Happiness Over Grief

Reflections From The Nuthatch

Grief and trauma don’t vanish just because we decide it’s time to be happy. Healing isn’t about pretending the pain is gone or forcing ourselves to move on. It’s slower than that, quieter. It asks to make room for what hurts, instead of pushing it away.

But even when loss has taken more than we ever thought we could survive, we still have something left. We still have a choice. Not always in the big ways, but in the gentle, daily ones. We can choose how we care for ourselves in this moment. We can choose rest and compassion instead of self-blame and sorrow.

Breathe. Pause. Allow yourself to be grounded instead of letting the overwhelm take over.

Happiness after grief doesn’t mean forgetting who or what you lost. It doesn’t mean the pain has vanished or that what you lost no longer matters. It means hope is making space beside the sorrow. Not replacing it, just sitting next to it.

Choosing joy is not a betrayal of your pain. It’s an act of survival.

The nuthatch teaches this well. A bird that doesn’t soar or flee, but stays close to the trunk. It climbs downward, upside down, navigating the world in ways that feel strange but steady. When everything is tilted, when nothing feels safe, it continues anyway. The nuthatch holds tight. Its strength isn’t in beauty or speed, but in holding on.

It doesn’t rush. It circles back, rechecks, and returns.

And that is how grief moves. It isn’t in a straight path, with clarity or closure. It returns, pauses, then returns again.

The Nuthatch teaches us to stop reaching for an escape. Stay connected to the present moment, even when life feels upside down, and return to the things that support us.

Where the hummingbird says, “I am still here despite the cost.”

Where the mourning dove says, “Peace can exist with sorrow.”

The nuthatch says, “I will stay with what steadies me, even when the world feels upside down.”

A Reflection on Grief

The Mourning Dove

I remember the first time I noticed a mourning dove was at our backyard feeders. Its coo stood apart from the others. A sound that seemed to linger instead of passing through. I remember thinking how different it was, like a new voice I had not heard before.

I had read that mourning doves sometimes appear after a loved one has died, offering comfort. I wondered briefly whether that was true and whether it was meant for me or someone else. Then I did what I had learned to do over the years, I dismissed the thought. Too many beliefs I once held had not unfolded the way I thought they would, so it felt safer not to attach any meaning to this.

Later that afternoon, my husband called to tell me they found his brother. He had died in his car during the night. It was the end of his quiet battle with addiction.

That mourning dove stayed, reminding us of how fragile life is. And that people are delicate too. Potential and talent do not protect or shield us. My brother-in-law was profoundly gifted, a creator, a man with vision and skill in the horticulture world. But addiction did not care about any of that; it never does.

Now, three years later, a small flock visits our feeders regularly. Like grief, showing up a little here and there and sometimes all at once.

The mourning doves have become a regular presence in our lives, just like grief.

My husband lost his mom when he was 14. We lost my son in 2020, and now his brother. Sadness has a way of settling in quietly, rearranging our lives without permission. But the coo of the Mourning Dove reminds us to pause and notice that calm can exist alongside pain.

The word Mourning carries a lot of weight, yet the Dove itself is gentle. It does not exaggerate loss; it endures it. Instead of feeling like a symbol of sadness, it becomes a symbol of peace and survival. Encouraging us to persist after something irreversible happens, reminding us that love does not disappear when someone is gone.

Now, when I hear their coo at the feeders, I do not dismiss it. I stop, listen, and remember. I take that moment to whisper a prayer for my mother-in-law and husband because I understand that grief can show up at unexpected times, and that peace can make remembering them easier.

Tortured memories

Addicted to forget them

Yet scarred thoughts remain

Enslaved for the fix

Blacked out,

resting thoughts at peace

A soul gone too soon

Addiction and suicides

Fatal kiss

Life After Suicide Loss Is Lived in the Present Moment

Lessons From the Tufted Titmouse

This morning, I was noticing the Tufted Titmouse at my feeders. It is a small, alert bird with a soft voice and a steady presence. A symbol of healing, but not in the way people often think. It is not promising closure or answers. It tells us to keep going even when life has permanently changed.

