Finding Healing: My Experience at San Damiano's Grief Retreat

Growing up looked happy on the outside, but inside was a different story. Deep depression defined my first 30 years, followed by a transformative "dark night of the soul," and then 10 fairly healthy, positive years in mind, body, and spirit.

All that changed when my best friend and partner in life, work, and everything, suddenly passed away from a stroke on the evening of Thursday, April 11th, 2023. That day I was driving to my mom's house in Oregon, he usually came with me from the Bay Area, but couldn't this time. He asked me to text when I reached our usual rest stop at The Olive Pit, which I did. I messaged again after arriving that evening, sharing our plans for the following day.

I didn't hear back. Not then, or Friday when my mom and I did our usual speaker call to him. We left a voicemail, jokingly giving him a hard time. I rationalized why I wasn't hearing back - your mind never wants to jump to the worst. Maybe his aging grandpa was hospitalized, some family emergency. I'd hear from him soon. I pushed that uncomfortable feeling away.

Saturday afternoon, two of his friends messaged asking if I'd heard from him. No one had since Thursday. I immediately responded: "We need to get someone over to his house RIGHT NOW."

Two torturous hours later, the number one person in my life was found collapsed on his living room floor.

My world shifted in that moment. I wasn't part of any reality I knew. The life I'd known was over, and I had no preparation for what came next. Autopilot took over in a daze: packing up at my mom's, knowing I couldn't sleep and didn't want to risk the 6+ hour drive home exhausted the next evening. Phone calls with the sheriff, trying to reach his sister - everything was a haze.

Unfortunately, before we could notify his family, the news went public. Two hours after receiving the worst news of my life, I was slammed with hundreds of calls, texts, voicemails, and social media posts as I pulled out of my mom's driveway.

Nothing made sense.

I invited close friends over the next day to grieve together. They brought alcohol and champagne to console our feelings. I wouldn't touch a drop. I was frozen and afraid that over-emotion might take over and I'd never come back.

The first couple weeks I had difficulty forming verbal sentences. Typing was fine, but conversation wasn't. Basic tasks were impossible: making tea took two hours because I'd forget what I was doing. My normal "take charge and figure stuff out" self was nowhere to be found. Executive function vanished. Surviving - literally keeping living - was about all I could do. I'm deeply thankful for close friends who organized his celebration of life when I was the furthest version of myself. I didn't know who I was, or what my life was, without him.
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It's been a year and a half, and I'm still figuring that out.

The Five Stages Aren't Linear

They say there are five stages of grief, and they're not linear: Denial (shock and numbness for me), Anger (a few weeks wondering why God would take such a wonderful person), Bargaining, Depression (didn't really hit until almost six months later - getting stuck in shock was too overwhelming), and Acceptance. There's no timeframe. You can get stuck, skip stages, go back. It's a mess.

Grief sucks. From someone with a history of severe depression, navigating out can seem impossible. Carlos and I were always each other's biggest cheerleaders though, and I could feel him pushing me: Get up, it's okay to be happy! Go, enjoy life! Knowing I'll see him again one day, and knowing the crap he'd give me if I didn't try my hardest, has been one of the only things getting me through.

About a year ago, I discovered San Damiano Retreat - a beautiful 55-acre sanctuary in the Danville hills. I don't think it was coincidence. I needed to find this place at the right time, when I needed it most. Attempting to figure out my next steps: "Who am I? Where should I live? What does my future look like now?" led me to a supportive calm, where I could focus on both career work and internal healing.

Depression hit hard again this fall, leaving me questioning life and crying harder than the entire previous year. Was reality finally settling in?

I do a lot for holistic well-being and helping others on their mental and emotional wellness journeys. Surviving severe depression gave me many tools, and I've obtained certifications in holistic nutrition, personal training, corporate wellness, and holistic life coaching. Recently I've started sharing my story through speaking, hoping to help others live healthier, happier lives.

Nothing prepared me for this sudden deep loss. Nothing. All my tools, education, expertise - none of it meant anything facing grief this deep. Logic goes out the door.

Stepping Into the Attendee Role

I knew I needed more help this fall. Thankfully, San Damiano had a grief retreat weekend planned for late November: "Pathways Through Grief: A Healing Journey" exactly when I needed it. I invited my mom (Carlos was like a son to her) since she'd been struggling too. She admitted skepticism but figured she had nothing to lose. I didn't know what to expect either, but if I gained even one extra tool, it would be worth it.

