How do I Ride the Waves? Engaging our Senses.

“Memories stick to things. Out of nowhere, something finds your nose, ears, or eyes and you’re on the other side of the country or world or in a whole other decade, being kissed by a doe-eyed beauty or punched by a drunken pal. You’ve got no control over it, none at all.”
--Lynda Rutledge, West with Giraffes

What a perfect quote to express the power of the senses in grief. It shimmered off the page of Lynda’s gorgeous, heartfelt novel.

As she aptly observes, sense memories can come “out of nowhere”—as startling as they are comforting and as overwhelming as they are grounding. Having served for years as a pastor and a co-founder of FaithandGrief.org, I have worked with countless aching hearts grappling with the many flavors of loss. And I have witnessed the complex role all our senses can play in our grief journeys.
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They can function as guideposts, rabbit holes, or occasionally, sparkling gems—triggering tidal waves of sorrow, surprise, delight—and even all three in the same moment​.

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Whether you notice a waft of the familiar, earthy scent of your deceased father’s pipe smoke or feel the cool weight of your late daughter’s cell phone in your hand, your senses tell the stories of your most intimate grief with potent intensity.

As I wrote last week, I recently moved out of the home I shared for years with my dear husband, Bob, and am now settling into a lovely new space where I am launching my next chapter. As I introduce old friends to new ones in my warm condo community, I am acutely aware of the many layers of joy, excitement, nostalgia, and bittersweetness.

Indeed, a single object can spark many reactions. This precious note from Bob is a prime example—a cherished memory I recently found “stuck” to the inside of my kitchen cabinet. The simple resonance of his words fills my broken heart to overflowing whenever I read them: “Fran, I love you. – Bob”
On my final pass through the house, I conducted one last check— opening the empty cupboards that still held years of memories. That’s when I saw the note. My heart stopped. I gasped and suddenly felt Bob’s gentle breath on my neck, along and God’s comforting presence. These senses—sight, touch, and the feeling of my salty-damp tears trickling down my cheeks meant so much in that powerful moment He was with me. A lifetime in an instant. There was so much love and meaning in a single object, a tiny slip of paper.

That’s the connection to the Object Prayer Spiritual Practice at the end of Chapter 4, “How Do I Ride the Waves? Engaging Our Senses.” In this part of the book, I reference Diane Ackerman’s book A Natural History of Senses. Ackerman writes:
              The senses don’t just make sense of life in bold or subtle acts of clarity, they tear reality apart into vibrant morsels and reassemble them into a meaningful pattern.
 
For those of us whose realities have been torn apart by grief, we are invited to activate our senses with intention to be open to receiving the solace and unexpected wonder they elicit. Believe me, questioning the veracity of what we see, feel, hear, take, or smell is perfectly normal, but I ask you, what is the downside?

Sanam Hafeez, PsyD, a neuropsychologist and director of Comprehend the Mind, says:
      Objects can help someone remember who they’ve lost by having a tangible thing that keeps them ‘alive.’ Transitional objects can also help reduce stress, ease anxiety, lower blood pressure, and generally make someone feel better.[i]
 
Objects ranging from the everyday to the exquisitely rare can provide a personal, emotional bridge to those we have lost. In the case of my sweet Bob’s Post-It note, it’s like holding a piece of his heart in my hand. It’s knowing down to the marrow that his love never dies.
 
And no matter the object, its significance to you is what gives you a sense of comfort. These are sacred treasures that can ignite our spiritual practice and give us the tools to carry the weight of our grief as we also shine a light to find our way through the shadows.
 
I have kept a few other special items as reminders of Bob—from ordinary items, such as his last bottle of aftershave to catch a whiff of him to the notebook where he scribbled notes for his sermons. They help me hold his memory close with a physical, palpable association that brings me peace and even makes me smile.
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In preparation for our Object Prayer Spiritual Practice, choose a meaningful item that possesses an emotional dimension or weight for you. If you feel comfortable, share a photo below in the comments. Tell us why you chose it and how it is meaningful. Sharing our stories helps us feel seen and also helps us feel less alone.

Sending you peace, comfort, and grace.