After losing a child, life stops making sense, and grief collapses time. The future feels unreachable, and the past feels too heavy to carry. Most days are not about hope or meaning; they are about surviving the stage you are in. The Tufted Titmouse reminds us to stay present, do what the moment requires, nothing more. It isn’t suggesting that we “move on.” It invites us to survive this moment, then the next.

The bird’s small, persistent movements mirror how we, as bereaved parents, can continue living through each season. Maybe you are just surviving, fragment by fragment. But getting up and feeding yourself is showing up. Saying their name and breathing through waves that come without warning does not weaken us; it is an endurance that strengthens us.

The titmouse is also known for its song, reminding us how important it is to speak our child’s name, tell their story, and to allow our grief to have a voice. Silence can isolate us. Sharing does not mean we are stuck; it means our love did not end. It does not mean “everything happened for a reason.” But it does imply that life still has purpose, even while we carry this permanent loss.

Some days, noticing something simple in nature may feel like the only thing that can ground us. It’s a Tufted Titmouse at the feeder, a windchimes melody, a foggy morning of calm. These moments do not minimize our loss; they remind us that we are still here, even when our hearts are broken. The Titmouse teaches us to live with grief rather than resolve it. Strength is not the absence of sorrow; it is learning how to carry it.

GRATITUDE IN REVERSE

What felt like the end of the world turned out to be my greatest gift.

Albert charged into the side door of our house, clad in polyester basketball shorts and a t-shirt adorned with armpit sweat.

I inhaled, holding my breath, thinking, “Oh boy, what now?”.

“Pastor Riggs told me to hand in my resignation.”

He wouldn’t say he got fired — that would sound too obvious, like admitting he did something wrong. No, he was ‘asked to resign.’ He explained, with pride, that he had told the pastor off and had a long list of reasons.

All I could think of was Thanksgiving back in 2007, when we had to eat spaghetti because he had been fired from a previous position helping a pastor grow his church. He didn’t have a proper title, so we called him the church evangelist — but really, he was the church shit stirrer. I can recall three men who have dared to tell Albert the truth to his face. None of these men was a hothead like him. They had boundaries, and he crossed them. One preacher even went so far as to call him “a wolf in sheep’s clothing.” I remember that night and still chuckle inwardly.

But this day felt like the end of an era—the end of our lives. We knew poverty. We survived it. But I was so tired of just surviving. So tired of pinching pennies, being the recipient of groceries because people felt sorry for us. I was downright exhausted. He told off the wrong guy, and that guy had the balls to stand up for himself. Kudos. But that didn’t help the situation. We were in dire straits. Bills do not miraculously stop just because you lose a job. No, electricity still runs, and a bill is still accumulating.

This is when he decided we would pursue his lifelong dream of starting a cleaning business.

“Oh gawd, yuck. I hate cleaning.” I thought. I did not want to do this. But being the obedient wife I was,

I said, “Okay.”

I was already at my wits’ end with him. I had even filed a restraining order earlier that year, thinking it would change him and he would be a different person. It only changed me. I became a different person. I was finding my voice.

We pushed along, started from scratch, and kept on scratching until we had a decent little cleaning business. It turned out it wasn’t as brutal as I thought it would be —cleaning, that is. Since he was OCD, I had learned to pay attention to detail.

I remember one time he was at work (I was a stay-at-home wife and mom), he may have been at bible college. Regardless, I spent all day cleaning the house. I wasn’t taught to keep a clean home. As a kid, my room was livable — clothes piled up, and I’d make a path to the bed and push them off to sleep. Dishes would overflow in the sink and onto the counters, even with a dishwasher sitting right there. My mom never asked for help — just pouted on weekends, complaining nobody helped her. But she never asked for help. I do not remember a single time my mom showed me how to wash dishes or asked me to wash them. But when I stayed the summer at my aunt’s house, she made me clean up after myself and even showed me how to clean behind the toilet.

So like I said, living with an OCD person – my husband – taught me to pay attention to detail.

Back to the part where I had cleaned all day, then he came home and went on a rampage:

“What have you been doing all day? Why does the house look like this? Get off your lazy ass and clean this fucking house!”

Nothing was lying around —not even a particle on the floor; everything had been freshly mopped and vacuumed. Do you know what he saw? A smudge on the corner of a mirror. Something I had missed. I cried that day. But I learned how to pay attention to detail on that day, too.

