanted us to have that time together. 🌲

Then there is the grief of wondering what will become of our dream homestead that I've traveled many miles, and oceans, to find only to find out that my partner, Mario, is allergic to the very trees that share the 3.5 acres of land that I've fallen in love with.

I know people say home is within us. In our hearts. ❤️

But I’ve grown to love this land. I’ve invested in a relationship with it. The trees, the paths, the living beings we share it with. I’m still trying to understand what home can look like when the place I love affects someone I love. 🌳

These losses are different. Each asks something different of me. Sometimes they arrive together, and I don’t know which one I’m crying about. 😭

Then I remember the glitter. ✨

Grief is like glitter.

Suddenly, there’s another speck of glitter.

I’m beginning to understand why that image stayed with me. Grief keeps resurfacing, even while life continues. Even when there are things to look forward to. Even when I’m laughing.

Lately, I’ve needed room for all of it.

So this is me finding my way back here, with some glitter still clinging to me. I’m still grieving. Still wondering what comes next. And wanting to reconnect.

So much of my work with The Wild Cypress grows from that same longing: to be in relationship with Nature, with ourselves, and with one another. I’m feeling my own need for that care right now.

Where has grief’s glitter found you lately? 💬

If you feel comfortable, share a small memory, a name, or a moment in the comments. You don’t need to explain the whole story.

And if today you’d rather read quietly, there’s room for you here, too.

With love, flutter of butterflies, and sparkles of glitter,

Summer 💖