Heavy

“Though I live, yet am I not, since my sweet hazel-nut has fallen’ since my dear love departed, bare and empty is the dark world.” – Muireadhach Albanach, Irish Bardic Poetry

Sometimes grief is so heavy that it's hard to even breathe

After the death of a loved one, we no longer walk the same earth as everyone else. Part of us lingers at the frontier of death’s domain, looking into its unknown distance for signs that the soul is safely over, or for comforting messages that will assure us that we are not really, finally alone.

The sudden loss of someone vital to our life’s story means that our own story may be whirled out of context into total disorientation or petrified into a stasis wherein time no longer runs at the same speed as it does for others. Since every daily action, every piece of forward planning, necessitates the painful realization of how different life will be from now on, how lonely, how impossible, time and our progress through it alter our perceptions completely. Personally, I feel as if my perception has never been the same.

The world felt big, empty and dark for far too long.

Have I mentioned how much I love my job? I do very much and my favorite part is the few friendships I’ve made with folks who are healing from such an intense ordeal. A patient shared something written by his son that described knowing, but not wanting to acknowledge that his world would never be the same again. This part really hit me, “There, I felt that dark, dark little weight. It was in the corner of your heart, where what you find distasteful, what you hate, goes. I pushed it away, didn’t want to feel that weight, didn’t want there to be anything wrong.” On a brief side note, those words were written by a young teenaged boy. If you’re not amazed you should be.

I kept turning that passage over in my mind, struck by how he managed to capture that heavy sense of dread one feels with the loss of someone so integral to your own existence. I remember how I felt when I found my father dead. Even as a girl so young, I knew that something was wrong, something was about to turn my entire perfect world upside down and I was very upset. After beating the walls in an attempt to wake him I fell to the ground in an exhausted slump, crying. I felt so heavy. I felt that weight. I remember when I was told he was gone and I still couldn’t quite grasp the finality that he would no longer be there to sing to me, to hold me, to tell me everything would be okay.

I reacted similarly at his funeral. I just couldn't let him go.

As I was remembering these events in my life, I was walking with the hound through a cemetery near my apartment. It’s a beautiful place. I felt myself tear up. This time it wasn’t so much of a longing for my father, but a sadness I felt for that little girl who knew she would never experience that kind of unconditional love again – the little girl who was left alone in the world. I was grieving her experience.

I wish I could tell her that it will be okay. 

I noticed people around and quickly told myself to push those feelings down and bury them. I’m now slightly chiding myself for that. I was in a cemetery; people grieve there. Even if I wasn’t in a cemetery and needed to ball my eyes out, so be it. I don’t care if the world looks at me as if I’m a madwoman. I can’t live my life burying feelings forever.

As we continued walking a dog ran up to me that had a striking resemblance to Cassie. This made my eyes tear up again. She’s been on my mind lately. Such a sweet, beautiful little being that came into my life and changed it forever.

One of life's greatest gifts: My sweet little girl who never posed for the camera.

I keep reminding myself to stay in this present moment, reflecting gratefully on who is in my life here and now. The love of my life is a basset hound and I get the best greetings when I get home every day. I have friendships that I value and am learning to cut out what is emotionally and psychically damaging to me. I am close to my brother and know he’s always in my corner. My growing women’s hiking therapy group where we vent and let our dogs run free. And then there’s this guy who grieves as I do and we’ve spent our time encouraging and building up the other. The companionship he’s given me over the last few weeks is unique and meaningful.

Learning to treasure the memories instead of reliving them.

These are the things that deserve my focus. Of course those that have parted from my life are not forgotten, I’m simply making a conscious decision to remember them and simultaneously being done with grieving because my memories of them are what's important now - not that they are no longer in my life. I still hope to see them in the next one. 

Everything and Nothing

“Believe in nothing, no matter where you read it, or who said it, no matter if I have said it, unless it agrees with your own reason and common sense.” - Buddha

When it comes to healing, I’ve noticed that I’m really only working towards it when I feel tormented. I think I would make a heck of a lot more progress if I were spending time filling my arsenal when I actually have control of my senses. My solution is more self-care. I’ve been stretched way too thin for the last three months and have decided that I need to make more time for myself. It feels like a circus sometimes: appeasing everyone in your life, juggling a full time job in addition to weekend work (I’ve added it all up and it amounts to about 60 hours a week), my dogs, my family, my boyfriend and a hobby that I love, but my boyfriend does not. Half the time I’m just too exhausted to remember what I’m doing, why I’m there and what conversation has literally just taken place between me and another. While it pains me to do so, I’ve had to practice the use of ‘no’ and standing my ground when it comes to allowing myself outlets that contribute to my sense of wellbeing. I imagine when I can finally manage to get my life somewhere near where I’d like it to be, I can strap down and do some of the more in depth healing work – even though the thought of it scares me.

“Let me not pray to be sheltered from dangers, but to be fearless in facing them. Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain, but for the heart to conquer it.” - Tagore

Diseases of the soul are more dangerous than those of the body.

