Elephants and Tea - December 2021 - 26

Cover Story FIRST DESCENTS
storms and shattered dreams
by teaching yoga therapy tools
that bring sprinkles of light.
Grieving gracefully with
gratitude is a consistent part of
my yoga practice, or Sadhana.
Even with this new awareness,
grief resurfaces time and time
again. There are times I expect
it to come calling, and other
times it seems to come out of
nowhere. Grief is a great teacher
when I allow it to give me
the downloads I need to grow.
Today's teardrops become tomorrow's
rainbows.
It is through my yoga practice
and gratitude that I learned
to love myself and dared to
dream again. This also led to
unexpectedly falling in love.
A few years after Nate's passing,
I attended an event to
support First Descents. It was
on this serendipitous evening
that Ryan and I re-connected
through our shared experiences.
I congratulated Ryan on his
moving emcee performance
and an amazing event. I also
inquired about teaching yoga
at First Descents programs.
A fast friendship was formed
through respect for one another's
past and intrigue with
the path we had both chosen
to walk in the cancer space...
ADVENTURING
THROUGH GRIEF
BY RYAN O'DONOGHUE
On July 1st, 2001, my brother Colin and I
set off on an unforgettable adventure. I had
recently graduated college, and while many
friends chose to travel the world before launching
into their careers, I felt a calling to explore
the U.S.A.
I had dreamt up a domestic road trip. It
didn't take much convincing to get Colin to
join me. He was adventurous, a free spirit,
and as a teacher he was free to roam that
summer. We set off from our hometown
of Bay Village, Ohio. Bob Segar's " Roll Me
Away " played as we merged onto I-90 West.
" Took a look down a westbound road, right
away, I made my choice. "
During our 7,250 mile journey, we visited
dozens of national parks and natural landscapes
where we hiked, camped, climbed,
biked, and explored wild places with some
of our closest friends. It was the trip of a
lifetime... once in a lifetime. Twenty years later, I'm on a much different journey. You see, Colin died of cancer
four years and a month from the day we set off on that faithful road trip. He was 28 years old.
Over the years, I've shared our story many times. I've emphasized how Colin's spirit has served as a catalyst,
inspiring myself and others to push on with a positive attitude even when times turn dark. Honoring his life and
legacy in this light always felt more comfortable. There is another, often ignored, side to the story that deserves
recognition: the grief born in the wake of this tragedy. Important to acknowledge the dark wolf...
Colin was my best friend and greatest advocate. A universal mentor. Living without his physical presence
has been nothing short of emotional gymnastics. His two-year struggle with cancer was heartbreaking, and the
void that still exists with his passing sixteen years later is impossible to ignore. When it comes to losing a loved
one, you can go years thinking of that person with the same lost emptiness, recalling dreams that will never
come true. His death opened an irreparable wound, and with it my foundational relationship with grief. For
me, grief often presents first as anger. Over the years I've learned that that anger is simply a byproduct of pain
and sadness. Feelings of loss and sorrow appear like islands, independent on the surface but all connected to a
single coral spine. Not separate, but one.
Before cancer entered our lives, everything felt lighter. Our greatest concerns were things like the distance
of our campsite to the main stage at Bonnaroo, or how we could possibly afford that ski trip to Colorado. After
cancer, heaviness set in. And after Colin's death, gravity began to take hold as if I was orbiting a black hole.
Paradoxically, despite its gravity, the grief left me feeling scattered and ungrounded. I lost myself in it. Literally.
In a vivid moment roughly a year after Colin died, I found myself looking in the mirror genuinely confused by
the reflection. At that moment I knew I needed help.
I began working with a therapist. I consulted my primary care physician who prescribed antidepressants. Up
until this " mirror moment " , I resisted these avenues of support. Eventually I learned that seeking help was a
sign of strength, not weakness. The therapy and Zoloft helped. But it was close friendships and adventure that
pulled me from the abyss. I dusted off my mountain bike and started riding again. With each ride, coupled
with trailside suds with my buds, I felt better. Being in nature with friends helped me feel closer to Colin. I was
reminded of the nights we spent together on our road trip - gazing into the dark sky with sightings of Mars and
shooting stars - pondering our insignificance while simultaneously feeling a sense of awe and connectedness
with something greater.
26
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DECEMBER 2021

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Elephants and Tea - December 2021

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