Nathalie Himmelrich

Inspiring Hope | Finding healthy ways of Grieving | Writer

death

Turiya Hanover on Grief in the First Year and Coming out of Trauma | Episode 26

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Turiya Hanover
Turiya Hanover

Today on the podcast I have the honor to be speaking with Turiya Hanover for the second time, revisiting her first year of grief over the loss of her partner Maia and the associated trauma. 

Turiya and I share a passion: befriending death. Not everyone’s cup of tea in terms of passions but you will enjoy listening to this episode if you are interested in looking behind the veils of life, birth, death, and everything in between. 

*Just a note on the sound quality of this episode: Given I recorded this during my sabbatical in South Africa with a different microphone than usual, the sound quality is slightly different.  

About this week’s guest 

Turiya is the co-founder of Path Retreats and the transformational process – Path of Love with Rafia Morgan. Together they also lead a one-year Holistic Counsellor training for therapists called Working with People – School of Counselling. 

She has been trained in many different modalities such as Gestalt, Bioenergetics, Psychodrama, Family Therapy (V. Satir), NLP, Hypnosis, Somatic Experiencing™ (Peter Levine), Ego Psychology, Family Constellation, Enneagram and Astrology, and Essence Work.

Turiya’s personal journey into human development started when she did her first 2-year Jungian Psychotherapy course aged 22, followed by an encounter workshop in 1970 in Germany. The revelation and exploration of this Humanistic Psychology approach took Turiya by surprise. The internal shift that she experienced was so profound, that she and her husband, set on a new course of human discovery, which led them to India. Through learning meditation, living, and working in a community under the guidance of a master, she developed a unique approach in working with people that is a synthesis of eastern insights, living awareness and western approach to humanistic psychology.

The sudden, unexpected death of her husband marked a turning point in Turiya’s life. This profound experience deeply influenced her own personal search and how she works with people today.

Today Turiya has the joy of being a grandmother and spends her free time painting and is writing a book about the rising of the feminine and about Death as a friend and the realisation of Impermanence.

Topics discussed in this episode

  • Reviewing the first year of grief and trauma
  • The ongoing connection felt with Maia
  • The fear of abandonment
  • Loneliness, aloneness, being alone and feeling alone
  • Preparing for death in the later stages of life
  • Death-defying culture versus befriending death

Resources mentioned in this episode

  • Stephen Jenkinson

Links

–> For more information, please visit Nathalie’s website. 

–> Subscribe to the newsletter to receive updates on future episodes here.

–> Join the podcast’s Instagram page.

Thanks for listening to HOW TO DEAL WITH GRIEF AND TRAUMA. If you’d like to be updated on future episodes, please subscribe to my newsletter on Nathalie Himmelrich.com

If you need grief support, please contact me for a FREE 30 min discovery session.

HOW TO DEAL WITH GRIEF AND TRAUMA is produced and edited by me, Nathalie Himmelrich. 

Support this Podcast

To support this podcast, please rate, review, subscribe to, or follow the podcast on Apple, Spotify, or wherever you get your podcasts. Thank you.

Remember to keep breathing, I promise, it will get easier.

Nathalie with Kelsey Chittick on Looking at Death Differently | Episode 10

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Kelsey Chittick

Today I speak with Kelsey about the loss of Nate, her husband, and the journey Kelsey took as part of dealing with his loss. She believes that: ‘The bigger the grief, the luckier you were.’ Kelsey shares so many different nuggets of wisdom that I found it hard to choose one to share with you below. Her way of looking at death and loss is different too many and honestly is refreshing. It will invite you to open your thinking and feeling about grief and trauma in a way you might never have thought to be possible. 

Here is just one of Kelsey’s nuggets of wisdom:

If you can take the bad out of dying, whether it is suicide or sudden loss or sickness. If you can trust on some level, there’s something bigger going on here. Just like when you’re having that child and you are birthing it, you’re in so much pain you think you’re dying. But there’s something bigger going on here… It gives you a little space to go: Maybe there’s a different way to walk through this.