I stumbled across a book recently that has turned out to be a gold mine for healing from trauma, appropriately titled, “The Trauma Toolkit”. The author, Susan Pease Banitt, talks about a central core that we all possess. It is an emotionless observer – the side of ourselves that is calm, watching, and entirely detached when our emotions are heightened out of fear or elation, and I imagine this is why time seems to stand still when we are in the midst of something traumatic. Banitt points to the psychological pioneers, Dr. Brian Weiss and Dr. Roger Woolger, whose extensive research in past life regression has affirmed that there is a part of our consciousness that is never born, never dies, exists outside of three-dimensional reality, and can never be hurt or wounded in any way.

“Meditation is the dissolution of thoughts in Eternal awareness or Pure consciousness without objectification, knowing without thinking, merging finitude in infinity.” - Volatire

I’ve acknowledged that this is something I need to believe. I need to believe that the people I’ve loved so fondly in this life were with me from the very beginning in whatever lives led up to this one and that I’ll find them again in the next. I need to believe that there is a part of us that exists outside of space and time, and this is part of the reason I still feel connected to my father and my grandmother – and somehow this is what has allowed me to have conversations with them when I’m dreaming.

There was a dream I had about my father. I saw him across the room at some sort of social gathering. He was the same age as I am now, which would be a true fact if he had somehow been frozen in time when he died so long ago. I began to argue with him. He couldn’t possibly be real; he was dead. This was his response, “I don’t know who lied to you. I’m not dead. I’ve only been gone for a while.” It still gives me goose bumps, even as I type these words, because that was such a profound message to me. He exists somewhere else, and I exist with him there.

Somewhere across space and time - another celestial shore.

I need to believe in this observant consciousness because I have no other way of explaining why I am unphased by so many, yet I can have inexplicably deep connections with others. My heart leapt at the sight of Pavarti. My soul knew hers, yet we had grown up in entirely different times and continents. I felt something stir in the deepest part of my soul when I met my boyfriend. I had no words for it and even still I struggle to describe it. A running joke between us is that we’ve been dating for ten years. While this is far from true, it certainly feels that way . . . and it kinda looks that way when others watch how he and I interact with each other. There are some that would say this could all be chalked up to chemistry, pheromones, hormones, proximity, Fate, God, the Universe, and so on. I’m, sure those are part of the puzzle as well. However, anyone who claims to know the capacities of the human psyche and depths of the soul with absolute certainty is an arrogant fool. We can never possibly know for certain, can we? The only thing I can say with certainty is that there are certain things I need to believe because those beliefs are comforting to me. It’s comforting to think that the people I love so deeply have never and will never truly leave me.

"Our lives are not our own. We are bound to others, past and present, and by each crime and every kindness we birth our future." - Cloud Atlas

I need to believe in this form of consciousness because I have no other way of explaining how I can be perfectly content with doing everything and nothing into the wee hours of the morning with my boyfriend. I can’t picture a sweeter image. I can’t imagine a safer place than wrapped in his arms. I’ve never felt safer, more treasured, protected or adored. He is my happiness – just the thought of him brings a smile to my lips. I imagine it is this consciousness that makes any time spent away from him feel like eternity – some long drawn out and ancient form of torture. Perhaps it was this consciousness that made me want to run from him in the beginning because my own attraction was pulling me towards him with an intensity that I never knew; and maybe this consciousness will grant us another life together across another span of time.

Aquatic adventures! Remember when I took one for the team? 

“I didn’t want to give you the one last part of myself that I couldn’t take back . . . and then I realized it was already yours. It had been since the beginning.” – Lisa Kleypas, Dreaming of You

You believe it now, don't you? 

The Blessings We Don't See

“When we lose one blessing, another is often unexpectedly giving in its place” – C.S. Lewis

For every traumatic thing that I’ve had in my life, I’ve had an extremely profound, beautiful and miraculous story to match it. I only realized this in the wee hours of the morning when I stayed up talking with someone that is very dear to me. He was amazed at some of the life experiences I was sharing with him, particularly the one about me abandoned in Georgia.

I've felt pretty lost since I was left there. I'm still trying to find my way.

I wound up in Georgia just after my father died. My mother left me there with people who were strangers to me. My time there wasn’t bad, I was just heart broken, scared and longing for my family. I talked to the woman who cared for me about them. I remember her going through one phone book after another until she found my grandmother. That is arguably the most profound miracle of my life so far and if that’s not proof of some form of a divine plan from the universe or some form of higher power, I have no idea what is.

Something somewhere, someone somewhere, or Fate in my petty understanding of the Universe was looking out for me. 

I won’t do her justice with the words that follow, but I’ll try to describe my caregiver in Georgia. I haven’t seen her since she flew to California with me and brought me back into the arms of my grandmother. Her name is Myrna and she was a woman with a constant smile on her face. She had a closet that had an endless supply of bright blue muumuus. She lived and breathed in these muumuus. In fact, she worked out to Sweatin’ to the Oldies in the mornings in her muumuu. She was always in one of those bright blue things.

