Auld Lang Syne (inspired by Robert Burns' poem)

Was going to blog tomorrow, but decided to weave together some thoughts to post now.  The last 48 hours found me segueing from a place of obvious and understandable grief:  no bereavement group for two weeks because it falls on a Monday:  Christmas Day and New Year's Day + no therapy since late-November because I had COVID and then my therapist got it (not from me, I might add!) = feeling abandoned/desperate/scrambling/extrapolating/melancholy/hyperventilating/anxious/emotional/needy/stomach flip-flops/heart tightness (in my best Mister Rogers voice:  "can you say ALL the feelings?), with no professional support during the hardest time of the year after losing my son three months ago (WTF?!?)

...to an unexpected melting and unstuckness as, two hours ago, I performed a saging ritual to clear negative/destructive energy and conjure positive vibes (and god love my husband for being such a trooper and participating).  I'd been puttering (my mom loved that word!) around the house all day, intentionally straightening/ organizing/decluttering in anticipation of the New Year (in less than four hours!).  And our space looks (mostly) lovely, and it certainly smells divine, and I've also been taking better care of myself (yoga! healthy eating!  being present!), which always helps, right?  

Happy (almost) New Year, my friends!  I remain grateful for your wisdom, hope, love, humor, support, and wholeheartedness these last three months (and always, actually).  And we persist; Onwards indeed... 🌈💗🌞

from Donna Ashworth:

No, 2024 perhaps won’t be your best year yet. 

Nor will it be the worst.

You see, a year is a mosaic of absolutely everything.

Joy, fear, heartache, loss, beauty, pain, love.

Failure, learning, friendship, misery, exhilaration.

Each day, each moment even, is a tiny shard of glass in this beautiful, confusing creation.

2024, like all the years before, will be another mosaic to add to your wall of art

A wall that shows the life, you are continuously gifted.

A wall that shows you are human.

A wall of survival.

I wish you many broken pieces of glass this year, my friends.

Because this is living.

And before you march on in to another year of ‘everything’, pause to look back, at the work you have created thus far.

It is quite something.

You are quite something. 

Now on we go, my friends.

Onwards we very much go.

SONG:  Auld Lang Syne, inspired by Robert Burns' poem (this, my favorite version, was used in the first Sex and the City movie... 💖)

BOOK:  First Year of Grief Club: A Gift From A Friend Who Gets It by Addison Brasil

POEM(S):  if 2023 was the quivering seed

2024 will be the raging bloom 

if in 2023 you were stuck in a box 

in 2024 you’ll tango on the moon  

in 2023 you shouted all your words 

in 2024 your voice will be morning rain 

in 2023 you were told you were broken 

in 2024 you’ll break the cycle of shame 

2023 was the year of the clenched fists

2024 will be the era of pardoned sins 

2023 was when tried to hide your light 

in 2024 you’ll feel safe inside your skin 

2023 wanted to divide us in two 

2024 feels like kindness will multiply 

2023 sounded like a rusty chainsaw 

2024 will be a soft midnight lullaby 

2023 is fading away like an old tire fire 

2024 is strolling toward your front door 

in 2023 we had more ammo than people 

in 2024 we’ll choose empathy over war 

my love, hold my hand so tightly

as the calendar year gently restarts

as 2024 arrives, let’s drop our armor 

and entangle all of our lonely hearts

~ john roedel

The New Song by W. S. Merwin

For some time I thought there was time

and that there would always be time

for what I had a mind to do

and what I could imagine

going back to and finding it

as I had found it the first time

but by this time I do not know

what I thought when I thought back then

there is no time yet it grows less

there is the sound of rain at night

arriving unknown in the leaves

once without before or after

then I hear the thrush waking

at daybreak singing the new song

QUOTE(S):  “Watch out for each other. Love everyone and forgive everyone, including yourself. Forgive your anger. Forgive your guilt. Your shame. Your sadness. Embrace and open up your love, your joy, your truth, and most especially your heart.” ~ Jim Henson

"As the year comes to a close, it is a time for reflection – a time to release old thoughts and beliefs and forgive old hurts.  Whatever has happened in the past year, the New Year brings fresh beginnings.  Exciting new experiences and relationships await.  Let us be thankful for the blessings of the past and the promise of the future." ~ Peggy Toney Horton

“May your walls know joy, may every room hold laughter, and every window open to great possibility.” ~ Mary Anne Radmacher

Someone asked me what is your religion? I said, “All the paths that lead to the light.” ~ Anonymous

Keeping the Light On (Joy Oladokun)

First of all, if you haven't seen tonight's Full Moon, go go go outside *now* to view!  Also, I am making Moon Water, even as I type... 🌕

Chico and I watched Love Actually Friday night, for the first time this season (finally!).

