As I Move Toward the 3 year Anniversary of Torin’s Death

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  • I notice that I have become more “functional” in living again, though the excruciating sadness is always just below the surface.


  • Sayings like “you can create the life of your dreams” still trigger me–I mean, there is no “life of my dreams” without my son in it. “It will all be okay” doesn’t bother me anymore, probably because I have changed my definition of “okay”. (Hmmmmm, maybe at some point I will be ready to look at changing my definition of “life of your dreams”?)


  • Those first two are stellar examples of my abundant use of quotes now. Like nothing really means what it used to…and putting quotes around words that are questionable in meaning helps me deal with that.


  • More than ever, I am allowing myself to notice the sparks (of joy, desire, or even curiosity) and follow them, wherever they may lead. Also, I’m allowing myself to be led by other people’s sparks when I don’t have any of my own. (Devan is great about inviting me on daily walks, and I’m trying to go even when I don’t feel like it.)


  • Besides “harm no living thing”, I believe there are no rules. I mean, I don’t go around cutting lines in the grocery store or anything (I’m not a monster!) What I’m getting at is that most of the rules we’re taught are simply somebody else’s way of keeping us in line. Controlled. Digestible. It’s for other folks’ comfort. So I’m starting to question “rules” even more than I did before.


  • I cry a lot. I always have. And now even more, in all the places. I have almost stopped apologizing for it (oftentimes, a sorry slips out without me even thinking about it). I cried at the counter of the chiropractor’s office last week. Like an ugly-cry-while-talking thing. She didn’t look away, but held space and then shared her own grief story. I think maybe I’ve uncovered a new way to find “my people” and another beautiful reason to let the tears come when they do.


  • I’m still really. fucking. exhausted. All the time. I’m sleeping well (besides an unfortunate resurgence of night sweats and pre-dawn wake ups) and yet I still can’t handle as much in a day as I used to. I’ve almost surrendered to the fact that this might last forevermore, and that’s “okay”. Kind of like when you have your first child and realize that you will never feel rested again? I’m learning to plot out my calendar more carefully, and say no more often (you know, those things your life coach would say are a really good idea.)


  • This last few years has reinforced my belief that what others say and do really isn’t about me. And I’m also doing my best to change that on my end…to listen without formulating a response in my head while the person is still talking. To listen more than I talk (which anyone who knows me knows is a struggle, period) and simply BE with others in whatever they are experiencing. To foster communion. Connection. Offer a safe and sacred space in my daily life, not just in coaching and healing sessions.


So that’s where I’m at currently. This is not a lessons-learned post, simply my observations–I would actually really love it if we could let go of the idea that grieving folks need to find lessons or meaning in our loss. It’s not helpful. And I think it’s pretty obvious that as we change and grow–live forward and integrate our losses–those gems will show up without us having to look very hard. Searching for them before they make themselves known will only take us away from the important work of being present in our grief. 


Fierce love–Cid



  1. Thank you Cid. This April 12 will be 20 years since my daughter Beth died and April 16 just 1 year since my husband Bob died. The pain of losing my child unexpectedly was so much more profound and took about 10 years to make a new normal. As I have been told it takes time, and time takes time. Please know that you are not alone. Thinking of you.

    • Cid Lough

      Hazel 💜 I know this is a VERY belated response (I’m sorry for that) but I want to say thank you for the reminder that I am not alone. That WE are not alone as we navigate the sometimes excruciating pain that life can bring. So much love to you–Cid

  2. Hi Cid, I’m an unschooling mom from IG, I think we may know a few of the same people and I remember when Torin passed from this world. I’m still so sorry. Your post was so good for me to read, and really sobering on many levels. Heartbreaking and real. My sister committed suicide when I was 14 (27 years ago) and my mother nor I, nor her children, other siblings, etc etc, will ever get over it. But especially my mother. It’s such a painful loss, it almost inhuman. And yet, she’s a grandmother today, and a lot of fun to be with, although she still cries a lot as well. I often marvel at how humans can carry on living after such devastating grief. Your work is so important to the myriad of people out there suffering because it shows that even through our darkest periods, we can still somehow shine a light for others. It’s a beautiful and awe-inspiring phenomenon. Lots of love and light to you ❤️‍??

    • Cid Lough

      Hi Megan, I’m not sure how I missed your comment til now, but I wanted to belatedly say thank you this.💙 It has now been 4 years and I am still very much living the “and”. I am still so sad AND I am able to experience joy and hold space for others. So much love to you and your family–Cid