grief

Spartacus’s Sadness – Day 687

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Sheila & Spart’s Last Minutes Together – Photo: L. Weikel

Spartacus’s Sadness

When we let go of Sheila last Friday I mentioned to Karl that I doubted I would write about it. At least I was pretty sure I wouldn’t share it right away. But as the evening wore on, of course, I could think of nothing but Sheila, so I wrote ‘Irreplaceable.’ That’s what happens with this 1111 devotion. I deliberately refrain from planning ahead what I’m going to write about; instead, I allow whatever is foremost on my mind or in my heart lead me as I settle in to write each post. Tonight, I have to admit, I am compelled to bear witness to Spartacus’s sadness.

As I’ve written elsewhere, Spartacus was Sheila’s one and only puppy. Her only son. We never intended to breed her, but even our veterinarian felt she was such an extraordinary pup that allowing her to have a litter would be an incredible gift to all of us. We were so on the fence over it that we willingly dealt with the hassle of her cycles for four years.

Finally, we decided to take her back to the breeder from whom we’d bought her. The breeding process itself was awful. Sheila wanted no part in the shenanigans and the stud was – of all things – polite. He was not inclined to force himself on her, given her obvious distaste, in spite of what a cutie pie she was. It took a lot of persistence, and we almost gave up. But finally – success!

The only stipulation? I looked into Sheila’s eyes when it was over and she made me promise – she demanded – that I never make her go through that living hell again. We had a deal.

A Room of His Own

When we were sure the single encounter had ‘taken,’ I was psyched to midwife my little girl’s puppies! I read up on it and prepared for the big day as best as I could. We had her checked a couple of times by different people familiar with pregger pups and everyone predicted 2-3 puppies.

Of course, her labor started and abruptly stopped. Naturally, this occurred in the early evening, when our regular vet was closed for the day, thus necessitating a trip to the animal emergency room. An x-ray confirmed that our petite Sheila had one huge honker of a pup laying upside down along her spine, splayed out, enjoying the room of his own – just like he continues to sleep on his back to this day. After a touch-and-go emergency C-section, our Spartacus was born.

She Was Here Just the Other Day… – Photo: L. Weikel

Bottom Line

Sheila and Spartacus came home with me that evening and slept right beside me on the floor beside the bed, in a makeshift nest of blankets. And ever since that June day in 2008, they were inseparable.

Sheila was a great mom. She groomed him and loved him, taught him all the good stuff to eat, played with him relentlessly – and always, always cuddled him.

If you take a look at the photo above, to her very last day, he was trying to engage her with a new toy we’d bought him. Sadly, she hadn’t played with Spartacus in probably two years, as she grew steadily more blind and deaf.

Of course, we knew he would miss her. His life would be altered in a way he’d never experienced. (Neither of them ever spent time away from each other. Where one went, the other did too.) His life will never be the same.

He’s been sticking by us like glue, and we’ve been lavishing affection on him – not a hard task by any means. It’s been hard to discern between his sadness and our own. Indeed, even the cats have been subdued and withdrawn.

But when I saw him this afternoon, laying on the grass in the exact spot he’d last spent time with Sheila before we took her to the vet last Friday, I thought my heart would burst. My little boy misses his mommy. No doubt about it.

Spartacus’s Palpable Sadness – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-424)

Grief Shared – Day 685

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Sheila’s Fire – Photo: L. Weikel

Grief Shared

You know, there’s a lot of ugly, divisive, mean-spirited stuff playing out every day. It’s enough to make any of us despair over the state of humanity. And while I know in my heart that innumerable examples of kindness and love are happening all over the world as well, it’s a rare gift to experience it directly. What I experienced at the hands of all of you is proof of the proverb, “Grief shared is halved; while joy shared is doubled.”

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for the many comments on FB I received about yesterday’s post on my family’s loss of our precious Boston Terrier, Sheila.

I could tell almost all of you have loved a pet fiercely and know the searing pain that rips through us when we lose them. Is the pain really halved? Perhaps not. But it is, without question, soothed. The love of others and receiving their understanding and compassion is literally a balm to the soul.

So thank you.

And while the simple statement of thanks feels inadequate, really, to express appreciation for that balm, we will soon have an opportunity to test out the truth of the corollary to the adage. Perhaps we’ll be in a better position to assess the accuracy by then.