THIS guy. See that blue? Now I know where she got her fashion trend tips. 

Myrna was an endless giver. She made sandwiches to hand out to the construction workers who volunteered to repair the home of a community member after it was ripped to shreds by a tornado. She did this every day. Myrna was a lover of cats. If I remember correctly, she had around 18 of them. When it was feeding time and the herd of cats swarmed on the porch, she would count them and say out loud, “Sammy is missing.” To this day, that still amazes me.

For Pete's sake! I do well to remember my own pin code and this woman could remember the names of each of these cats.            

The determination and moral compass of one woman granted me another year with my grandmother and I’m eternally grateful for that. It’s hard for me to recognize these miraculous events in my life when I’m too consumed with telling myself what I failure and horrible human being I am. Some people know how to throw some knock out punches with their words. It was a mistake to even acknowledge those words because they came from a bad place – someone angry and bitter.

Myrna took me to visit a farm once. The farmhouse was a light shade of blue set on a backdrop of a sea of waving green grass that danced in the morning breeze. I could hear the long, lowing sounds of cows in the distance. The interior of the farmhouse was warm, an  inviting contrast from the brisk morning air. The aroma of cookies baking in the oven beckoned visitors to come inside. It seemed as if everything inside of the farmhouse was blue: the carpets which enveloped my bare feet, the flowered pattern on the yellow wallpaper, the dishes, the tablecloth, even the coffee pot.

I walked outside and stepped into the tall grass. I ran the stalks through my fingers as I trudged through it, the morning dew clinging to the palm of my hand. I felt lost in the middle of the emerald, pastured, sea; I wanted to be lost. I made my way over to the cows, reaching my small hand through the barbed wire fence. Cautiously, one approached, lowering her head to sniff my outstretched fingers. She let me brush her nose and I laughed with contentment. I heard my name called in the distance, and slowly made my way back to the blue farmhouse.

Driving home that evening, I was dazzled by the sight of fireflies leaping and glowing in the field. Because this was a new experience for me, Myrna pulled over and let me chase after fireflies for a few minutes. I caught one. It looked like fairy dust in my hands. I closed my eyes and made a wish. I had no knowledge of the validity of wishes, only that it gave me something to hold and hope for. I held the firefly in my hands, letting it illuminate my path back to the car. The memory of the firefly has stayed with me over the years and has served to remind me that a ray of light can be found even in the darkest of times, no matter how small it may be.   

Sometimes we need another perspective on our life experiences to make us realize how blessed we have been. For that, Mr. Object of My Affection Always Running 5 hours late – I thank you. You are an amazing human being. You are a rock even though you don't see it. Have you found me yet?

I'd say several lifetimes. 

“Reflect on your present blessings – of which every man has many – not on your past misfortunes, of which all men have some.” – Charles Dickens

Pavarthi

“The most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched, they must be felt with the heart.” ~ Helen Keller

I remember when I first saw her. My heart felt like leaping for joy out of my chest. It was as if I crossed paths with someone I knew from eons ago and loved deeply and had been separated from for a very long time. My soul knew her. I desperately wanted to hug her. Growing up in Western culture, I have been trained to respect the personal space of others and have long grown past the age of random hugging being perceived as acceptable. This is just not done because it comes across as creepy and, in extreme cases, can land someone with a harassment lawsuit.

We exchanged smiles and she introduced herself and welcomed me to the research lab. Her name is Pavarthi (pronounced just like ‘poverty’). I was left in awe of this mysterious woman in a sari who emanated such a vibrant light; in many ways she is one of the most beautiful creatures on earth.

A few days later, Pavarthi came to my desk and asked me to scan some documents for her. We started to chat. She told me an embarrassing story from childhood. In turn, I shared a similar story from my own life which was embarrassing to me at the time because there was no female figure in my life to help me understand – only a grandfather who was probably just as uncomfortable as me. This is when she took my hand, looked me directly in the eyes and said, “I am your second mother.”

This is about when I my eyes welled up with tears and I hugged her. She told me god is in me. It makes sense, not that I think about it. A common Indian greeting is “Namaste” which means, “The Divine in me honors the Divine in you.” I’ve always thought this was particularly beautiful. This touched me, as I have set my spiritual self to the side for a time while I focused on pulling myself out of a very dark place. Perhaps a sense of spirituality would have eased the process, but I felt this was something I had to conquer on my own.

The next day, Pavarthi came to my desk and told me that she and her husband Vijay were celebrating their 31^st wedding anniversary. They have not had any children, and would love for me to come and celebrate with them. I was touched and floored at the same time. Me? Really? I’ve never thought of myself as a particularly loveable person and she extentded nothing but love towards me. 

"Friendship isn't about whom you have known the longest . . . It's about who came and never left your side."