Long before I was even a consideration, my great-grandmother began a Shackelford tradition—during the week of Thanksgiving she would prepare a feast for the employees and their families. I tend to believe it was held the Tuesday before the actual holiday, mainly because that was the day I remember as a child . . . and a teenager . . . and an adult. That alone should tell you this was a decades-old tradition.

When my great-grandmother’s health would no longer allow her to host said event, my mother stepped into her shoes. I remember three days of cooking (even with two additional sets of hands in the kitchen), card tables all over the living room and more food than anyone could possibly consume. As the years passed and the business grew so did the number in attendance until there was barely room to move about once everyone was seated, a condition that made second helpings difficult but certainly not impossible.

The tradition continued after we moved to the new building on Church Street, even though the format changed somewhat. It still took three days of cooking and tables everywhere but now the tables were set up in Parlor A—long rows of them with folding funeral home chairs to either side. The food was prepared and served buffet style from their apartment which was in the building, just down the hall from the “dining room”. But after a year or two of this extravaganza, we began to notice that my mother would start to develop a cold the week before the week of. By the time it was time to cook, she was in full-blown sinus overload, complete with sneezing, coughing, fever, watery eyes, runny nose . . . name a cold symptom and she had it. After fighting through it for several years the time finally came when she declared herself too sick to prepare, offering instead a staff Christmas party at a location to be determined . . . as long as it wasn’t anywhere near her kitchen. Amazingly enough, from that day on she was never again sick around Thanksgiving.

In case you’ve missed the point of this story, let me be perfectly clear. The mind is a powerful thing, more powerful than most any of us can begin to imagine. It is our greatest weapon against whatever obstacle we face—and our greatest enemy. The stress of preparing for an event she dreaded made my mother physically ill. Believe me, that cold was not in her head. Ok . . . it was in her head, but it certainly wasn’t imaginary. It was as real as any illness could possibly be. And the stress of losing someone you love can produce exactly the same results, only to a much greater degree. Often survivors find themselves battling ailments that had never been an issue before, because loss produces grief which produces stress which lowers your body’s immune response and makes you fair game for all kinds of evil nastiness.

So how can you avoid falling prey to the power of a grieving mind? First and foremost, by acknowledging it can actually happen.  Realizing you are not alone can prove to be a tremendous source of strength when grief is at the center of your life. There is absolutely no shame in asking for help, absolutely no shame in reaching out to others who have found themselves walking the same path or to professionals who know and understand the toll grief can take. We may turn to medical doctors when our physical health suffers and they may be able to treat the symptoms, but the cure for grief-generated illness will never come until we acknowledge our loss, allow ourselves to grieve, and begin the task of emotional healing.

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