Saturday was Garden Day and, after posting my "report"... as is my custom, I went off the grid for 48-ish hours.  On Christmas Eve Day (Sunday), we met up with Sarah and Colin to watch Migration in the movie theater (3D!), and then to Sarah's to enjoy subs for dinner and a bit of hangtime with Colin before he left out cookies (which we made!) and milk for Santa/apples for the reindeer, then headed home.

I was very much dreading Christmas Day (Monday) with the family but, thanks to our love and patience with each other, I was surrounded by peace and even glimmers of joy.  From the fab brunch (each item more yummy than the next)... to the perfect presents (Rob's rose-colored glasses for everyone won Christmas!)... to Colin taking great delight in helping open *our* presents too before he left to go to his Dad's for the rest of the day... to a very sweet conversation about E (all the emotions)... to Scrabble (Sarah, who balked at playing, ended up in second place, only 1 point behind Rob; I, who normally kicks everyone's *ss💥💥💥 (see below), had vowels throughout 2/3 of the game and couldn't manage to catch up)... to the Taylor Swift Eras movie in the background... to Chinese food for dinner... it was a beautiful day from start to finish.  Naturally Colin brightened things up and there was much laughter.  

Also, Sarah found this Acoustic Christmas Spotify playlist, which we listened to all day and, honestly, I may continue into 2024.  Beautiful... 💖

Late last night (still Christmas), I sipped on a mug of decaf coffee infused with a hot cocoa bomb and marshmallows and felt... dare I say... content?  We *are* an amazing family.  I love them so much, and am very proud of us all for navigating this difficult journey.  Today marks three months since Eric died.  We made it through our second First without E.  In this morning's MossFam text thread, Sarah called it "a surprisingly peaceful day"... ॐ

Hoping you and yours experienced much love, as well as the perfect balance of celebration and comfort... 🥳🕉 

💥💥💥Part of our family conversation yesterday touched on my competitive nature (which only rears its ugly head during board games); Sarah described my style throughout the decades:  "the b*tch has never rolled over"... 🤣

SONG:  Keeping the Light On by Joy Oladokun

BOOK:  Surviving the Holidays Without You: Navigating Grief During Special Seasons by Gary Roe

POEM(S):  

Not knowing when

the dawn will come

I open every

door.

~ Emily Dickinson

What is born in you this day? by Beth Weaver-Kreider

What 

Yulelight

Candlelight

Christlight

Heartlight

Moonlight 

will shine forth from your eyes

from the tips of your fingers

from the well of your heart

from the root of your soul

to bless the world today?

May you know the light

feel the light

bear the light

be the light.

I Heard a Bird Sing by Oliver Herford

I heard a bird sing

In the dark of December.

A magical thing

And sweet to remember.

"We are nearer to Spring 

Than we were in September,” 

I heard a bird sing 

In the dark of December. 

Let This Darkness Be a Bell Tower by Rainer Maria Rilke

Quiet friend who has come so far,

feel how your breathing makes more space around you.

Let this darkness be a bell tower

and you the bell. As you ring,

what batters you becomes your strength.

Move back and forth into the change.

What is it like, such intensity of pain?

If the drink is bitter, turn yourself to wine.

In this uncontainable night,

be the mystery at the crossroads of your senses,

the meaning discovered there.

And if the world has ceased to hear you,

say to the silent earth: I flow.

To the rushing water, speak: I am.

Peace Enters My Heart by Maureen Kwiat Meshenberg

peace enters my heart,

though I have touched-

the chaos of my living,

it sometimes wears-

on my soul,

I settle inside,

the sanctuary

of the season,

it clothes me in rest-

I am tethered to the stars,

that rest their light on-

a winters night,

I rise with the light-

of a thousand suns,

settling on my memory-

with bright exultation, 

I come to greet the day,

with tenderness of love-

reaching inside,

this quiet-

silent night morning- 

let it move from me,

songs that echo-

from the angels singing,

peace on earth,

peace on earth,

goodwill to men-

to all of humanity,

to all creatures-

settling in sacred rest,  

it is from my heart-

a beginning is birthed,

I reach-

and take your hand,

we enter into-

our holy place,

of comfort and love-

of forgiving grace,

towards ourselves-

towards the world,

for what abides with me-

this morning of brilliant becoming,

is our constant-

our shining that guides us,

even in our darkest of times. 

QUOTE(S):  “To comfort a grieving friend, just say anything; it doesn’t have to be perfect. Grief can feel very lonely (like the poem ‘Stop All the Clocks’), so it’s very comforting when a friend recognizes your loss and what a big deal it is. Instead of platitudes (‘everything happens for a reason’), just say something that feels authentic, even if it’s just ‘I wish I knew what to say,’ or ‘I love you, and this really sucks.’” ~ Lucy Kalanithi

"Although our loved ones may not be around, their spirit lives on in every joyful moment we share during the Christmas season." ~ Unknown 

Light Is Returning (Charlie Murphy & Jami Sieber)

"Traditionally, the Winter Solstice, December 21, was considered the birth day of the sun, that magnificent point in time when the sun begins its return to the Earth again. In the midst of the longest darkest night, deep in the earth, even the seeds begin to stir with hope.

