When the tectonic plates of my life shifted and impermanence became real.
Welcome to my first blog post here on Made from Mountains. Here is where space is held for all of those who have, and continue to suffer the loss of a loved one.
“I had a newfound foundation that was 'me' after years of dedication to meditation and the inner workings of self. Little did I know that this was the base layer for what was to become a very cold time”
It feels fitting to begin my writing journey with the event that brought me here and how Made from Mountains was born.
December 16, 2019
I woke in the morning. It wasn't a day like most as I was beginning a new job. I had a new partner. I had a new apartment, and I had a newfound foundation that was 'me' after years of dedication to meditation and the inner workings of self. Little did I know that this was the base layer for what was to become a very cold time.
On this morning, I woke to a phone call from my daughter's spouse. He was as erratic as winter in the rockies and was in complete shock. He told me there had been an accident and I needed to get on a plane. I asked to speak to a doctor, in reason, my mind did not want to hear what he was saying. Following many mechanical calls I was on a plane, with her teddy bear in tow, and what seemed like minutes later, I was running through the airport with my eldest in a fret to get to the hospital. In the car on route we were told "She is in rough shape", "She does not look good", "The Doctors are not sure" but rest assured nothing prepared me for laying my eye on her for the first time. It was then that the tectonic plates of my life shifted and impermanence became real. Those years of sitting rushed to the forefront as I stood before my daughter, shrouded in tubes, unconscious, surrounded by a rush of doctors and nurses attempting to save her life. Surely, this could not be real. It was real. Time swept away like a brisk wind and the freezing cold of struggle settled in for 6 long days in ICU. I could not tell a day from the next but the beginnings were a nurse prompting me that I was to prepare myself for her to die. I did what any mother would do in the time of her worst nightmare and I refused. I demanded that I was "not ready" as though I had a choice. It was not long before I realized that acceptance was going to be my only way to presence as long as she was breathing, and thereafter. So I did the impossible. I let go.
There were 6 days of grace. 6 days to say what was needed in hopes that she heard, and to BE in a way that was both gutting and beautiful. These 6 days are the forest floor of my Letters to Cassidy, snips of my final time with her, in small notes of gratitude for healing at a time when I couldn't talk to anyone else.
On the early morning of December 16th, I was privileged to sit and hold her hand as she let go in the most triumphant of ways, leaving me proud and as heartbroken as any mother would be. This blog is for every person who has felt this crushing blow and still choose to rise, need help to be risen, or need to be held in whatever space they sit. There is no ending. I have discovered, there is also a very difficult lonely path in grief and I hope I can be a beacon to "I hear you" in the stories of how I was made.
With metta,
L.
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