Amazing Stories

Of course, what would a significant event in my life be like if I didn’t also experience a bit of magic that would generate some amazing stories? I will probably share them in the coming days because part of my purpose here is – in fact – to share the magic that is our lives, to help us remember

But I have to admit to you: I am emotionally exhausted. I’m also physically ready for bed in the worst way because I’ve been awake since around 4:00 a.m., which is when Sheila decided she was going to give me a bit of a talking-to.

Luckily, I wrote it down, even though at the time I felt confident I would remember it all easily. Thank goodness I listened to my own advice. Like a dream, it could easily have slipped away had I not honored it. And then…the rest of the magic that unfolded in the day wouldn’t have made nearly as much sense.

Sheila’s Burial and Sacred Fire

Early this evening we buried Sheila. Karl did a yeoman’s job of digging a hole some 4’ by 1’ by 2’ deep, where we could place her facing toward our home so she can keep a guardian’s eye out over us. Our daughter-in-law Tiffany attended (diligently maintaining safe and appropriate distance), as did Sage and Sarah from Boston (via FaceTime). Spartacus was also in attendance.

We sent off our sweet Sheila with some snacks for the journey, including three dried praying mantises which I’d scraped off the road just a few days ago on a walk. I’d forgotten to give them to her when I got home that evening, so I buried them with her. We also gave her a couple of her favorite dog treats and wrapped her in one of her wolf blankets. We also included a lot of sage, which of course was significant on many levels.

Afterward, we had a sacred fire to honor and give thanks for her life and her irreplaceable contribution to the love and light of our family.

A photo of the flames is at the top of this post. Tell me you think this is any ordinary fire.

Spartacus Snuggling All Day – Photo: L. Weikel

Thank you, again, from the bottom of my heart. Your love for me (and all of my family) and your willingness to share our grief and sorrow is extraordinary.

(T-426)

Irreplaceable – Day 684

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Sheila and her Sage – Photo: L. Weikel

Irreplaceable

As I struggle to find words to express my feelings tonight, ‘irreplaceable’ keeps spiraling to the surface.

Happy Pups: Spartacus (l) and Sheila (r) – Photo: L. Weikel

She came into our lives in October 2004 and changed our family forever.

Sheila – Queen of the Household – Photo: L. Weikel

We thought we knew love before we met our Sheila. Boy, were we in for a surprise.

Speaking of Watchers… – Photo: L. Weikel

There just aren’t any words for me to share with you tonight.

Inseparable Mother & Son – Photo: L. Weikel

This photo of Sheila and Spartacus snuggled together almost inseparably, has them facing a wall hanging we got after Karl died. In stumbling upon this tonight, I think she is letting me know we listened to her…by letting her go.  It says:

In the end what matters most is

How well did you live

How well did you love

How well did you learn

To let go

Irreplaceable – Photo: L. Weikel

Beloved Sheila: 9/17/2004 – 9/25/2020

(T-427)

#WWRBGD – Day 677

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Photo: L.Weikel

#WWRBGD

What a blow to our already stressed collective psyche. I’m referring, of course, to our loss this evening of the iconic Ruth Bader Ginsburg, second female Supreme Court Justice of this United States of America, to the unrelenting ravages of cancer. As soon as the world knew of her passing, my phone lit up in reaction to the profound grief so many of my friends, family, and colleagues are feeling in this moment. It is as if 2020 refuses to relent. We’re being pounded into submission, forced to face head-on the stark reality – and profundity – of the choices facing us. And in the face of our grief, in the face of these choices, I ask: #WWRBGD?

Let me be clear: I am not being glib or cute in asking the question. Perhaps asking the question in the form of a hashtag lends it a more pedestrian patina than I’d like, but I actually think the fierce, dynamic champion of human rights would chuckle. After all, she embraced her status as ‘the Notorious RGB,’ and she undoubtedly knew of the hashtag #WWJD. It seems only fitting that #WWRGBD take its rightful place as a question the answer to which might guide our actions in the days to come.

I ask the question, #WWRGBD, because it is too easy for us to get lost in grief and lose our focus on what’s truly important. Yes, her life had historic significance and impact. And goodness knows, she fought an Herculean battle to remain on the bench until, ideally, a new president could be elected.

But it wasn’t meant to be.