Kelsey Chittick

About this week’s guest 

Kelsey Chittick is a writer, comedian, and inspirational speaker. Over the past 14 years, she has performed stand-up comedy all over Los Angeles and speaks at events around the country.  She is the author of the best seller Second Half – Surviving Loss and Finding Magic in the Missing, a book about the sudden death of her husband in 2017.

She is the host of Mom’s Don’t Have Time to Grieve Podcast and was the co-creator of KeepON, an inspiring and humorous podcast that explored how our greatest obstacles turn out to be our greatest gifts. 

Growing up in Florida, Kelsey was an accomplished student and athlete—an NCAA Championship individual qualifier and captain of the UNC women’s swimming team. She was married to Super Bowl champion Nate Hobgood-Chittick. 

Instagram:

@kelseydchittick
@momsdonthavetimetogrieve

Topics discussed in this episode

  • Kelsey’s husband Nate’s death from an enlarged heart and CTE (Chronic traumatic encephalopathy)
  • Dealing with the early stage and the physical experience of grief 
  • Grief happening versus deciding when to grieve
  • Death being the greatest teacher
  • Grief growing up with us
  • Living the best life in honor of them

Resources mentioned in this episode

Links

–> For more information, please visit Nathalie’s website. 

–> Subscribe to the newsletter to receive updates on future episodes here.

–> Join the podcast’s Instagram page.

Thanks for listening to HOW TO DEAL WITH GRIEF AND TRAUMA. If you’d like to be updated on future episodes, please subscribe to my newsletter on Nathalie Himmelrich.com

If you need grief support, please contact me for a FREE 30 min discovery session.

HOW TO DEAL WITH GRIEF AND TRAUMA is produced and edited by me, Nathalie Himmelrich. 

Support this Podcast

To support this podcast, please rate, review, subscribe to, or follow the podcast on Apple, Spotify, or wherever you get your podcasts. Thank you.

Responding To Grief

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Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash

There are lots of words written about what NOT to say in response to grief but not enough about HOW to respond to grief. This is my experience about what could help when in grief. It specifically is my experience in relation to the death of my 3-day-old baby and the suicide of my mother, it may however also be the case for other people’s grief in different circumstances.

Asking Questions

Inquire how I’m doing, what I’m feeling. Don’t tell me ‘it must be hard’ or ‘you must feel so awful’. Ask me, don’t tell me. Ask again tomorrow and the day after tomorrow. Be gentle when asking, it needn’t be an interrogation.

I’m So Sorry

This is the simplest and most appropriate sentence. It bridges any ‘I don’t know what to say’ moment, an awkward silence that you might be tempted to fill with clichés. Don’t. Just say ‘I’m sorry for your loss’.

Show You Care

The little messages ‘I’m thinking of you’ on the anniversary of my daughter’s or my mother’s death mean a lot. It doesn’t even have to be on that day only. Tell me ‘I hear you’, ‘I’ve been thinking of you’ or ‘I read your blog’. Just recently I received a touching message from someone I don’t even know telling me how much my blog touched her. She was a 38-year-old identical twin who had lost her twin sister when she was 10 days old. I never knew who my writings touch if she didn’t tell me.

Continue To Interact

I must have stunned many people into silence with my grief spell. It’s OK to be contacting me again and again, even if I might not have the energy to hold long conversations. Social interactions are more tiring, yet I still crave to be with people once in a while. I’m no longer the person I was pre ‘date with death’ and as much as I’m sometimes wanting that person back, I have to deal with ‘the new me’. Please try it too.

Accept Me

It’s hard enough to BE sad and depressed, trust me. I’m learning to accept being with what is at any moment. If you can accept that too, you won’t need to make me feel better, offer me advice, solutions, or try and tickle me with humour. Just accept me as I am.