In times past and present, people gathered around bonfires, lit candles, sang songs of holiness and joy, and danced together to welcome the return of the light and the promise of new life. Homes were decorated with evergreen boughs, the symbol of life everlasting, and great feasts were prepared. We can still do much of this!

Now, more than ever, when so many people are suffering, isolated and alone, and the Earth herself seems in crisis, it is important to honor and celebrate these great shiftings of Earthly cycles. 

✨ We are the light, living stars on Earth reflecting our light back into the darkness. Our task is to remember to turn that light on in our hearts and souls. Let it reflect in who we are and what we do in the world and the possibilities are infinite.✨

This Solstice, join your energies with the thousands of others around the world who are lighting their fires and singing their songs into the darkness. Dance freely, set your intentions, let go, and release all that no longer serves you or humanity. Order your seeds, plan your gardens, dream your future, and never fear, the sun is returning again and a new dawn is on its way.

With love from Vermont,

Rosemary 🌿"

Happy Yule!  I have always appreciated and been in awe of the Winter Solstice, but, unlike many dear friends (M!), I have never actively celebrated it.  With my recent affinity for gardening leading me to Herbalism (what I like to call Kitchen Witchery), I am finding myself drawn to earth-centered beliefs and Pagan rituals.

Do you have a Solstice ritual?  I actually started one this year.  I of course had candles, sage, and the Internet to find blessings and words of wisdom, all accompanied by a mug of Cinnamon Apple Spice Tea, a recent gift from a dear friend... 🍵  As good a time as any to chase away the darkness and to conjure light in these troubled/trying/tragic times, right?

P.S.  If you're paying attention... yes, my blogging routine is Tuesdays and Fridays but, since today is the Winter Solstice, it only made sense to post on the actual day.. 🔥🕯🔥🕯🔥

SONG:  Light Is Returning by Charlie Murphy & Jami Sieber

BOOK:  Winter Solstice: An Essay by Nina MacLaughlin

POEM(S):  

I cannot tell you

how the light comes.

What I know

is that it is more ancient

than imagining.

That it travels

across an astounding expanse

to reach us.

That it loves

searching out

what is hidden

what is lost

what is forgotten

or in peril

or in pain.

That it has a fondness

for the body

for finding its way

toward flesh

for tracing the edges

of form

for shining forth

through the eye,

the hand,

the heart.

I cannot tell you

how the light comes,

but that it does.

That it will.

That it works its way

into the deepest dark

that enfolds you,

though it may seem

long ages in coming

or arrive in a shape

you did not foresee.

And so

may we this day

turn ourselves toward it.

May we lift our faces

to let it find us.

May we bend our bodies

to follow the arc it makes.

May we open

and open more

and open still

to the blessed light

that comes.

   - Jan Richardson 

Spell of the Christmas Cactus by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

Something magic

about knowing

it’s the darkest days

that bring on the buds,

the extravagant bloom,

because oh, friend,

how dark it is.

To Know the Dark by Wendell Berry

To go in the dark with a light is to know the light.

To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight,

and find that the dark, too, blooms and sings,

and is traveled by dark feet and dark wings.

Love the Dark by James Crews

Sometimes it is only the darkness

that can free us. Sunlight might be

streaming in from all sides, yet you

crave the safety of drawn shades,

locked doors, the silenced phone.

Give yourself permission to rest

like the orchid whose bud must stay

shut tight as a chrysalis for days,

curled up and waiting for that final

moment of unfurling, when it opens

pink-veined, white wings of petals

wide to the sky, embracing the light

that comes only after the longest night.

QUOTE(S):  "Darkness deserves gratitude. It is the alleluia point at which we learn to understand that all growth does not take place in the sunlight." ~ Joan Chittister and Rowan Williams

"Reclaim what has been forgotten.  Dance the fire of your longing under the waxing moon of your full presence.  Carry the seeds of your dreams awhile longer in the womb of Nature’s being.  Let the Earth incubate your wild if-onlys in its embryonic embrace as you re-member the self you were so many eons ago when you were forest and moonlight." ~ Edveeje Fairchild

"I danced with my shadows until they became part of my light." ~ Jodi Livon

It's Christmastime (Let's Just Survive) (Kathleen Edwards)

I bought a Nativity set (at Sears, of all places!) our first Christmas in Puerto Rico (1985), which means it's 38 years old now.  When they were younger, our tradition was for each child to take turns putting the characters in a place of their own choosing. The only rule was that the Baby Jesus could not be in the hayloft (since Mary and Joseph didn't fit up there as well).  Somehow it always managed to go smoothly and cooperatively.