As someone who typically plans and runs events rather than attends them, this was a different experience. Our industry requires being "on" constantly, especially during the busy holiday season, wearing a smile even when we're struggling inside. That weekend, I took off that professional hat and became present in my own grief.

My mom and I arrived early Friday afternoon so I could show her around before orientation began. I decided to document my experience and share it with my community, hoping it might help someone going through something similar. If you haven't visited, it's a peaceful, healing, special place you truly need to experience yourself to understand the emotional and spiritual power of the land.

After sunset, a couple dozen of us gathered in a circle. The preface: everything is optional. You're not forced to participate, talk, or do anything. Take or leave what you need. We introduced ourselves, shared who brought us there, and anything else we wanted to share. Most of us weren't sure what to expect, but as the evening progressed, we collectively felt safe to explore whatever we might embark on together.

Small notebooks were distributed for thoughts and activities throughout the retreat. Stickers ranging from glittery fall leaves to inspirational quotes let us personalize them. We received tall candles where we wrote our loved ones' names, encouraged to say those names aloud as we placed them in the center of the room, where they remained lit all weekend (except during bedtime). We were introduced to "The Wailing Wall" where we could write anything related to our persons. One thing I wrote was "How did you get through it?" - a question one of my best friends Chris Madore asked me shortly before his passing in November 2022, just a year and a half before Carlos. He referred to my depression struggles, as he'd been going through severe depression. I've heard that phrase repeatedly in my head over recent months, a reminder to take my own advice: It wasn't just one thing, I had to keep trying.

After dinner at round tables in small groups, we gently eased into the weekend's tone in the quiet, dark stillness of the retreat center garden. Our first session covered factors impacting grieving, triggers, and how different scenarios affect us. We broke into small groups - the intimate group we'd remain with throughout the weekend - and were invited to share our triggers. I emphasize "invited" - you didn't have to share, speak, or even join a breakout. At least one person wasn't comfortable initially and went off alone, which was perfectly okay. This weekend held space for whatever we needed as we walked our different pathways through grief.

Finding Tools That Could Help

Saturday morning started with optional meditation and light stretching before breakfast. The program officially began at 9am with opening prayer, followed by "The Fall of Freddy the Leaf" - a video made for kids explaining death that offers adults a healthier perspective on loss. We wrote our loved ones' names on crafting leaves and hung them from tabletop trees. I took mine home with "Carlos" on one side and "Chris" on the other.

We watched Anderson Cooper's podcast "All There Is" featuring Francis Weller, author of "On the Wild Edge of Sorrow." One line struck me deeply: "Grief brings you into a territory where your strategies don't apply." This resonated with my frustration over all the mental and emotional tools I'd gathered that suddenly didn't work. We were encouraged not to avoid grief: trying to ignore or push it away doesn't help. "The deeper the love, the deeper the grief." My grief over Carlos runs so deep. Uncovering my thoughts, feelings, and perceptions of him throughout the weekend helped me see even more clearly everything he meant to me and that we were together. During break, someone mentioned "It's Okay Not to Be Okay" - an audiobook by a mental health professional who didn't understand her clients until she experienced sudden loss of her young, healthy husband. I listened the following week and highly recommend it.

A rock ritual had us gather rocks for each person we were remembering. One by one, we'd choose a rock that called to us, imagine our person's energy in it, whisper words, and when ready, release it into water. I enjoyed the symbolism. We wrote what we missed about our persons, my section on Carlos was rather long. I jotted down realizations: "The life I had known doesn't exist anymore—B.C. (Before Carlos)." And questions: "What does my new life look like? What is my life without Carlos?"

Drawing and coloring mandalas representing different grief stages gave me time to create my own interpretation with three top sections (past, present, future) and three bottom sections (Chris, me, Carlos), using different colored shapes like puzzle pieces representing each of us and our feelings—dark grief, happiness, hope.

The Labyrinth Walk

After lunch during free time, we could walk the Labyrinth. If you haven't done a labyrinth walk, there isn't much direction, it's flexible and adjustable. It's usually suggested to enter with an intention and, if you bring a token, release it in the center. We had small rocks to draw symbols on. A prompt asked: What are we holding onto? What can we release?

