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The 'magic' of walking with grief

Maureen Cahillane, center, walks with her bereavement group on November 21 in Northampton, Mass.
Nancy Eve Cohen
Maureen Cahillane, center, walks with her bereavement group on November 21 in Northampton, Mass.

Grief can make some people hole up indoors.

But in Northampton, Massachusetts a walking bereavement group gathers outside once a week on warm days and chilly ones. Most join the group after a spouse has died, but some are there to remember a sibling, a parent or a child.

Maureen Cahillane, 91, walked with a cane around a local park with about two dozen other people.

Cahillane's husband, James, died more than two years ago. Turning to another walker she said there are times when she feels alone and empty.

"This group is quite a bit of help," she said. "Just to know that other people are dealing with the same sadness."

It's more of a stroll, than a walk -- slow enough so people can turn to each other as they converse.

"It's not an exercise group," Shelly Bathe Lenn cautions the walkers as they gather in a circle next to a park bench before setting out. "Slow down for the people behind."

Lenn, a bereavement counselor at Cooley Dickinson Hospital, leads a variety of groups for people who are grieving, including an art group and a book group.

But in the walking group "they're talking, talking, talking," Lenn said, without any encouragement from her. "That's when the magic happens."

Shelly Bathe Lenn, center, a bereavement counselor at Cooley Dickinson Hospital, convenes her bereavement group before they start their walk. She also leads a book group and art group for people who are grieving.
Nancy Eve Cohen /
Shelly Bathe Lenn, center, a bereavement counselor at Cooley Dickinson Hospital, convenes her bereavement group before they start their walk. She also leads a book group and art group for people who are grieving.

Sometimes the conversation is lighthearted—such as the latest on the Red Sox or remembering the meatballs a mother used to make. At other times, the emotions can be raw, for instance, when recalling what a loved one went through just before they died.

"They're sharing experiences that most of them feel like they couldn't share with anybody else," Lenn said.

The group breaks into twos and threes walking along wide paths that skirt gardens and open parkland.

Cahillane walked with Jill Mendez, whose partner, Patrick, died nearly four years ago.

"The grief is now more of a yearning," Mendez said.

"It never goes away," Cahillane interjected.

"It's always with you," Mendez agreed. "It becomes part of your anatomy, almost."

Helena Donovan, whose husband died more than two years ago, said walking lifts her mood.

"I was doing way too much sitting around. And this gets me up and gets me moving, and I always feel better when I move," Donovan said.

Up ahead, three women and a dog keep pace. As they walk, the conversation deepens and flows. Elaine Beaudoin said walking side by side, rather than sitting eye to eye helps people talk.

A bereavement group in Northampton, Mass. talk with each other as they walk on November 21.
Nancy Eve Cohen /
A bereavement group in Northampton, Mass. talk with each other as they walk on November 21.

A big topic is how the passage of time changes grief. On this day, Beaudoin wondered 'what's next?'

"The first year you're in the throes of it all. But the second year is 'well, this is my life now what am I going to do with it? Do I move forward? Do I just sit here?'" she said. "The quietness is getting pretty loud in the house."

Sometimes they tell each other about the small moments that tear open the pain of their loss.

"I wake up in the morning and, you know, I reach over and she's not there," said Roger Brown remembering his wife, Jeanne.

The group meets year-round. Seeing the seasons change is healing for some.

"Being outside distracts your mind. Sometimes we are so focused on our pain, but when you are outside, you're walking. It kind of helps," said Diana, who asked that only her middle name be used because many in her community don't know she's grieving.

She said the conversations can go deep. Her husband Philip used to be the person she walked with. He died nearly a year ago.

"It's therapy," she said. "But it's also hard because I can no longer walk with him."

So now, she walks with others who are grieving. They keep each other company; moving and talking make it easier to open up and feel understood.

Copyright 2025 NPR

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Nancy Eve Cohen