When we sold our house and downsized to the condo five years ago, we had all the kids (now grown) over and did a schoolyard pick of the ornaments and various decorations.  Rob chose the Nativity and, since he and E lived together for four years, they continued the ritual.  This year will actually *not* be our First Christmas Without Eric; last year was, since E went with Duyen and her parents to a cabin in North Carolina for the holidays.  Before he left town, he texted the above photo to Rob... 💞

P.S.  Speaking of Rob... Happy Birthday to my Middle Child!  We gathered together for a Family Birthday Dinner this evening, and invited his friend Leslie (who is a darling).  Happy Fish Sushi:  Delicious food, beautiful ambience, stunning presentation; we'll be back.. 🍣

If you haven’t sent cards this year, or forgotten someone’s gift.

If you don’t have matching pyjamas or a festive family photograph.

It’s okay.

If you can’t find the energy to be merry and bright,

or your tree isn’t even decorated yet.

That’s really just fine.

If you don’t feel like watching your favourite Christmas movies, or honouring the traditions that you normally always do.

Don’t sweat it, my friend.

This year has been hard, for many.

Really hard.

If you can’t see a way to celebrating like you have in the past, don’t worry.

Just hang on in there, finding any joy you can in any little way.

Just make it through till next year.

One day at a time.

We need you.

Hang on in there.

You are loved.

~ Donna Ashworth

Referencing the poem below... in our case, today is 12 weeks (and a week from today makes *three* months) since Eric died:

SONG:  It's Christmastime (Let's Just Survive) by Kathleen Edwards

BOOK:  Michael Rosen's Sad Book by Michael Rosen

POEM(S):  Two Months after My Son Died by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

for MS

She gave me an hour.

Since then, every minute

has grown from the soil

of that time.

She gave me silence.

It was the wisest teaching.

She did not know me.

She deeply understood my heart.

There was a time

when she, too,

was met with unthinkable loss.

Now she knows

to say the name

of the one who is gone.

She knows not to fix.

She knows the gift

of being seen.

She asked for nothing

in return.

Over a year later,

I remember how she listened

with her eyes.

I remember the generosity

of her gaze.

She lit a candle for my child,

a golden light

on a bed of amethyst.

With that flame,

she has lit hundreds more

through my hand.

Sometimes I wonder

where her flame began,

I think of all the hands

lighting all the candles.

How beautiful that light.

How far we have come

from the dark we have known.

by john roedel

the wounds in our hearts

seem to ache a little deeper

during the holidays

don't feel like you

need to cover your wounded

heart in wrapping paper

this Christmas

you don't have to

tie the corners

of your lips with

garland to force

a smile

you don't have to

keep whistling

"silent night" to keep

people from noticing

your bottom lip is trembling

you don't have to blame

an allergy to nutmeg

for why you are walking

around with tears in your

eyes

for this Christmas

give yourself

permission

to feel whatever you

need to

last night

I was visited

by the ghost

of yuletide Heartbreak

she told me this:

it's okay to not be okay

on Christmas

it's okay to be melancholy

under the mistletoe

it's okay to come apart

while they are caroling

it's okay to trace your scars with your fingers

while others are humming ‘Holy Night’

it's okay to miss the presence of your beloved

amid the sound of opening presents

it's okay, my love,

to hurt during the holidays

don't stuff your stockings

with your suffering

don't hide your healing

during the holidays

give yourself the gift

of being authentic to yourself

it's okay to not be okay

during Christmas

it's okay to let the broken

pieces inside of you 

be the only jingle bells you

hear

because, my love, because,

it means you are still fighting

to stay alive

and I can't think of anything 

more to celebrate than that 

Talking to Grief by Denise Levertov

Ah, grief, I should not treat you

like a homeless dog

who comes to the back door

for a crust, for a meatless bone.

I should trust you.

I should coax you

into the house and give you

your own corner,

a worn mat to lie on,

your own water dish.

You think I don't know you've been living

under my porch.

You long for your real place to be readied

before winter comes. You need

your name,

your collar and tag. You need

the right to warn off intruders,

to consider my house your own

and me your person

and yourself

my own dog.

Christmas To Do List by Brian Bilston

• delay • defer • equivocate

• make some tea • procrastinate

• look at phone • stroke the cat

• readjust the thermostat

• dawdle • dither • hem and haw

• eat mince pie • chew my jaw

• write a card • spin on chair

• play six games of solitaire

• take a break • make a brew

• review my list of things to do

• eat mince pie • paper scrunch

• stroke the cat • have some lunch

• prioritise new tasks to shirk

(more cups of tea + less housework)

• look at phone • spin on chair

• eat mince pie • loiter • stare

• consider shopping • have quick doze

• rest mince pie on bridge of nose

• stroke the cat • take a break

• write a card • eat some cake

• spin phone • mince cat • stroke tea • wallow

• write To Do list for tomorrow

QUOTE(S):  “Grief, as I read somewhere once, is a lazy Susan. One day it is heavy and underwater, and the next day it spins and stops at loud and rageful, and the next day at wounded keening, and the next day at numbness, silence.” ~ Anne Lamott