Be With Me

There doesn’t need to be much talking, just even the knowledge that you are not afraid of being in my presence no matter what it will be like. Offer your presence. Even if it’s just by holding my hand.

Respect My Space and My Beliefs

You might believe in God or that ‘it wasn’t meant to be’. Whatever it is, keep it to yourself. You cannot know where I stand in relation to your beliefs. Leave me with mine. Respect where I am in regards to what I believe or even where I might have lost any faith and trust.

No One Really Knows Why

You might be tempted to find reasons, but really no one really knows the answer to the ‘why’ question. Instead of assuming, just ask me how I am today.

Acknowledge The Dead Person

I do understand that you might fear my reaction if you speak about my baby or my mother. Do trust that by acknowledging or talking about them you honour their memory. Say their name.

Respect That I Won’t Get Over It

I didn’t really understand the depth of grief before my personal experience. You do not need to understand it to accept and respect that holding my child in my arms as she passed isn’t something that I will EVER get over. I am learning to live with it, whatever that means. Anything can and will trigger the grief and I don’t always know when or why…

A Word About Comparisons and Stories

No loss compares to another loss. No grief compares to another person’s grief. Do not even attempt to tell me about someone else’s loss or compare me to another person. They all have their stories and their ways of dealing with it. They are all valid. And so is mine.

Tact and Respect

By all means tell me about what is going on in your life, no matter how trivial or devastating it might be. I can handle it if you handle my response with tact and respect. (What I do not need at the moment is trivializations of women who got pregnant and didn’t even want to have yet another child or mothers who abort their baby because of its gender.)

Time

Time is not linear when it comes to grieving. Whether the loss happened just weeks ago, months or years is not respective of the amount of grief that someone is experiencing. ‘She should be over it by now’ is out of the question, it will never ever apply.

Death – Meeting Society’s Taboo

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candle
Photo by Paolo Nicolello on Unsplash

I’m the mother of a dead child. I’m the daughter of a dead mother. All of which happened within the space of less than 5 months.

I shock people when I tell them what occurred in the last year. Some literally sit there, eyes and mouth wide open but no sound. Even some good friends have not contacted me since my child died.

Talking to a friend who experienced stillbirth recently she mentioned that her friends wanted to give her space. Really, we don’t need that much space. One of my friends expressed feeling conscious of not wanting to bore me with her daily life because it all seemed so trivial and non-important.

It is true: experiencing death has changed me as a person and my perspective. It has put problems into perspective, taken the seriousness out of seemingly important matters and given my life a whole different meaning. It has thought me appreciation where in the past was a sense of expectation. It has requested I look deeper into myself, open more of those hidden cupboards of my psyche and questioned the notion of taking things for granted.

I’m open to talk about death. I’m not hiding, nor trying to fix or mend the truth. Still, I find myself saying: “I’m sorry if I shocked you” or “it might sound worse than it is”.

The truth is I have been processing this for days on end. It’s there every waking and sleeping hour. I cannot escape looking at it and into it. I have no choice but to deal with it.

Maybe I’m considered a bit strange because I’m not accepting or honoring society’s taboo. As a society we are not used to openly meeting, talking or sharing stories around death and we don’t know how to handle our own feelings in regards to other people’s trauma. I can remember just a few years ago when a distant friend of mine had a stillbirth I didn’t know what to say. I can relate.

Another truth is that each and everyone’s experience of meeting death is somewhat different. What I can tell you is only my experience. Given the feedback I have received I have to assume that those who speak are actually relieved that there is finally someone who doesn’t shy away and openly shares.

Grief – A Very Personal Experience

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Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Today marks 2 months since Amya Mirica passed away.

Yesterday Chris and I went out for the first time in the evening and left Ananda Mae with my sister. We went to the classical concert of the Brandenburg Orchestra of which we have season’s tickets. The previous concert was exactly 2 months ago, the evening of Amya Mirica’s passing and the music gently reminded me of the presence of angels in the room as the beautiful angelic voice of the soloist soprano filled the concert hall serendipitously called ‘Angel’s place’. I was once again reminded that grief is a very personal experience and will be experienced in any unexpected moment and location.