We Must Not Give Up

And when I consider how tenaciously she fought throughout her life, not only for equality, fairness, and justice under the law, but also to model collegiality, open-heartedness, integrity, and grace, I cannot imagine us demeaning her efforts by giving up the fight to soundly defeat Donald Trump and his enablers in the House and Senate.

We must not give up. We must not surrender to grief or despondency. We know what’s at stake and we must use her death as a rallying cry, a rod that stiffens our spines, and a torch that leads us to do whatever it takes to reclaim our country and the principles and values upon which it stands.

When our energy flags, when we are slapped in the face yet again with the hypocrisy of the Mitch McConnells, Donald Trumps, William Barrs, and Ted Cruzes (just to name a few), we must stop and ask ourselves: #WWRBGD?

I have no doubt that she would tell us to suck it up and move forward. In my mind, that’s the best way we can honor her memory and her legacy.

(T-434)

 

Birthday – Day 641

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Blueberry-lemon birthday cake – Photo: L. Weikel

Birthday

Some of you may have caught on to the deeper meaning when I wished you a “Happy 13th of August” last night. In spite of the foundation upon which all of my posts are founded (my 1111 Devotion), I try not to be too maudlin about the life (and death) of my eldest son, Karl Daniel. But whether I mention it or not, August 13th will always be the anniversary of his birthday.

Every year is a little bit different. And it doesn’t progress in a linear fashion, believe me. If it did, I’d be breathing a sigh of relief, knowing that every single year would bring me just that little bit less sadness, just a slightly diminished tendency to wonder what his life would be like now, who he’d be, what he’d be doing in the world right now.

But life isn’t like that. Death isn’t like that. When it first hits you, especially as a parent enduring that freaking nightmare of losing a child (regardless of whether they’re 3 months, 3 years, or 30 years when they die) most of us feel we might very well lose our minds before ever coming to terms with the reality of losing our baby forever.

For most of us, though, the searing pain at first loss that we feel will never ease, never diminish (indeed, that we vow we’ll never let go of – for to lose that edge will somehow, we feel, lessen the importance of their life to both us and to the world) inexplicably does. And honestly, at least for me, it was involuntary. I did not want to lose that edge.

Life Goes On

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I wanted to wear that loss on my vest and claim it as a defining, debilitating, characteristic of my life. The exact opposite, as a matter of fact. I wanted the gaping hole in my heart that belongs to my eldest son to spur me on to helping others cope with their grief when faced with similar loss.

So as we’re told in lyrics and poems, life goes on. We rail against it, when the loss is fresh. We secretly damn the people who tell us ‘time heals all wounds’ – most of the ones who say that have never felt the sense of having a phantom limb haunting us that losing one of our children creates. They think losing a parent is the same thing.

It’s not.

They think losing a sibling is the same thing.

It’s not.

Forgiveness

But ultimately, we have to extend to the people around us the most exquisite (and sometimes hardest to come by) gift: forgiveness. Most are doing the best they can to comfort us at a time when we’re experiencing something that simply blows their minds. And at the same time, it’s incumbent upon us to extend that same olive branch of forgiveness to our very own selves.

Yes, eventually – even if we try really hard to keep it at the forefront and make our lives center around it – the nearly unbearable pain of losing our child will eventually withdraw into the background of our lives. It’s at once surprising, unsettling, sad, and a relief. And a little guilt-inducing as well.

If we really loved them, would we ever allow ourselves to lose that edge? It’s a question that has a hollow and unsatisfactory answer.

My Point

The point I started to make when I began this post was that you just never know when the grief is going to sneak up behind you and clobber you over the head.

Upon waking this morning I felt a genuine heaviness around my heart. I’d sensed Karl ‘around’ a couple days earlier, but didn’t particularly feel him today. When I did notice him a few days ago, it made me realize that his ‘visits,’ if you can even call them that, are much more infrequent nowadays. And while I can appreciate that this happens, and why, it nevertheless makes me sad.

So I decided to bake a cake. What the heck. For 30 years I’d made a point of baking (or procuring) two cakes within the span of one week, since his father’s birthday is only four days before my son’s.

Only this time I decided to make something totally different. A vanilla cake. (I’ve never made one of those before. Not even once!) And it would have blueberries and lemon going on to make it special and festive. I rationalized that this would be the type of cake I’d buy at my favorite bakery, Crossroads, and almost certainly did for not a few birthdays over the years.