"And in the quiet, I hear the echo of your absence.  In the stillness, in the silence, my heart aches with emptiness.  Loss is so loud.  Oh, loss is so loud." ~ Liz Newman

“When you meet someone in deep grief, slip off your shoes and set them by the door.  Enter barefoot, this darkened chapel hollowed by loss, hallowed by sorrow, its grey stone walls and floor.  You, congregation of one, are here to listen, not to sing.  Kneel in the back pew, make no sound, let the candles speak.” ~ Patricia McKernon Runkle

"What greater grief can there be for mortals than to see their children dead." ~ Euripedes 

Simple Gifts (Yo-Yo Ma & Alison Krauss)

Some of you will be getting this in the mail in the next few days; I need to unearth my holiday cards first... 🤣

Dear Friend – 

On Tuesday, December 26, it will be three months since Eric died.  My two overarching emotions are Heartbreak and Disbelief.  It is impossible (Unimaginable) to think he is never coming back.  And so I persist with my Grief Journey.  I am learning all I can about loss and healing and the (non-linear) Five Stages.  It eases my heart, and maybe I can help others in the future (although I don’t wish this tragic situation on anyone).  It is a lonely path, but it is also a road of gratitude and support and love and luck and blessings.

Adrift by Mark Nepo

Everything is beautiful and I am so sad.

This is how the heart makes a duet of

wonder and grief. The light spraying

through the lace of the fern is as delicate

as the fibers of memory forming their web

around the knot in my throat. The breeze

makes the birds move from branch to branch

as this ache makes me look for those I’ve lost

in the next room, in the next song, in the laugh

of the next stranger. In the very center, under

it all, what we have that no one can take

away and all that we’ve lost face each other.

It is there that I’m adrift, feeling punctured

by a holiness that exists inside everything.

I am so sad and everything is beautiful.

I’ve always talked about, but never implemented, a Christmas with no physical gifts, inspired by the Five Hands meme:  handmade… hand-me-down… secondhand… helping hand (donate)… hand-in-hand (spend time together).  What better time to follow through on a new tradition than this year… our First Noel without Eric?  I know that I don’t *need* any more things, and I’m guessing “stuff” might be a low priority in your life too.  My goal is to replace “stuff” with experiences.

I am sending this to friends with whom I usually exchange gifts, and I hope I’ve caught you in time (probably not, given my chronic tardiness!).  Please do not buy me anything; the generous gift of your friendship is enough.  Let’s vow to cross paths with each other more often in 2024… share more authentic and deep conversations… check in Just Because… remember how our connection began, and why it continues… encourage each other to focus on Radical Self-Care… remind each other to live intentionally and mindfully… be aware that life as we know it can change in the Blink of an Eye.

My Christmas 2023 present for you is:

(and I will fill in the blanks here...)

Happy Holidays, and So. Much. Love. Always… 🎅🎄🎁

SONG:  Simple Gifts, covered by Yo-Yo Ma & Alison Krauss

BOOK:  Calm Christmas and a Happy New Year: a little book of festive joy by Beth Kempton

POEM(S):  A Gift by Denise Levertov

Just when you seem to yourself

nothing but a flimsy web

of questions, you are given

the questions of others to hold

in the emptiness of your hands,

songbird eggs that can still hatch

if you keep them warm,

butterflies opening and closing themselves

in your cupped palms, trusting you not to injure

their scintillant fur, their dust.

You are given the questions of others

as if they were answers

to all you ask. Yes, perhaps

this gift is your answer. 

Meditation by Jay Leeming

You’re trying to meditate. Cushion

beneath you, eyes slightly open,

breath growing calm and steady.

But there are sounds, distractions,

thoughts: the distant highway,

a blue jay announcing himself,

a car starting down the block.

Always the struggle to pull attention

back to breath, to let each thought

go, not to cling or to keep

but to let it drop like a stone

fallen from your hand. And at times

you manage to stumble briefly

into peacefulness. But then

amid breath and highway and birdsong

you hear something else: the rumble

of a large truck, a sound growing louder

as it rounds the corner, creaks,

then pulls up maybe a half-block away.

The engine shudders into silence.

Footsteps in the street, stray words

you can’t make out, the slam of doors.

More words, a pause, and then the kick

and climbing roar of a wood-chipper

settling in to its raw throne of noise.

The quiet shreds and scatters

with the blow, then re-shapes itself

into a steady grinding drone.

And now comes the crack and shatter

of branches fed into it, the buzz

of tree-limbs being ground to dust.

You wrestle your attention back

to your breath as the tree is fed

into the machine. And hours later

when the workers have gone

and the street is quiet again it happens

without a thought, as while walking

down the block you simply find yourself

there, beside the stump, noticing

how it has been cut nearly level

with the ground so that you can count

the rings, and kneeling down

beside it you begin to count them,

rings of a tree probably thirty

or forty years old, and around you

sawdust scattered in the grass,

a few scraps of leaf, and over your head

an empty space left in the air.