This week we also went back to the hospital, where I gave birth, where we said good-bye to Amya Mirica and from where we took Ananda Mae home with us. The hospital will always hold an interesting energy and importance for me – both joy and bliss as overriding emotions associated with the birth and sadness and despair of losing my child. This time we went back to join a Bereavement Group.

It was a deep and intense morning as we shared with couples who also lost their babies. Each and every one of us is grieving. When I listened to their stories I felt connected in sharing a similar experience. In my career as a counsellor working with clients experiencing grief I was, according to their feedback, really able to support them in their process. Now however, I doubt that I was ever able to REALLY be there for them without fully understanding the depth of their experience. I think now that this is only really possible now that I gained access to this experience on a very personal level.

A few weeks ago I met my banker, who I have been talking to frequently before the birth of the twins. When I told her my story she said: I’m so sorry, I know what you’re going through. My first reaction inside was ‘I doubt you know what I’m going through’. She then however shared with me that she lost her second child through cot death at 3 months. This statement totally changed the meaning of her empathy. I have to say that I couldn’t imagine what she must have gone through in her personal experience and even though we share the part of losing one’s own child at a very young age, it’s still a very personal story and experience. She then said: ‘It will get easier’ and, in comparison to other people who could have said the same, coming from her it was founded in her personal experience and therefore I took it on board.

I also learnt this week that there are two fundamentally different ways people feel and deal with grief: the instrumental griever and the intuitive griever. The instrumental griever, historically the man, feels better by doing things as they feel unable to fix this. The intuitive griever, usually the woman, grieve through experiencing all the emotions and crying frequently (read more about these two patterns here). This can cause discordance in a relationship between an intuitive and an instrumental griever as they are rarely in the same place. Grieving has given our relationship a totally different level of understanding of each other, as well as the ability to be with the other’s way of dealing with it.

Related article: Different Ways of Grieving – Intuitive and Instrumental Grieving

Remembering 1 September 2011 – The Birth of my Twin Daughters

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Image by Nathalie Himmelrich’s personal archive

This is the whole day of the birth of my girls Amya Mirica Hope & Ananda Mae Passion – 4 weeks ago. This is a very personal and emotional post – keep tissues ready.

This was written  one week after looking back…

May one day like this be an inspiration to mothers.

Remembering 1 September 2011 – Hope&Passions coming into this world as Amya Mirica Hope & Ananda Mae Passion

A week ago…
4.30 am – I woke up and am called to paint the girls in my picture for Hope&Passion.

Now…
I cannot sleep and go down to Newborn Care (NICU) to care for my baby.

A week ago…
5.30 am – I am still pregnant and we are getting ready to drive to the hospital. I feel my two babies stirring inside of me.

Now…
I feel Ananda Mae wriggling in her cot as I visit her in the NICU.

A week ago…
6.15 am – We are driving to the hospital singing ‘Happy Birthday to you’ for Hope&Passion.

Now…
I’m lying in my hospital bed as the new day dawns. I’m preparing myself to go home without my babies…
6.30 – in the room next door on the antenatal floor someone is listening to their baby in uterus’ heartbeat.
A sting in my heart – a tear on my cheek.

A week ago…
6.45 am – We arrive at the hospital. I am so excited. ‘I’m here to deliver my twins.’

Now…
I’m no longer able to sleep. It has been a restless night with strange dreams. What will await me at home?
Now I just had my obstetrician visiting me – she’s another angel in human form – checking in on me. I feel touched yet again for she is driving across town in early morning rush hour traffic to a hospital where she does not usually work just to see me.

A week ago…
7 am – we are admitted. We are listening to the babies’ heartbeat. They are fine. No signs of distress. I have a shower.

