Gratitude: John of God at Omega Institute

Three of us spent the day at the Omega Institute. It was truly an amazing experience.

I have entered a new country and it feels strange

It is almost two years since my daughter, Laura, left this world very suddenly. We are still struggling with her absence in our lives. My books continue to give me comfort in the passages I read. Lots of times the words I read reflect my feelings so precisely. I would like to share this verse with you. It is exactly how Fred and I feel. It is taken from Healing after Loss, by Martha Whitmore Hickman.


The death of a loved one shifts the whole foundation of our life. Nothing is as it was. Even what was most familiar seems in a strange way unfamiliar. It is as though we had to learn a new language, a new way of seeing. Even the face in the mirror sometimes seems the face of a stranger.

What are we to make of this? Just that we truly have, in a way, entered a new country. Though the terrain looks much the same and many of the people are the same people, there is a different light over everything.

Remember how long it took, when you moved to a new house or a new town, for it to seem like home? It is the same with any major life change. We will get used to this new land, this new arrangement of people and relationships. But it will take time--time to look around, to be startled, and to be brought up short, again and again. An inner lurch of protest before we acknowledge--Oh, yes, it's different now.

Motherhood is the only job in the world where your every decision is questioned and doubted and criticized. No matter what you do, no matter what choices you make, someone somewhere is convinced that you are doing irreparable harm to your children.


The President holds the only other position where one is constantly living with criticism. But there is a huge difference between mothers and presidents—presidents are well compensated for their work.

On my wedding day (many moons ago) I considered myself one of the luckiest women alive. Then the days my children were born showed me that I was even luckier because I was blessed with two beautiful children. Most parents know nothing in the world can exceed the love and bond that one feels for his or her child. (I say most because my parents never shared this universal feeling toward their children.) I continued to consider myself lucky through the years, even though we as a family suffered through chronic illnesses and the lost of some of our loved ones.

I no longer believe in luck—good or bad. People make choices and have to live with the consequences. Through my life's journey, I have discovered that some people have certain advantages that allow them to escape the worst consequences of their bad decisions, but I wouldn’t call that luck. If I did, I would have to wonder why good luck and bad had not been distributed more evenhandedly, and if I dwelled on that it would be the quickest route to depression and bitterness.

A home for St Francis