"My thoughts lean towards grief's sharper edges than it's softer ones in a constant state of, "Did this really happen? Did she really die?", followed by a vast empty space in my life. This is not the time to attempt to defy the lockbox of what happened in search of the deeper truth. The truth is that it happened and that is where December sits. I return to myself just as I was and am on that day. Shattered."
My physiological response to December comes before the month arrives. As I stand on the bank of it's arrival I can see and feel it coming miles, or weeks ahead. Much like a storm in the distance, it begins with low rumbling and dark skies before it creeps it's shadows towards my heart and mind. December is a time of reliving all of the moments unwanted and there is no way out but through. It is a time when I hear the machine sounds of life support, rewind and replay hospital memories and mostly, a time of disbelief. They say that all things heal with time. "They" are wrong. As time goes on, the loss shape shifts into a state of reality that sharply bites. My thoughts lean towards grief's sharper edges than it's softer ones in a constant state of, "Did this really happen? Did she really die?", followed by a vast empty space in my life. This is not the time to attempt to defy the lockbox of what happened in search of the deeper truth. The truth is that it happened and that is where December sits. I return to myself just as I was and am on that day. Shattered. And I allow it to be that way.
While the laws of impermanence are not lost there is time spent in the suffering of truth that means more than the truth itself. Without it, the truth can't be as it needs to be. A yin and yang of loss vs the courage to withstand it. December is my practice in the deepest way possible. Without request, like the hands of seasons, the temperature begins to chill and more self care and warmth is needed. With the freeze comes introspection and the silence and solitude that blankets the coldest of winter days. I curl in my bed and allow the snowflake tears to fall until they stop, and until they begin again. I miss her. More than ever, each year, I miss her.
FEB 7/2020
Letter 5
I’m unable to sleep. As of late, I couldn’t stop sleeping and then the nightmares arrived. Ashes, bones and accidents. So many things awaken the amygdala. But tonight I can’t fall into sleep and I’m left thinking of the last restful sleep I had.
I’d walked up to the opening of your room. I’ve no clue of time but I guessed morning. Lana was working and she’d told me not to go home. I asked for an update and she provided me with numbers. She then said ever so simply...
‘In a few minutes we are going to move her over and you can get into bed with her.’
I jolted into an instant folding of tears, and my heart felt joyous. Sitting bedside had felt so far. I think I told her that it would mean the world to me, but I’m sure she already knew that. Suddenly I felt a push to speed up time. Like the day you were born and I was asked to shower with iodine and your dad came in and said... they want us now. The sudden anticipation of laying my eyes on you for the first time was now matched with laying my eyes on you for the last. The closer I can get to you, the greater the love.
I stood by your bed as the nurses cheerfully prepared to slide you over. My nervous system had me trembling and my brain was a steady stream of love and worry. Will I lay on a tube? Will I crumble? It all went so quickly and the next thing I knew my back was propped against a bed rail of pillows, and there we were. You and me. I forgot about the tubes. There were others in the room and I asked them to leave.
I began to cry. All the anxieties began to flow through and outward. It was your birthday all over again. The anticipation, the tears of joy that wash out any pain. I pressed my hand against your face, your chest, your arms, your heart. I told you every single reason why I’ve loved you with my whole heart for 23 years. I could feel your anticipation at the same time, like many of our talks about life and death we had to shed the fears to find the warmth. I could see us crying in the coffee shop, over our eggs benny or in the car outside your house trying to say goodbye.
Then, the energy softened. The anxiety dissolved into particles of light and that grateful sense arrived. Thank you Lana, for giving us more love. I could feel your spirit curled up with mine under the warmth of our pink wool scarf from Dharmshala and ... we fell asleep.
There were no dreams. It simply was a dream. There was contentment, connection and silence aside from our rhythmic breath. I recall your doctor coming in and I briefly opened my eyes.
“Don’t move” he whispered, “ I will work around you.”
My eyes closed and contentment replayed. It was like the beautiful silence of sitting on retreat. Life moved around us unnoticed as we rested. All of life’s work was being done in the doing of nothing. All that mattered was the simplicity of being...together. It was the only time when the time was accounted for during your six days.
Time was being blessed as it should be in our presence every day.
5 hours later Lana awoke me. They had to run some tests she explained and I’d have to move but I was welcome to come back. Strangely satisfied I declined and I got out of the bed like I had so many times in your childhood and gave you a kiss before I carried forward with the dishes or my own bed. I hugged Lana I’m sure.
I left your room for the first time in five days with any sense of peace. I was smiling even and felt as though you had given me every ounce of courage to carry myself ...even today. You are so beautiful. Your soul is so beautiful.
People keep saying that it is inspiring that I can carry forward. The inspiration my love .... is you.
December rituals are now different than most. There is no tree and lights, gifts and fun secrets. There is a coffee on her birthday, redirection on her accident day, and visiting her accident site and ashes on her death day. But most importantly, there is devotion to myself for 31 days without waiver. 31 days of ache, release, peace, suffering, and in the fragility of it all, a whole lot of self love.
With Metta,
L.
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