Now…
I’m having my last shower at the hospital. I feel strangely attached to this place. I feel sad to leave my babies behind.

A week ago…
7.50 am – We are ready to go down to where the operation theatre is. I still walk with my ripe belly, proudly carrying twins. I’m looking forward to giving birth – I’m smiling, excited, and can’t wait – in bliss before an operation 🙂 I am hungry physically and to become a mother.

Now…
Luckily I don’t have to fast and I’m having my last breakfast delivered to the bed. I’m thinking about my two babies – one here, one in the spirit world.

A week ago…
8 am – we are starting the process with epidural/spinal block. The anaesthetist is great. I’m relaxed, breathing deeply supported by Chris all dressed in blue gowns.

Now…
I feel my aching belly as I walk without the support belt.

A week ago…
8.15 am – Sue, my obstetrician arrives. She sets up our music while we wait for the epi to kick in. Everything is ready.

Now…
I’m looking out the window and wonder where Hope is as I asked her to be close today.

A week ago…
8.30 am – My belly is getting rubbed down with orange antiseptic and I imagine an aboriginal ritual painting is done on my bulging babies’ belly. I’m smiling from behind the sterile curtain.

Now…
I’m walking down the corridor past the aboriginal painting. I’m smiling at Hope’s plan.

A week ago…
8.35 am – ‘Nathalie we’re starting the op’, says Sue. Chris is right beside me whispering ‘I love you so much’ into my ear. I feel tugging and moving. I speak softly to my babies.

Now…
I’m visiting Ananda Mae…

A week ago…
8.41 and 8.42 am – The beautiful girls are being lifted into the light. At the same time, the sterile curtain is being lowered and I’m able to see them for the first time.

Now…
I’m holding Ananda Mae in my arms celebrating her one week birthday. Tears of joy and sadness as I’m holding just one of them. I miss Amya Mirica’s little body.

A week ago…
8.50 am – The girls are rushed to the NICU after a brief cuddle and kiss with me. Chris is with them, followed by Aunty Michele.

Now…
I’m just breathing through the pain. Still holding Ananda Mae.

A week ago…
9.30 am – I’m in recovery wondering what’s happening in NICU. I’m still in so much bliss from the whole birth. I’m smiling.

Now…
My dear friend Tanya just arrived and I’m not alone.

A week ago…
10.15 am – Unfortunately they cannot take me to the NICU on the bed as renovations are in progress so I’m being brought straight to the ward.

Now…
I’m so lucky as I’m not being rushed out of this room here. The hospital ward is so supportive and they let me stay today as long as I want.

A week ago…
10.45 am – Chris comes up to the ward surprised why I didn’t come to the NICU. He’s updating me: Hope&Passion both on high-level life support. I’m worried and can’t wait to be able to go down to see them. I need to wait until the epi wears off. I’m moving my toes inside but nothing can be seen from outside

Now…
I’m breastfeeding my little girl. Bliss – pure bliss. I’m in love with her

A week ago…
11.30 am – I’m on strong drugs. I don’t remember much. Still blissfully remembering and talking about the birth experience.

Now…
I am holding Ananda Mae in my arms. I could remain like this forever.

A week ago…
12.45 pm – Lunch, I’m starving as I haven’t eaten for a long time, it seems. I’m extremely thirsty. Scavenging hospital food – my sister is in disbelief.

Now…
I’m eating a beautiful lunch provided by Iku and organized by one of our beautifully supportive friends. I bow in gratitude.

A week ago…
1.30 pm – Chris and Michele are hungry and get some lunch. NICU has rest time and no visitors allowed. I’m resting my body.

Now…
I’m learning more about fully mothering my child and the art of breastfeeding a premature baby.

A week ago…
2.30 pm – I’m resting and waiting for my legs to get some sensation back so I can go down and see the girls. Still no outside sign of me moving my toes.

