The Grief Bowl
- Gabrielle Elise Jimenez
- Nov 28, 2021
- 2 min read
Updated: Apr 3
I am often asked whether I experience my own grief while watching others anticipate and go through theirs. The answer is yes. Anyone who witnesses someone navigating the reality of losing a loved one feels something. For me, it often awakens memories of my own losses.
Whenever I am at the bedside of someone with a dying parent, I ache a little inside. I am envious of their relationship because I didn’t have that. When both of my parents died, I was across the room from them, unsure what to do, what to say, or even how to feel.
Saying goodbye to a sibling brings its own waves of grief. Watching someone else in that moment often triggers my tears, a reminder of the deep ache I still carry for my sister and brother. But the truth is, any time I witness someone saying goodbye, I feel something, and I carry it with me when I leave.
How do I process that? Over time, I created a ritual that has become essential to my self-care, a way to honor what I feel and to release it safely.
I call it my grief bowl. It lives on my table at home, waiting for me at the end of a difficult day. It contains hearts of all kinds; metal, glass, crystal, clay, wood, pewter, each one gifted to me, each one meaningful.
When I return from a day at the bedside, I empty the hearts onto the table. I take them out one at a time. I think about the people I was with, their last breaths, the love and ache in the room, and the lessons I carry with me. I send comfort to those I witnessed saying goodbye, and I honor myself with the same. Because self-compassion is not optional; it is necessary. It has taken me a long time to understand that.
If I do this, the weight lifts. Self-care is mandatory, especially in the work I do. Anyone who sits with the dying, comforts those saying goodbye, or holds space for grief must be cared for with equal devotion. Creating a ritual, something tangible, and something sacred, helps us return to the work again and again without losing ourselves.
For me, it is my grief bowl. It comforts me, grounds me, and allows me to do this work day after day.
Whether you work in end-of-life care or navigate your own loss, please be gentle with yourself. Honor your heart. Honor your body. You deserve that tenderness.
xo
Gabby
Yes to all of this. I've reconfigured my Grief Bowl ritual in so many ways - for seasonal sustenance and remembrance gestures, for family and holiday gatherings around the table, you name it. The notion of a vessel/container for our grief is powerful. https://waypointceremonies.com/the-grief-bowl/
I work as a chaplain for inpatient palliative care. We pass off most of our patients fairly quickly to hospice, if they/their families will agree to hospice at all. It is emotionally exhausting. There is such a cultural resistance to palliative care and hospice where I live, especially among oncologists it seems. I get so tired of the death. We all do. I think I’m going to suggest a team “grief bowl” for our office.
Thank you for this method of placing our grief in a "particular" place...it made perfect sense for me to do this!! Have a Son in "Hospice Care" for over two years now that just "can't die? I've said my goodbyes twice & that's all I can handle but my husband tries to be with him couple times a week if someone drives him!! He takes him "goodies" to eat/smoke & talk. His "rest of the story" hasn't come yet but we're both pushing 90 this year so...there it is. Has had the "last rites" 3/4 times and that's it....no more...as he has one foot in HEAVEN. Of our 6 babies, two left that are...our loving support. One Da…
Your story inspired me to start a grief bowl. As a self care practitioner and grief movement guide, I encourage others to allow their emotions such as pain, to move through their body rather than suppress it. I tell them that this will protect their heart. Thank you for sharing.
Well said. This message really hits home for me. Being a hospice nurse and for the loss of my son many years ago. Thank you.