So here it is. The fruit of my reminiscing about my son and celebrating what should have been his 39th birthday today.

Never assume that just because it’s been a bunch of years since the loss of a child that their memory and how much they are missed has diminished.

Looks sloppy, but tastes yummy – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-470)

Grackle Medicine – Part 2 – Day 575

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Incoming! Share! – Photo: L. Weikel

Grackle Medicine – Part 2

Knowing a good thing when they’ve found it, several grackles continued to frequent our feeders today. While they did become a bit petulant and mouthy as the afternoon grew long and the peanut coil emptied, this only reinforced my commitment to sharing with you the message of Grackle Medicine – Part 2!

And so it was that, when I checked my trusted and dog-eared copy of Ted Andrews’s Animal Speak*, the entry for Grackle made my jaw drop. I will synopsize here:

Grackle –

Keynote: Overcoming Excess and Emotional Life Congestion – Cycle of Power: Early Spring

Although the grackle is often considered part of the blackbird family, along with crows and starlings, it actually is not. It is part of the meadowlark and oriole family of birds. It is a large black bird with an extra-long tail. About its head and shoulders are iridescent feathers that change from blue to green to purple or bronze, depending on the light.

This coloring often reflects a need for those to whom the grackle comes to look at what is going on in their life differently. It says that situations are not what they appear to be and you may not be looking at them correctly – particularly anything dealing with the emotions.

Keep in mind that black is the color of the inner and the feminine. The purple and bronze coloring about the head especially usually indicates that emotions are coloring our thinking process. The grackle can help us to correct this.

During courting season, the male grackle will fold its tail, creating a diamond-like trough. This diamond shape is often reflective of activation. It hints at a need to become active in regards to emotional situations. Have we been too passive in our emotions? Are we simply rehashing and talking about them without doing anything to correct the emotional situations of our life? The grackle is a noisy, chattering bird and may be a reminder to quit talking and do something.

(…)

Grackles have inside their mouths on the hard palate a keel which helps them cut open acorns and eat them. We have often heard the expression, “It’s a tough nut to crack.” Well, this reflects the role a grackle can serve as a totem. Dealing constructively with our emotions and those people and things in our life which aggravate them can be a tough nut to crack. The grackle can show us how to do this.

Grackles love to live in pine trees. Pine trees are very therapeutic to emotional states. In a form of homeopathic medicine known as flower essences, the essence of pine can be used to help alleviate strong emotional states, particularly feelings of guilt. Again this reflects the grackle showing up as a sign to help you clear the emotions.

Emotions that are not dealt with can congest our life, aggravating or even creating congestion in the body at some level. The grackle can serve as a warning to be careful of this possibility, but it can also help show us how to prevent it from occurring. The droppings of grackles can serve to culture fungi which, if the wind blows, can cause a pneumonia-like infection.**

Most illness is symbolic. Congestion, especially pneumonia-like in appearance, can tell us that we are holding in our emotions. It can reflect a suppressed crying or a refusal to deal with certain long-standing problems and issues. (Have we neglected situations, giving them time to be cultured?) It can reflect a refusal to take in new life and new approaches to life, and so we become congested with old emotions.

The grackle shows us how to handle this. It can teach the proper expression of emotions. They can show us where excesses are dissipating our life force and facilitating a congestion of growth and movement. They can teach how to get back to creative and beneficial experiences and expressions of emotion.”

Grackle sampling – Photo: L. Weikel

So Many Take-Aways

Hmm. Wow. A lot of the information contained in this entry set bells a-ringing and whistles a-blowing for me.

First of all, who can deny that emotional overload hasn’t been an increasingly powerful factor in our lives as Covid-19 took root in our country? Since none of us have faced anything like this pandemic in our lifetime, we don’t have a first-hand frame of reference with which to deal with it. So our emotions are all over the place. And when we don’t know what to do with them, they clog up our systems; we become congested with emotion.

Secondly, I had to laugh at the admonition: “The grackle is a noisy, chattering bird and may be a reminder to quit talking and do something.” Umm, yeah. Point taken. Indeed, I think we’re all realizing the importance of action over words. Social distancing. Wearing face masks. We either do it or we don’t.

Biggest Confluence of Meaning

But almost immediately, I see how much more Grackle’s message applies in a cultural sense, in light of the George Floyd/Black Lives Matter eruption over the past two weeks. Indeed, it was easy to draw parallels between our current social experience vis-à-vis guilt and facing hard emotional lessons (tough nuts to crack) in the first several paragraphs.