QUOTE(S):  "Joy appears now in the little things. The big themes remain tragic but a leaf fluttered in through the window this morning, as if supported by the rays of the sun, a bird settled on the fire escape, joy in the taste of coffee. Joy accompanied me as I walked to the press. The secret of joy is the mastery of pain." ~ Anaïs Nin

"Through the empty branches the sky remains.  It is what you have." ~ Rainer Maria Rilke

"Brave birds still fly through fog." ~ anonymous 7th grader

“I have noticed that when all the lights are on, people tend to talk about what they are doing – their outer lives. Sitting round in candlelight or firelight, people start to talk about how they are feeling – their inner lives. They speak subjectively, they argue less, there are longer pauses. To sit alone without any electric light is curiously creative. I have my best ideas at dawn or at nightfall, but not if I switch on the lights – then I start thinking about projects, deadlines, demands, and the shadows and shapes of the house become objects, not suggestions, things that need to be done, not a background to thought.” ―Jeanette Winterson

"For it is in giving that we receive." ~ St. Francis of Assisi 

Breathe Deep (Sleeping At Last)

For a variety of reasons, it may have been one of my best days since Eric died (11 weeks ago today).

First of all, I have the privilege of hanging out with my Sweet Babboo because Sarah is away on a work trip;  I spent last night, I drove him to school this morning, I'll head back over there as soon as I hit Send here (he and Chico are kicking the soccer ball around), Lather. Rinse. Repeat. (and I even get to set out Buddy the Elf, a tradition I am thrilled was not around when my kids were little... 😂)

I also spent time with Cynthia this a.m.; when I told her homeopathic self that I hadn't been able to take deep breaths in the last almost-three-months, she asked me for two hours of my time.  Oh my.  Whew.  Amazing.  Here's the thank-you note I just sent:

Oh, Cynthia... there are no words eloquent enough to thank you for the Lavender/Rose tea... the CoExist bag filled with Rescue Remedy, ignatia amara pellets, Good Grief drops... the Magic Swinging Bed hypnosis portal... and our deep conversation... all adding up to the generous gift of your time, energy, and love this morning.

In the span of two hours, you were so instrumental in eliciting from me a cleansing cry (more than one, actually), deep breaths (finally!), and (so much more) peace of mind.  You are such a good, true, loving (and loved in return) friend.

Mmmmm.  I still smell like lavender... 💜

And... I received a package from my friend Michele's daughter Brynna of gorgeous handmade bamboo windchimes, with decorative as well as meaningful owl feathers (if you know, you know, right?), accompanied by a heartfelt note.  Can't wait until my very tall husband comes home, so he can hang them on my balcony... 🦉

And... I had a phone conversation with my friend Pam, who has been in the hospital for over two months (diagnosed with Guillain-Barre Syndrome), with more rehab and therapy ahead.  From a terrifying diagnosis... to an induced coma... to trach surgery... to hearing her actual voice, I wept like a f*cking baby.  Baby Steps, with a renewed vow of self-care, move her forward every day.   

I am unbelievably grateful for the love and support sent my way every minute of every day, and I promise to pay it forward.  Did I say Grateful?... 💗

SONG:  Breathe Deep by Sleeping At Last

BOOK:  Catching Your Breath in Grief ...and grace will lead you home by Thomas Attig, William Rathje (Photographer)

POEM(S):  Sorting Things Out by Edward Hujsak

Gather all your memories

inside your circled arms

and clasped hands.

Be still and breathe deeply.

Gaze down and place

them all in order.

Let times of joy

and exhilaration

rise to the top.

Make room

for days of grief

and make a special place

for when you reached out

and helped another.

Let darker memories

sink to the bottom,

hidden in haze.

An expiation,

each soul owes to itself.

Winter Solstice by Jody Aliesan

Thinking only makes the heart sore. — I Ching

when you startle awake in the dark morning

heart pounding breathing fast

sitting bolt upright staring into

dark whirlpool black hole

feeling its suction

get out of bed

knock at the door of your nearest friend

ask to lie down beside ask to be held

listen while whispered words

turn the hole into deep night sky

stars close together

winter moon rising over white fields

nearby wren rustling dry leaves

distant owl echoing

two people walking up the road laughing

let your soul laugh

let your heart sigh out

that long held breath so hollow in your stomach

so swollen in your throat

already light is returning pairs of wings

lift softly off your eyelids one by one

each feathered edge clearer between you

and the pearl veil of day

you have nothing to do but live

QUOTE(S):  “Peace. It does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble or hard work. It means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart.” ~ Unknown

“You need not wade through the mists and bogs to reach the moon.

You need not climb a ladder of cobweb.

You need not ride the stallions that wicker in the sea’s pounding surf.

Draw back the curtain and open the window.

