Time. Supposedly it heals all wounds. The jury is still out on this as far as I am concerned.
Tomorrow marks nineteen weeks since you died and while I could argue that I am better in some ways, the absolute reverse is also true. I lack clarity of purpose or even just sufficient reason to do anything, at all. And it's not depression that grips me in this lack of ambition and drive. It's indecision. I don't know how I want to reemerge into the world and what I can bring of value to share. Your death has triggered a fundamental shake-up of my entire priority scheme. Things that used to matter to me, well, they just don't anymore. This would be good if I'm talking about ridding myself of unwanted or useless habits and thoughts. But when I don't have the mojo to move back into a productive life, when nothing compels or intrigues me beyond strolling about in nature and writing prose or poetry, I have to wonder how I'll ever pay for my living again. How or when will I ever decide on a course and take those first declarative steps that return me to an engaged and serviceful life?
I am trying to stay open and tuned-in to hear the call from my heart, the call that connects me to the highest good and lays the path forward into conscious living. It's hard to know what I am hearing or seeing by way of a message to lead me back into Life when grief muffles my hearing and clouds my vision.
My life before you died was intense and densely populated with opportunity and vision and daring. I instigated and convened, innovated, argued and intrigued. I danced a wild dance with charismatic people in interesting places. But now, I look on that level of activity and shudder. Where was my heart in all of that? Who was I serving? Why was I running at such a pace? Was I happy? Did I cause harm? What the hell was I doing out so many nights? What did I miss that I wish I hadn't now?
I am standing on the precipice looking into that swirling eddy that is the remnants of my so-called life and, frankly, it scares me. The new me is at once too fragile for the rough-shod world and yet has no tolerance for bullshit and is willing to tell someone to stick it (in a most loving way, of course).
I still don't have much mental or emotional stamina. Four or five hours of work is all I can muster before I get a terrible headache or choking anxiety grips me. It's like the drain in the bottom of my pool of reserves is continuously open and no matter how much it rains, the pool will not fill. I carry grief with me like a two-ton stone tied around my neck. It is inescapable and threatens to drown, choke or crush me at any moment.
Right now the stone is terribly unwieldy. Juggling and balancing it makes me tired and exasperated. There is no comfortable way to move about with this burden. I have to learn to carry the weight gracefully since it is my new constant companion. This stone is chiseled with your name, birth and death dates, just as the truth of your death is now carved deeply into my life. There is no alternative to learning to bear this weight, unless I elect to stop living, that is. And I do want to live, with joy and dedication to usefulness and beauty. Perhaps time doesn't heal this wound, but will eventually allow me to set this Millstone of Grief in a new way. Perhaps I can learn to use it as a keystone in a new archway, the centerpiece of a new doorway into living. Repurposed into being a keystone, it not only lessens its weight but the weight of other burdens, as well. Something to think about, to use the weight of grief to leverage against life's many obstacles and travails would be a blessing, indeed.
As I explore the inner landscape in search of clues to where my heart may lead, I continually test the stability of the ground beneath new possibilities. Ideas arise, and I give them some attention, frame them up with language, set them sailing into the world through electronic mail, phone calls or personal conversations. So far, nothing has stuck. Nothing is singing and dancing on the horizon just begging me to come and DO THIS! So, I have picked a few things, modest things, to do that are designed to help me rebuild the muscle of my resolve. In some part of me, I am worried about energetic atrophy, that my mental and emotional bodies have not been working out enough in these practical and worldly ways, and that I may lose my ability to engage at all. Part of me is worried, yes. And part of me wonders if it's such a bad thing to melt so softly into the source of peace and just dwell there. Just BE there. Not DO-ing anything. Something else to think about, what's so important about doing anything if it doesn't bring love and light into the world?
Yesterday you regaled me with cardinals while Lady and I were out walking. And today a beautiful cardinal couple seems to have selected our cedar tree to be their home for the season. I have never been so happy to see a bird in my whole life as I was to see those cardinals today. I feel that you brought them my way as I contemplate the wide-open terrain before me. It is a gray day, again, a day that calls me to look inside and still in stillness. Which way will I go? What calls to me across the horizon to set course and take steps to travel there?