But I nearly fell over when both the trauma of the pandemic and the trauma of systemic racism in our nation dovetailed in the paragraphs on illness. It is as if Grackle was signaling me with flares and sirens that our current experiences are a perfect storm for transformation. We must process our emotions instead of deflecting and burying and denying them as we have, as a culture, for 400 years.

The pandemic is a symptom of the guilt and shame we carry, collectively, over the shameful act of exploiting others based on the color of their skin. And this infection is, in a sense, carried on the wind (which is why face masks protect us all), yet the brutality and inhumanity we are confronting now has been carried on the winds of time.

A Lot to Contemplate

I’ve read this information by Ted Andrews over and over since I finally succumbed to Grackle’s insistence that I pay attention. And I keep gleaning additional perspectives and tidbits of information that can help us all navigate this cultural storm.

Probably one of the most important concepts we can all apply to our experiences at this point is something one of my most beloved teachers, Puma Fredy Quispe Singona, suggested in a FB broadcast today: We must take care of ourselves as we deal with these great changes. And beyond that, we must remember that Mother Earth is here for us. She wants to support us; she loves us; she stands with us; and she is always there to ‘back us up.’

Grackle – Yum – Photo: L. Weikel

*affiliate link
**Clement, Roland C. The Living World of Audubon (New York: Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, 1974) p. 254.

(T-536)

We Can’t Breathe – Day 563

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Photo: L. Weikel

We Can’t Breathe

This will not be a long post.

I spent the better part of this evening celebrating something wonderful – the third anniversary of my middle son’s marriage to my daughter-in-law Tiffany. We love each other. We maintained safe distance between us and they did not even come into our home. Rather, we sat outside enjoying the smell of freshly cut grass, the flicker of lots of candles on the porch, and the ribets of what must be massive bullfrogs in the pond behind our barn.

We used to be able to see each other often – once a week, if we were lucky. Tonight was only the second time in three months that all four of us were within twelve feet of each other at the same time.

A Realization

But while I was lucky enough to be able to celebrate this anniversary with my family, so many other people are suffering unimaginable and utterly senseless loss. And the thought of what those other people are feeling and experiencing takes my breath away.

I do not say this lightly.  For days and days following my son Karl’s death in 2011, I would find myself feeling as though there was a huge invisible weight on my chest. I’d never felt anything like it – even after my own parents had died. This grief was different.

As I may have written last night, when I watched the video of the incident in Central Park and then saw the still photos (and read the description) of what happened to George Floyd, I started feeling that weight in my chest again. It is as if the world is so heavy and so unimaginably cruel that it’s impossible to take another breath.

The Microcosm and the Macrocosm

After our celebration this evening, I came inside and watched some reporting on MSNBC. I watched the interview by Lawrence O’Donnell of George Floyd’s sister, Bridget Floyd. And I felt that weight again. I saw her shirt with her brother’s last words, “I can’t breathe.”

I remembered the words of the man in NYC, Eric Garner, who also said, “I can’t breathe,” and was killed by NYC police officers.

They are the microcosm. The macrocosm, I realized tonight, is the coronavirus, the root of Covid-19. How do I arrive at that? What are all of the people dying from Covid-19 feeling before they die? “I can’t breathe.” What do they say when they arrive in the emergency departments of hospitals all over the world? “I can’t breathe.” What is the state they are in when they’re put on ventilators? They can’t breathe.

Our world – but in particular our country – can no longer breathe. We are choking on our own injustice, inhumanity, greed, systemic racism, and simple cruelty.

Yes, it hit me tonight. There’s a theme to all of the suffering we’re seeing play out around us and within our homes, families, communities, and countries. We can’t breathe with the continued injustice we’re witnessing and experiencing.

We can’t breathe with the overwhelming cruelty we’re witnessing day in and day out, perpetrated by our supposed leaders and elected representatives. We can’t breathe if their actions truly reflect our hearts. Because there’s no way anyone can breathe and endure this awful, unbelievable, grief.

We must find a way to heal this. I know we can. But first, we must each take a deep breath ourselves. Feel that life force enter our bodies and ask how we can help others breathe, too.

(T-548)

Binge-Eating – Day 441

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The evidence – Photo: L. Weikel

Binge-Eating

You caught me.