This ended up being profound. My mom (who originally wasn't going to walk) shared later that she initially felt angry with Carlos, upset for him leaving, leaving me, breaking promises. Carlos promised both of us he'd always take care of me. Though she never said it, I know she always felt safe that we'd be together, that he'd take care of me and she wouldn't have to worry, especially after she's gone. During her walk, she could hear or feel Carlos when I walked past her, giving comfort and encouragement. When finished, her anger was gone, replaced with calm and acceptance. I definitely felt release and less anxiety after my walk too.

I also had my first spiritual direction session (included with the retreat, normally an extra cost). My spiritual director said something comforting: with the depth of loss I've experienced, a year and a half really isn't long at all. I know I'm not supposed to be "all better," but I thought I'd be further along, especially with all my mental wellness knowledge and efforts.

This isn't the case with deep grief. While that might sound frightening, it was actually a relief. I felt more "normal," and everything I've been feeling is okay. People have been surprised I'm still working through things this deeply, even tried putting deadlines on when I should stop. I don't need to, and neither do you. This is all normal and it's okay. We're not losing our minds, we're in grief. She left me with a question: "What is your heart's desire?" I've had difficulty imagining or visualizing my life without Carlos, and contemplating this question may help me figure out a new road.

Our afternoon session focused on triggers and reminders that bring back grief: places, songs, birthdays, smells, holidays. After the group session, we broke into smaller groups in private rooms and shared what this means for us individually.

Spiritual Connection and Sound Healing

That evening Father Henry Beck, a kind soul with a gentle voice, held a beautiful mass accompanied by serene music and song from Jesse Manibusan. Father Henry now resides at San Damiano, and it was my first time hearing Jesse - a frequent staple at retreat center events - play and sing live. Both men's voices created an open, welcoming, soothing tone, a perfect apex connecting our spirituality and loved ones.

After dinner, we had sound bath therapy with singing bowls and other native instruments, accompanied by light song from facilitator Michelle Ford. These sounds help cleanse negative stored energy and support overall spiritual and holistic healing. I've participated a few times and deeply appreciate the moment to calm and relax my nervous system. To conclude, we again spoke our loved ones' names and could watch a short movie before bed.

The Final Morning and Letting Go

The final morning brought a blanket of fog in the valley below San Damiano unlike anything I'd experienced. Sitting on our hill, the sky was bright blue and sunny in stark contrast, a perfect way to end the retreat. We discussed grief and the holidays, a very difficult time for so many remembering loved ones. I was thankful this retreat was scheduled right before the holidays, and I'd hoped to finish this review before Christmas so it might offer comfort to readers going through an especially difficult season.

We sat in our large circle, and one by one shared final thoughts and feelings. Many voices expressed gratitude for hosting this retreat, how much it helped them, and particularly how grateful we were for other participants sharing our stories, helping each other not feel so alone in our pathways through grief. After sharing, we were guided to take papers from the Wailing Wall and place them in an aluminum bin next to our lit candles. Then we went outside to the enclosed garden patio, stood in a circle, said words before burning the papers.

It was more impactful than I expected. Some people cried. Looking into the fire, I could hear Carlos and Chris pushing me, encouraging me, saying all the things they hoped I'd do: Go on that trip! Dance so hard to that music! Enjoy each sip of wine! Laugh, fall in love! Be happy! It was tender, heartfelt, beautiful, painful, and healing.

Our final circle had fellow retreatants stand behind us and whisper in our ears what our person would say if they were here, while we closed our eyes. This brought tears. Then we switched places. An extremely supportive environment.
The retreat ended with Bette Midler's "The Rose" playing. I did tear up, very emotional in a good way. We need to let those tears out. If we need to cry 100, don't stop at 50. Let it out.

Moving Forward

From initially not expecting much, this retreat impacted me profoundly. I'm so deeply grateful to have attended, as was my mom. It was deeply healing and supportive, and I've noticed positive changes and thoughts continue emerging over the last few weeks. While I know I still have a long way to go, possibly forever, as grief like this is something you learn to "carry" with you (a term I'd heard before but didn't fully understand until after this retreat), I can't recommend this enough to anyone going through any kind of grief. It doesn't matter who you are, what your losses are - everyone is welcome and has a place here to be supported.

I can see why people attend multiple grief retreats at San Damiano, and I hope to attend another. Currently the retreat center hosts two one-day retreats and one weekend retreat on this topic.

Please feel free to reach out to myself or Margaret Riley, Director of Programs and Outreach at San Damiano and coordinator for these retreats, if you have any questions.

May the holidays be gentle and kind to you, and I wish you peace and calm in the new year.

All my best,

Samantha T. Marie