In the 23rd Psalm it says, "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, For thou art with me." Most people take heart in the "thou art with me" part of this psalm, I am drawn to the part that says "I walk through the valley." Walk through. Don't stop and set up camp. Definitely don't stop to build a cabin and hang fucking curtains. Keep walking, fear not. The cardinals and a million other signs are proof that you are with me, Thor. The Grace that showers upon me and my life is evidence that the Lord is with me. Maybe I don't have to worry at all about where I am going. I need to remain open, a vessel for love and light, walking, showing up when I can and being willing to share whatever is happening in each moment as it unfolds.
23rd Psalm (KJV)
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
For the faithful, and I consider myself to be full of faith, goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life. Huh. This is where I learn to reconcile "What is GOODNESS?" "What is MERCY?" with the terrible fact of your death. Something else to ponder as time ticks on. Still not sure if it can ever heal this wound, or will at the very least see me learn to bear it. I just have to keep walking, juggling, balancing, praying, crying, writing, loving and hoping, Thor.
I still don't have much mental or emotional stamina. Four or five hours of work is all I can muster before I get a terrible headache or choking anxiety grips me. It's like the drain in the bottom of my pool of reserves is continuously open and no matter how much it rains, the pool will not fill. I carry grief with me like a two-ton stone tied around my neck. It is inescapable and threatens to drown, choke or crush me at any moment.
Right now the stone is terribly unwieldy. Juggling and balancing it makes me tired and exasperated. There is no comfortable way to move about with this burden. I have to learn to carry the weight gracefully since it is my new constant companion. This stone is chiseled with your name, birth and death dates, just as the truth of your death is now carved deeply into my life. There is no alternative to learning to bear this weight, unless I elect to stop living, that is. And I do want to live, with joy and dedication to usefulness and beauty. Perhaps time doesn't heal this wound, but will eventually allow me to set this Millstone of Grief in a new way. Perhaps I can learn to use it as a keystone in a new archway, the centerpiece of a new doorway into living. Repurposed into being a keystone, it not only lessens its weight but the weight of other burdens, as well. Something to think about, to use the weight of grief to leverage against life's many obstacles and travails would be a blessing, indeed.
As I explore the inner landscape in search of clues to where my heart may lead, I continually test the stability of the ground beneath new possibilities. Ideas arise, and I give them some attention, frame them up with language, set them sailing into the world through electronic mail, phone calls or personal conversations. So far, nothing has stuck. Nothing is singing and dancing on the horizon just begging me to come and DO THIS! So, I have picked a few things, modest things, to do that are designed to help me rebuild the muscle of my resolve. In some part of me, I am worried about energetic atrophy, that my mental and emotional bodies have not been working out enough in these practical and worldly ways, and that I may lose my ability to engage at all. Part of me is worried, yes. And part of me wonders if it's such a bad thing to melt so softly into the source of peace and just dwell there. Just BE there. Not DO-ing anything. Something else to think about, what's so important about doing anything if it doesn't bring love and light into the world?
Yesterday you regaled me with cardinals while Lady and I were out walking. And today a beautiful cardinal couple seems to have selected our cedar tree to be their home for the season. I have never been so happy to see a bird in my whole life as I was to see those cardinals today. I feel that you brought them my way as I contemplate the wide-open terrain before me. It is a gray day, again, a day that calls me to look inside and still in stillness. Which way will I go? What calls to me across the horizon to set course and take steps to travel there?
In the 23rd Psalm it says, "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, For thou art with me." Most people take heart in the "thou art with me" part of this psalm, I am drawn to the part that says "I walk through the valley." Walk through. Don't stop and set up camp. Definitely don't stop to build a cabin and hang fucking curtains. Keep walking, fear not. The cardinals and a million other signs are proof that you are with me, Thor. The Grace that showers upon me and my life is evidence that the Lord is with me. Maybe I don't have to worry at all about where I am going. I need to remain open, a vessel for love and light, walking, showing up when I can and being willing to share whatever is happening in each moment as it unfolds.
23rd Psalm (KJV)
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
For the faithful, and I consider myself to be full of faith, goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life. Huh. This is where I learn to reconcile "What is GOODNESS?" "What is MERCY?" with the terrible fact of your death. Something else to ponder as time ticks on. Still not sure if it can ever heal this wound, or will at the very least see me learn to bear it. I just have to keep walking, juggling, balancing, praying, crying, writing, loving and hoping, Thor.
I love you,
Mom
Mom
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