Cleaning houses felt a bit rewarding. I cleaned behind toilets and wiped baseboards, tops of door frames, and ledges on the doors. Top to bottom. No mirror had a smudge, and you could eat off the toilet seat. 10/10 would not recommend, but it would have been safe to do so.

As time went by, my disgust for him grew. But I could not figure out how to survive on my own with all these kids still living at home. It wasn’t until he got sick. Real sick. He ran a fever for over a week and refused to see a doctor. He would come downstairs and cry and whine like a baby, literally. Imagine a 3-year-old whining when they want their way. That was him. Then he would go back upstairs to sleep. He slept and slept. I would bring him soup, tea, water, and even made a homemade herbal remedy, which, for the first time in our 23-year marriage, he took. I welcomed the quietness his illness brought me, but I still performed my wifely duties of “in sickness and in health,”. Then went to clean the houses by myself. My daughter, who was in Christian school, would take a few days off to help me, but I found it easier to clean by myself than to go behind her to make sure she did it right. Not that she couldn’t clean, but this was our only income, and I didn’t feel I had room for mistakes.

Two more days went by, and he did not get out of bed. I got scared. I realized something was really wrong with him. He’s not faking or overreacting this time. So I called my sister-in-law and told her what was going on, and she said,

“You march up there and tell him he is going to the doctor, that he doesn’t have a choice.”

And so I did. He refused, crying and whining the whole time I was helping him dress, like a child not wanting to leave the park. Then, I drove him straight to the hospital. The doctor asked a bunch of questions that I answered, since he liked to withhold vital information. I even got the doctor to give him a prostate exam, which brings a smile to my face today. Turns out it was his appendix. It had been oozing into his body, and instead of being able to have the simple surgery, he had the large one where they cut from the top of the sternum to the pubic bone. I felt little sympathy for him, and he is a miserable patient. I was thankful to have work to go to. Grateful that we had just started an enormous organization project that was able to keep me away from seeing his green face and the black bile coming out of his mouth. His recovery took over six weeks. But by then, I’d already been cleaning solo for 8 — and I realized I could keep doing it. I could support my family without him. He had already lost interest in cleaning, wanting always to rush through the houses. He was there only to collect the check. Turns out he did not have as great a work ethic as he proclaimed.

When we finally separated, he left me the house and the business. A detailed story for another page, but what I thought was the end was just the beginning.

I thought when he got fired, we were going to do like we always did and move to another state and start all over. But instead, we started a cleaning business I didn’t want to start, and that business helped me support my then-6 kids at home. And without him there to tell me how the money was going to be spent frivolously, I was finally able to buy my kids’ school clothes and school supplies. For the first time, when they came to me with a need, I was able to supply it.

And that was the greatest gift of all.

My People

My people are positive thinkers. They believe in the good and see the good in others. They stand by me through every challenge, loving me not for what I can give but for who I am. My people lift me up, even when I feel drained from giving too much. They remind me to grow, to rise, to become the best version of myself.

When I think about my people today, I also think about where we came from—those whose blood and spirit still flow through me.

My people were Irish, transplanted to America. But for what? What freedom were they searching for? Perhaps they sought escape from the weight of strict religion—only to find themselves bound again by another form of it.

I was told we were also part Cherokee. I held onto that story with pride, feeling its truth even without proof. Maybe somewhere in my lineage, someone loved a Native soul, and their spirit found its way into mine. I feel it in the pull of the water, the whisper of the wind, the pulse of the earth beneath my feet.

I wonder what my Irish ancestors worshipped. They weren’t always Catholic or God-centered, I’m sure. I feel too much spiritual energy in my veins to believe they were ever confined to one god or doctrine. I imagine they were people of the land—forest lovers and wildflower smellers—souls who found divinity in nature itself.

Whether Irish or Native, I know my ancestors were connected to the earth, to Spirit, to something larger than themselves. Their reverence for nature runs through my blood, stronger than any written creed.

And today, my people are here with me—my children, my husband, my grandchildren—the ones who carry the same light, the same hope, the same heartbeat of all who came before us.