Breathe the bracing air and listen:

The whinny of an owl, the click of the bat,

The grunt of a buck and the distant roar of the train.

The full moon will spill a milky road before you.

That is all the pathway you will need.”

~ Beth Weaver-Kreider

"Peace comes from within. Do not seek it without." ~ Gautama Buddha

So Many Stars (Friction Farm)

Lovely but busy afternoon!  Rob ended up having today off (he almost always works Fridays) and Chico wanted to take him out to breakfast or lunch... while I hoped he would accompany me to see Waitress: The Musical in the movie theater (truly excellent!)... so we combined plans and went to our friendly neighborhood Cinemark, followed by linner (what is a 4 p.m. meal called, anyway?) at a new-to-us Peruvian restaurant (so many Yums... 😛)

The next New Moon is Tuesday, December 12.  Hoping I can find someplace dark, so I can view as many stars as possible.. 🌟

I originally made this mix *tape* in 1996, then recycled on CD in 2015, now taking on a new life as a Spotify playlist in 2023. I assure you that, although the mood starts out bleak, it actually was made very thoughtfully and deliberately, following an arc of melancholy to hope to redemption.  Had to substitute a few songs that weren't available from the original playlist 30 years ago, but it retains the intent.  I'm going to curl up on the couch and test-drive it now.  Hope you enjoy and, if you listen, let me know what you think...💔💖

SONG:  So Many Stars by Friction Farm

BOOK:  A Million Little Stars: A Kids’ Book about Loss, Love, and Healing by Amanda Loraine Lynch, Candice Davis (Editor), Bonnie Lemaire (Illustrator)

POEM:  Advent by Heather Christle

It's hopeless, the stars, the books 

about stars, they can't help themselves 

and how could you not love them for it 

here in the new week with animals 

burying food and everything outlined 

in cold and even friends, it's hopeless, 

this mess, this season, all that 

is lost and tickets and strangers, 

what can I say, only sitting here 

on this dark bench waiting for what 

I don't know, I want this world 

to remain with me, this holy tumult, 

which does not know it loves me 

and you, friends, spectacular driveways, 

an orange, the vanishing year.

Sincerely, the Sky by David Hernandez

Yes, I see you down there

looking up into my vastness.

What are you hoping

to find on my vacant face,

there within the margins

of telephone wires?

You should know I am only

bright blue now because of physics:

molecules break and scatter

my light from the sun

more than any other color.

You know my variations—

azure at noon, navy by midnight.

How often I find you

then on your patio, pajamaed

and distressed, head thrown

back so your eyes can pick apart

not the darker version of myself

but the carousel of stars.

To you I am merely background.

You barely hear my voice.

Remember I am most vibrant

when air breaks my light.

Do something with your brokenness.

The Silence of the Stars by David Wagoner

When Laurens van der Post one night

In the Kalihari Desert told the Bushmen

He couldn't hear the stars

Singing, they didn't believe him.  They looked at him,

Half-smiling.  They examined his face

To see whether he was joking

Or deceiving them.  Then two of those small men

Who plant nothing, who have almost

Nothing to hunt, who live

On almost nothing, and with no one

But themselves, led him away

From the crackling thorn-scrub fire

And stood with him under the night sky

And listened.  One of them whispered,

Do you not hear them now?

And van der Post listened, not wanting

To disbelieve, but had to answer,

No.  They walked him slowly

Like a sick man to the small dim

Circle of firelight and told him

They were terribly sorry,

And he felt even sorrier

For himself and blamed his ancestors

For their strange loss of hearing,

Which was his loss now.  On some clear nights

When nearby houses have turned off their televisions,

When the traffic dwindles, when through streets

Are between sirens and the jets overhead

Are between crossings, when the wind

Is hanging fire in the fir trees,

And the long-eared owl in the neighboring grove

Between calls is regarding his own darkness,

I look at the stars again as I first did

To school myself in the names of constellations

And remember my first sense of their terrible distance,

I can still hear what I thought

At the edge of silence were the inside jokes

Of my heartbeat, my arterial traffic,

The C above high C of my inner ear, myself

Tunelessly humming, but now I know what they are:

My fair share of the music of the spheres

And clusters of ripening stars,

Of the songs from the throats of the old gods

Still tending even tone-deaf creatures

Through their exiles in the desert.

QUOTE:  “Everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives is but a mote suspended in a sunbeam... a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark.” ~ Carl Sagan

“When he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night and pay no worship to the garish sun.” ~ William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

"The Moon.  Pause here.  You are deep in the heart of the darkest nights. The world is hushed.  The trees are dwelling in their roots, and the earth's small creatures have gone to ground.  Turn inward and listen to the stories of your deepest self, allowing The Moon to illuminate your hidden spaces." ~ Wild Wisdom calendar, December, The Moon

Even When the Light is Low (Tom Prasada-Rao)

When last we left our SheRa, she (and her husband) had tested positive for COVID (double ugh).  Our first time and, in the grand scheme of things, it seemed to be a fairly mild case (other than that hacking cough and phlegmy build-up).  It almost seemed a relief to have an excuse to lay low and cancel commitments (not that my calendar is that full these days anyway).  The weakness/fatigue continues though.