I don’t know what’s come over me as I sit here trying to think of something to write this evening. But yikes, it’s not pretty.

I’ve been sitting here on my couch, contemplating the thoughts parading through my head, writing a sentence here and a paragraph there. Then deleting them, one after another.

I’ve written about Kobe Bryant and his daughter, Gianna. I’ve written about a crucial fact that we all live with, but barely any of us acknowledge truthfully and head on: in spite of our best laid plans, it can all be over in the blink of an eye.

I’ve been sitting here thinking about Kobe’s wife and other daughters. How when they woke up this morning, none of them knew their lives would be changed irrevocably, forever.

True For All of Us

But let’s face it: that’s true for all of us. At any moment, everything could change for any one of us – or for all of us, for that matter.

And yes, many of us have already experienced nightmarish events in which everything has changed in the blink of an eye. But that fact doesn’t make it any easier to witness it happening to someone else. Just because I’ve felt the horror of receiving the phone call we all dread doesn’t mean I’d wish it on anyone else.

Indeed, it makes me grieve all the more for the survivors. It makes me think of the families of the people who were killed on that Ukrainian airliner that was shot down a few weeks ago. Those people have to deal with the utter senselessness of that tragedy.

It makes me wonder what we’re going to witness when our greatest hopes are challenged by our worst fears later this week, when weak-willed people potentially fail to heed the call of our future ancestors to do what’s right instead of what’s politically expedient for their own selfish ends.

So I Binge

I hold out hope that those representing us in Washington will seize this time of the new moon and think beyond themselves, beyond their fears of getting primaried, beyond their fear of being bullied and ridiculed by the least among us (who also happen to hold the most power at the moment).

And since I can only hold fast to my hope that the people who’ve been elected to the Senate have a deep and abiding love for our system and for the solemn responsibility they hold to all of us, I embody that hope by imagining them digging deep and holding strong to our collective core values.

I hold that vision. That, and binge-eat peanuts.

I don’t know about you, but I consider peanuts in the shell to be terribly addictive. Worse than potato chips.

And so I pound them down. (I should never succumb to that first one. Therein lies the key.)

Eating. It’s such an essential aspect of life and living; an affirmation that we’re still here. And as long as we’re here, we must hold fast to our hope. For ourselves and for each other.

New Moon and Venus – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-670)

Moments and Memories – Day 215

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Norah Claire Guerke – my great niece; Photo: A. Guerke

Moments and Memories

I know there are certain members of my family who, right this moment, are ever so slowly, achingly, marking the minutes and hours of their lives now – tonight and into tomorrow, in particular – as they remember and relive those same moments that unfolded exactly a year ago.

This marking of seminal moments in our lives, this remembering each second and minute as precisely as we can (even though our experience of them may have been blurred by the impossibility and horror of what was unfolding as it was happening) is inevitable. It is, I suspect, a sacred ritual that happens universally. It is an honoring; a witnessing of what was. A ritual of remembrance and cherishing.

As I think about my eldest nephew and his wife, my niece, I know they are remembering the last hours they had with their little girl, their daughter who was only 110 days old. They are remembering, as best as they can, the way that last evening they spent with her unfolded. The feel of her hand gripping their fingers as they held her on their laps, laughing, their family watching tv and just being together on a Friday night. Remembering her almond shaped eyes and wise little smile; her baby smell. They’re recalling the irreplaceable feeling of cradling her in their arms as they took her upstairs. How they placed her gently in her crib that night and tiptoed out of her room, never imagining – at that moment –what lay ahead.

We do this. As humans, we replay those moments. We both savor them and allow them to torture us in the exquisite way love does.

I know they’ve been dreading this ‘anniversary’ for weeks. It seems impossible, in some ways, that a year has passed. The pain of their loss is so deep, so take-your-breath-away awful, that it often feels like it happened only yesterday. And yet, a year has passed. There is a difference to the pain.

A Testament to Our Love

We think it won’t change. There’s a part of us that vows it won’t. Somehow, even the thought of our searing pain becoming anything less than that driven-to-the-edge-of-madness-and-despair that’s engulfed us feels like a betrayal. We tell ourselves that we will never forget. We will honor and carry that pain as a testament to our love.

But then we realize, yes; the pain does shift. It must. It takes on a different color, a different hue.

