Hi there, It’s been a while since I’ve formerly introduced myself here. I’m so glad you’ve opened this newsletter. Every week, I sit down to create an email that I hope is engaging and encouraging, because I know first hand what grief requires.
I’m Jill, a professional griever. When I was 16 months old, my biological father left me and my 24-year-old mother for the day, took his small aircraft up over our family ranch, crashed and was killed. From that day on my life was forever altered. I spent my entire childhood and young adulthood grieving, healing, questioning, grieving, and healing some more. Along the way, I lost more loved ones who’s loss hit me quite harder. I lost all of my grandparents in the span of 2 years. The death of my grandmother who was my soul sister has had the most impact on my adult heart. (See the piece titled PINK below to know a little about her.) I was blessed to receive counseling and support from my family and friends. My family always created space for me to process my grief, which I’m grateful for.
In my early 40’s I realized that I would be a lifelong griever. It’s not always the stabbing, sharp pain of grief, but it’s a void that cannot be filled. I know this to be true for most of us grievers, yet we are not given the opportunity to mourn properly.
In 2013, I met Cliff Wilcox of Cliff’s Garden (Formerly Stone Lake Farms) for the first time. I was drawn to his humble, sweet personality and immediately asked if I could volunteer for him. Something about him and his farm spoke to me. (I don’t think it’s a coincidence that my late father’s last name was Stone.) We spent the first few years tinkering around his farm. I was his helper who came every week on a Wednesday. We weeded, planted, dug holes on our knees, had deep discussions about life and religion and politics. We ate breakfast on his deck, dinner at his kitchen table and even taste-tested whiskey on occasion. It’s some of my absolute favorite times I’ve experienced.
Then one year I got a push from God to plant flowers…just plant flowers. I asked “the boss” if I could grow some and he said, “sure, kid”, without any hesitation. That first year in 2016 I threw a hose down a 300-foot row of dirt and grew flowers and weeds. I gave them away to friends and neighbors…and it felt good. God said, “Do that some more.” So, I did.
This year we will plant another field of flowers to give away. The flower project called “Jars of Joy” has grown into a beautiful ministry and outreach project to spread joy to those in our community who need to know they are remembered, seen and loved.
Not shortly after seeing the reach the flowers had, I decided to start this nonprofit. There are a thousand other stories that come with this journey. You see, God weaved all my life experiences together to bring me here, to this very spot. For the very big purpose of serving others. God set it on my heart to start this organization about 6 years ago, and it has transformed my life. “Now you’re going to use your pain for a purpose”, he said. God weaved all my life experiences together to bring me here, to this very spot, for the very big purpose of serving others.
I could have never imagined all the people who now walk alongside me as part of TWHC. I am blessed every day to be able to serve in this capacity with them, for a community of grievers.
I’m honored to share this space with you. I wanted you to understand why I do what I do here. (It’s not just me.) Every week, when I sit down to write this I ask myself what I would want to read if I were experiencing deep grief at that moment. What would bring hope to others and inspire them to live their lives looking forward, while holding on to the precious moments of their loved ones.
I hope I’ve hit the mark. Please let me know if there are any topics you’d like to see here and how I can best serve you here. You can email me at hello@togetherwehealcommunity.org
Pink
By Jill Batiansila
For Gigi
The walls of her bathroom dripped of soft mauve and Victorian décor. Velvety light rose matching floor mats, hand towels, accented her 4x4 pink shower tile and exquisite pink commode.
She had 3 mirrors that if you positioned yourself just right, could pretend you were surrounded by 20 exact replicas of yourself.
Her cabinet was filled with multiple bottles of witch hazel, natural shampoos, bodywash, Q-Tips and other overstock she brought home from her thriving health food store down the street.
The scent was an overwhelmingly, glorious hippie concoction that stays with you long after you leave.
I adored her jewelry box and all its inhabitants.
She had a large cubic zirconia ring at the top that reminded me of something Morgan Fairchild would wear on Falcon Crest, a show we often watched together.
I would wear it and imagine I was rich and famous.
After copious amounts of time in her elegant water closet, I would swing open the door to her pink hallway, lined with rose-printed wallpaper and plush (you guessed it) mauve carpet.
The low-lit, crystal chandelier made for a dark, yet cozy & comforting walk to her kitchen.
This is the place where my grandmother and I built the most beautiful memories together. Surrounded by rich dark-pink cabinets, we watched soap operas as I ate vanilla yogurt, and she drank her hot jasmine tea.
I would cut her hair at the tile kitchen island when she got too old and fearful and stubborn to leave her house.
The place where I would hug her hello and goodbye every time I visited.
Year after year, she would say, “Not too tight” as she became more fragile with age.
It was the spot where she would kiss me before I left with her sweet, little, old lips, painted with frosty rose-pink lipstick,
And then blow kisses at me from the window as I drove away.
**This was written in one of our writing workshops with Jan. It is both powerful and vulnerable to write and share out loud. I always find myself writing deep pieces there and I highly recommend trying one of her free workshops with us. I am never disappointed.
**I asked AI to generate this photo and I was pretty shocked at the feelings it brought me. AI isn’t all bad.