One Truth in Many Beliefs

Religion comes in many shapes, colors, and languages. Each tradition uses its own words, rituals, and practices. But when I look past the surface, I see the same core ideas repeated over and over, just dressed differently. Whether it’s Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, or even the Law of Attraction, there’s a thread that runs through them all.

Ramadan, Fasting, and the Practice of Discipline

Take Ramadan, for instance. the ninth month on the Islamic calendar. Muslims fast from sunrise to sunset. No food. No water. It’s a strict discipline that resets the mind, body, and spirit.

It’s not quite like biblical fasting, where the abstention could last for days without reprieve. With Ramadan, you can eat and drink at night, which some might liken to intermittent fasting. But spiritual fasting in any form is always about more than just food. It’s about focus. Sacrifice. Clarity.

Yet there’s always a way to “beat the system” if you want to. A fast with set hours can become routine. Disciplined, yes. But also predictable. It makes me wonder, is the spirit of the practice lost when it becomes mechanical?

Same Prayers, Different Tongues

The Bible says, “Whatever you ask in prayer, believing, you will receive.”
The Law of Attraction says, “Ask. Believe. Receive.”

Different words. Same principle.

In fact, many belief systems teach that our thoughts create reality. Speak it. Think it. Envision it. And it will manifest.

The power of belief is universal.

Rituals, Symbols, and the Sacred

In Catholicism, the Eucharist is a sacred ceremony. It’s deeply symbolic: incense fills the air, holy water is sprinkled, and the priest places a piece of bread on your tongue. The lighting is dim, the setting reverent.

To an outsider, it might resemble a mystical ritual, something ancient and ceremonial, similar to what you might see in witchcraft or manifestation rites. But again, the goal is the same: connection with the divine.

One Law with Many Names

Every tradition has some version of this:
What you do comes back to you.

Christians call it sowing and reaping.
Hindus and Buddhists call it karma.
The secular world calls it cause and effect, or vibration.

The Golden Rule echoes it perfectly: “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”

It’s everywhere — spoken in every language, in every tradition.

Cleanliness, Purity, and Discipline

“Cleanliness is next to godliness.” That phrase may not be a direct quote from the Bible, but the message is biblical. Christians are warned against drunkenness. Muslims abstain from alcohol altogether. Pork is considered unclean in both Islam and the Old Testament.

There’s a shared desire across cultures to separate from what corrupts, to seek purity—whether physical, spiritual, or mental.

Giving Power a Name

Everyone thanks someone. God. Allah. Buddha. The Universe. Divine Energy.
There’s always a higher power.

But I’ve come to wonder:
What if that higher power isn’t the one we elevate above ourselves?

What if the divine… is within?

The “I Am” Within Us

In the Bible, God tells Moses: “I am that I am.”

He was declaring himself the source, the essence of all being. But he was also saying something more profound: “I am whatever you say I am.”

Think about that.

When I say,

“I am a mother.”
“I am a survivor.”
“I am love.”
“I am enough.”

I am invoking divinity. That phrase — “I am” — is sacred. It’s power. It is creation. It is identity.

The spirit lives within. The answers are within. The power is within.

Positive Thinking and the Thought-Life Connection

Philippians tells us to think on things that are true, noble, lovely, and good.
Positive thinking teaches us to avoid toxic thoughts because they affect our lives.
It’s the same idea. Again.

The power of thought. The power of words. This is a universal law — not owned by one religion, but revealed in all of them.

Does Every Religion Have a Devil?

In Christianity, Satan plays a prominent role as the deceiver, the accuser. But I find myself asking: Do other religions have a “devil”?

Do Muslims have a Satan?
Does Buddhism have a devil figure?
Or is this idea of a singular dark enemy unique to Christianity?

That’s a question worth digging into.

Sometimes I think Christians give Satan too much credit. They attribute every hardship to him, giving him more power than he deserves. Maybe that’s precisely what he wants.

But perhaps the real enemy isn’t external at all.
Maybe it’s internal, fear, ego, anger, or doubt.

Even Atheism Holds a Place for God

Even an atheist, by declaring “There is no God,” acknowledges the idea of God.
They define their position in relation to Him.
It’s been said that there are no atheists on their deathbed. Maybe that’s true. Maybe not. But the instinct to reach for something beyond this life seems built into us.