Now…
I’m able to walk around pretty well given the operation just happened a week ago and they cut my tummy open. I’m packing up my belongings. I’m readying myself to go home.

A week ago…
4 pm – Suddenly I can move my legs from side to side. My legs have enough control to get into a wheelchair to go down and visit my girls. First time touching them with my hands. Both in humidity cribs on breathing support.

Now…
We are preparing to part from Amya Mirica’s little body in a beautiful ceremony just us and Mel the social worker. Tears… And joy for the little time we spent and the gifts and precious tenderness of heart Amya Mirica has given us.

A week ago…
4.15 pm – I’m in awe of the miracle of those two tinny little bodies that I’ve given birth to. Amya Mirica is all taped up to a high-frequency breathing machine. I just lay my hands on her body and sing to her. Ananda is also in a humidity crib.

Now…
We are wrapping Amya Mirica’s little earthly body in an angel’s dress, putting her on a bed of roses, wrapped in a pink beautiful cloth. We say our good-byes from her body. How ready can you ever be in letting a child go?

A week ago…
4.45 pm – Tired easily I sit back down into the wheelchair, ready to go and lay down.

Now…
I’m standing next to Ananda Mae’s cot changing her nappy with my beautiful partner and father. Amazed at being parents.

A week ago…
5 pm – I’m resting, more pain medication, blood pressure cuffs, temperature measurements and crying babies next door. I’m dozing off.

Now…
I’m holding my girl skin to skin. I’m in mother’s trance.

A week ago…
5.30 pm – It’s all a blur and still bliss chemicals rushing through my bloodstream. I’m processing the birth experience.

Now…
It’s Daddy’s skin to skin time. I’m smiling seeing him enjoy, sing and talk to our daughter. We have a child. We have two children – one in the spirit world.

A week ago…
6.30 pm – Dinner time – hungry and thirsty. During the end of pregnancy, I was eating little as there wasn’t much space for a stomach. That has changed quickly.

Now…
We are going down to the seminar room in the hospital to talk to the teacher of the twin antenatal class we never got to finish. Some other parents come and are deeply touched by our story. Too much speaking still tires me. I want to tell them that whatever might come, they can handle it. I feel strongly that I will support parents going through the grief of losing a child one day.

A week ago…
7 pm – Chris is preparing to stay at the hospital the first night. I’m so grateful as I’m not able to move much let alone think much.

Now…
We are ready to go home and I walk out of the hospital for the first time in the fresh air after a week. A gentle rain is touching my cheeks.

A week ago…
8 pm – Is it time to sleep yet? Chris is going to say good-night to our girls.

Now…
We arrive home. I kneel in front of the altar of gifts, cards, toys, shoes… that we have laid out for both girls and weep gently for one will never get to enjoy all those earthly pleasures.

A week ago…
8.30 pm – Chris is back reporting how they are going. They need a lot of attention from the staff, machines and they are hanging in there. Chris is exhausted from all the beeping noise in the NICU and the experience of the whole day.

Now…
I have a bath, relaxing my body at home, ready to start a new phase of taking care not only of this body but also my little girl’s body.

A week ago…
9 pm – Ready to sleep we lay in the hospital bed together going through this most amazing experience of the day.

Now…
I’m keen to send out the announcements for the birth of our girls and I forget that my body needs rest.

A week ago…
10 pm – I’m finally resting and trying to find a comfortable position in a strange new bed. My body is aching.

Now…
I’m expressing food for Ananda Mae’s feed tomorrow. A women’s body is amazing.

A week ago…
11 pm – Sleep

Now…
I’m finally ready to go to bed and sleep until sooner than later I will get up again for my girl. All mother’s love.

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    Nathalie Himmelrich

    I accompany people therapeutically as a holistic counsellor and coach.

    I walk alongside people dealing with the challenges presented by life and death.

    I’m also a writer and published author of multiple grief resource books and the founder of the Grieving Parents Support Network.

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