As they are noting each peaceful series of ‘lasts’ tonight, and then tomorrow, marking each excruciating step in the process of losing their precious Norah, they are honoring her. They are honoring their journey, as well. And through this ritual of marking the moments and honoring the memories, they will feel an almost imperceptible sense of relief.

As this weekend passes, and they tick off each moment, each memory, they will begin to sense an almost intangible – yet undeniable – lifting of the overwhelming heaviness that has been the cloak of grief weighing down every step they’ve taken over the past year. Perhaps only the weight of a feather will be removed; but if they pay attention, they will feel it.

Rituals of Remembrance

And that is Norah’s gift. It is the gift that each of our loved ones gives us when they’ve left us behind, wondering how we’ll cope without them, how we’ll manage to make it through even one more minute, one more hour, one more day without them.

They witness our rituals of remembrance and cherishing, and their love and our love somehow meet and merge and cause a slight breeze to wash over us, like the breath of a kiss, swirling away a little bit of that stone cold heaviness that threatened our own will to live.

We think we’re dishonoring their memory to allow the searing pain to shift into a different expression. There’s a part of us that swore we’d never let them down; never lose that edge. But they want us to. They want us to live on, remembering them – and celebrating that we had that time together in this lifetime.

Love never dies.

Photo: L. Weikel

(T-896)

Responsibility – Day 127

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March Sunset – Photo: L. Weikel

Responsibility         

I have a confession to make. I feel as though I’ve shirked a responsibility that I take quite seriously. And yet, the act itself harkens back to a different time in our my life.

Tonight, Karl and I chose to refrain from watching any news on television.

Perhaps that sounds weird. I suppose it’s possible for people to be living life without paying much attention to what’s happening on the national and international stage. But for me? That feels irresponsible.

Actually, I’m feeling a swing of reactions, from a calm sense of relief that I’m not immersed in the world of politics and upsetting news of violence and hate crimes that seem more apropos of Escape from LA than it should be to live in the world in March 2019, to a foreboding sense of moral responsibility.

I’m pretty sure I’ve written about this before. It may have been another evening when I allowed myself to indulge in the sweetness of silence by turning off our television. Yes indeed, I’m pretty sure I even called my post Evening Silence.

Not One Minute Today

Tonight is a little different than that night. In fact, while I haven’t kept meticulous track of my viewing habits, I bet this is the first weeknight I’ve not watched even one minute of news since I began my 1111 Devotion back in November. Wait. That might not be precisely true. The holidays of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day, and possibly Thanksgiving, I think I may have abstained as well. But holidays are like weekends: major world or life events that demand our attention just aren’t supposed to happen on those days.

Of course, we all know that’s not true; it’s not reality. But we pretend it is.

As a result, as a direct consequence of that pretending, I rarely think twice about what’s going on “out there” on weekends and holidays.

But wow. Today is a regular workday. It is a day that falls on the heels of some wretched events that simply make me want to weep. We are being forced to contemplate the nth degree of cruelty that humans inflict upon each other. And it’s happening over and over again, seemingly day after day. And it hurts.

Have I Hit My Saturation Point?

I’m a bit concerned that I’m reaching my saturation point. That concerns me, because it feels like succumbing to that sense of precipitous overload is playing directly into a nefarious agenda. An agenda being set by those who would have us live lives based in fear rather than on love and compassion.

It will be interesting to see how Karl and I choose to spend our evening tomorrow. Will we make it two weeknights in a row without watching the news? I doubt it.

I guess we’ll see.

In the meantime, I feel my responsibility in this moment is to not watch the news. Rather, it is to do whatever I need to do to keep the faith. To hold the center for anyone or anything I can, in order to help us all survive this onslaught of division, fear, and yes – terror.

Holding Our Center – In Grief – With Ritual and Respect

To that end, in case you haven’t seen this gut-wrenching and culturally unique (but pan-cultural in its impact upon us when we witness it) tribute to the grief being felt in New Zealand, I am offering it here.

I dare you to watch this young man and not be moved. I challenge you to witness these students performing this ancient ritual and not sense our common knowing, deep within our bones, that what is happening to one country or culture is happening to us all.

It is our responsibility to feel the tears of our souls, even if they express themselves as a lump in our throat or a clenching in our stomach. No matter how the tears show up for you, feel them. It is our responsibility – to ourselves and to each other.

(T-984)