Omnism: The Path of Many Roads

There’s a belief called Omnism — the idea that all religions hold some truth, that each one offers a piece of the divine puzzle.

They’re not all about clothes or dietary laws. They’re about how we think, how we act, and how we love.

Because love is another universal.
Love never fails. Love endures all things. Love makes the world go round.

Final Thoughts: The Universal “I Am”

In the end, I believe this:
There is one Spirit. One Energy. One Truth.
Many names. Many faces. Many paths.
But at the center of it all is the divine “I Am.” The one that lives within you and me.

You are the vessel.
You are the voice.
You are the I Am.

Not All Storms Are Destructive

“The wise man in the storm prays God not for safety from danger but for deliverance from fear. It is the storm within which endangers him, not the storm without.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

It was black outside, dark as night. The wind was blowing so hard that the tops of the trees were bowed, touching the ground. Our trailer shook from the wind’s fury. Alvarado was rural in those days, with no audible tornado sirens. It would not have mattered. We did not have a storm shelter and did not know where one was located. I grabbed my son and we sat in the middle of the living room floor. I held him tight, rocking back and forth. “What time I am afraid I will trust in thee. When I am afraid, I will trust in thee. What time I am afraid I will trust in thee.” I quoted repeatedly. Praying, “Please, God, protect us. Please do not let anything happen. What time I am afraid I will trust in thee.” I was shivering, not from cold but from fear. The wind whipped around the trailer. I am sure there was thunder, but I only remember the wind and the feeling that I could be transported into the heavens at any moment.

People have often asked me, “What is worse, a tornado or an earthquake?” I used to answer, “Earthquake, because you can predict a tornado.” But living in the infamous “Tornado Alley” has caused me to change that answer.

I have heard Preachers say, “You’re either entering a storm, in a storm, or coming out of a storm.” Although this statement might be true, it is such a pessimistic philosophy.

Bear with me while I give you some statistics. In 2022, 1,329 tornadoes were reported in the US. 160 of them were in Texas. Only one of them hit Houston, the biggest city in Texas. Harris County (Houston) has the most tornadoes reported in the state. From 1950 to 2022, 246 tornadoes were reported. That averages to 3 a year. If Houston is only seeing three tornadoes a year, then what is Houston doing during the other 362 days of the year? Are they stressing about the next approaching storm? Are they talking about how horrible they have it because they go through so many storms?

The only thing affected by the storm that day was my faith. There was no damage to any of the surrounding homes.

“I am not afraid of storms for I am learning how to sail my ship.” – Louisa May Alcott.

You cannot or should not live each day worrying about the next storm of life headed your way, nor should you fixate on the one that just passed. Not all storms are destructive. Most are just a sideshow, a distraction. Enjoy the days in between the storms. Don’t worry yourself sick about the things you cannot control. It usually isn’t as bad as you imagined.

Question Everything

“Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow. The important thing is not to stop questioning.” – Albert Einstein

Have you ever asked God, “Why?”

Have you ever questioned His existence?

Have you ever screamed out in agony, wondering why YOU even exist?

Have you ever wondered how a “loving God” could allow such pain and suffering?

Have you ever sat in a puddle of your own tears and felt you couldn’t go on?

Have you ever felt the hatred burning in your bones?

Have you ever tried to wake up, hoping it was just a nightmare?

Have you ever sought answers but found none?

Have you ever wondered, “Why me?”

Have you ever put on a fake smile so that you didn’t have to talk about it?

Have you ever wanted to start all over?

Have you ever wanted to give up? Everyday?

Have you ever wondered why you couldn’t get on the good side of life?

Have you ever felt cursed?

Have you ever felt depressed and regretted so much of your life?

I have.

“The power to question is the basis of all human progress.” – Indira Gandhi

How many times have you been told that you should never question God? I lost count of the times I was told that. But guess what? He understands. We were born questioning everything around us. That is how we learn and grow. The only ignorant question is the one that is never asked. Asking questions clears confusion, gives us a better understanding of any given situation, and helps us find answers. Questions help solve problems. It is absolutely fine to question our life; it shows that we do not accept our current position or status and that we are willing to improve.

I’m better now, since you left….