I was negative by Friday, meaning I could go to Sarah's that evening for her Christmas tree decorating; Rob joined us too, the background music was of course The Roches' We Three Kings (a family tradition), and we could almost pretend it was just like it used to be.  Silly Me!

Being well again, it was lovely to get back to our bereavement group (3rd attendance); I love those women (and a few men), who are so kind and loving and suffering too.  My 2nd therapy appointment was also amazing; she's a wonderful listener, asks just the right questions, and provides A-ha! moments that comfort as well as enlighten me.

Duyen (E's girlfriend) sent us back to Florida with a box of Eric's belongings, and we finally tackled those; I kept a hooded rainjacket/windbreaker that I know will come in handy, a denim jacket with a cloth hoodie, and a sweater... and Chico a few tank tops (he's especially delighted with the Pink Floyd design).  We gave Sarah a few shirts, Colin a hiking/gardening hat, and Rob a nice jacket and lots of ties (two of which were actually his to begin with - ha!).  Everything else we will donate.

Oh, and we chose button-down shirts for the teddy bears that my friend Suzanne offered to make for each of us.  No deadline, sweet memories... 💗

Speaking of Memories... I'm also trying to move forward with two separate plans for remembrance:  a tree in a City of Pembroke Pines park... and a bench in the Hope Garden, both with plaques.  I will keep you all posted.

I'm sure it's the residual tiredness from COVID, and grief brain fog, but I feel very "out of it" these days... as if I'm detached from participation in life and only looking down from above, in observation mode.  I've pretty much decided not to decorate for Christmas this year; the thought of hauling boxes from our storage locker down the hall is daunting and exhausting.  The box with the front door wreath is on the top shelf, so I'll get that down and installed.  I also just bought myself a Christmas (well, a gnome) mug, which I will use every day during the season.  No Santa collection, no Buddha with the Santa hat, regular (instead of holiday) candles; I. Just. Can't. Do. It. This. Year... and that's okay... 🎅🎄🎁

P.S.  Today marks ten weeks since Eric died... 💔

SONG:  Even When the Light is Low by Tom Prasada-Rao (written 11.7.23)

BOOK:  It's OK That You're Not OK: Meeting Grief and Loss in a Culture That Doesn't Understand by Megan Devine, Mark Nepo (Foreword)

POEM(S):  I Want My Grief by Peg Runnels

to be brilliant, fast and gone.

Like Mozart. Or Stevie Ray.

Like fireworks. Boom! Flash!

Ooh, ahh. OK, done. Let’s go.

I want my grief to be brave.

Hurts more now, heals faster,

Grandma said, pouring salt

On a skinned knee.

I want to stand up to grief,

Stand it down, like the

Tiny man, big tank

In Tiananmen Square.

Because. Because if I am brave,

Bold, salty, open enough

The tank, the bleeding, the tears

Will stop sooner. I tell myself.

But grief laughs. Humbles me.

I lose keys, break cups, get lost.

Asked at CarMax Why are you

Selling this car? I burst

Into an embarrassment of tears.

A friend says, One doesn’t have grief,

Grief has you.

We wrestle, to the mat. I’m pinned.

But sometimes I break free.

Break patterns instead of dishes.

Start to write myself a new story,

To fling myself toward yes,

Begin to say, Oh. Now this. . . . Observe

What life brings. Reframe. Say,

I’m not wrestling grief,

We’re dancing.

So, I put my right foot in . . .

And turn myself about.

Yes by William Stafford

It could happen any time, tornado,

earthquake, Armageddon. It could happen.

Or sunshine, love, salvation.

It could, you know. That’s why we wake

and look out – no guarantees

in this life.

But some bonuses, like morning,

like right now, like noon,

like evening.

What the Day Gives by Jeanne Lohmann

Suddenly, sun. Over my shoulder

in the middle of gray November

what I hoped to do comes back,

asking.

Across the street the fiery trees

hold onto their leaves,

red and gold in the final months

of this unfinished year,

they offer blazing riddles.

In the frozen fields of my life

there are no shortcuts to spring,

but stories of great birds in migration

carrying small ones on their backs,

predators flying next to warblers

they would, in a different season, eat.

Stunned by the astonishing mix in this uneasy world

that plunges in a single day from despair

to hope and back again, I commend my life

to Ruskin’s difficult duty of delight,

and to that most beautiful form of courage,

to be happy.

QUOTE:  “Life is a hard battle anyway. If we laugh and sing a little as we fight the good fight of freedom, it makes it all go easier. I will not allow my life’s light to be determined by the darkness around me.” ~ Sojourner Truth