October 10, 2011: These past days I have had a sad and heavy heart. We found out that Randall, Naomi's partner died about a week and a half ago. I sat down this morning to send a card from all of us and the tears finally started to come. It was Aspen's phrase, “Randall was such a good man” that choked me up. I know death awaits us all whether good or bad, rich or poor, young or old. But Randall was indeed one of the saints and he died much too young. I cry for Naomi and her daughters. I find I have this permeable, sensitive nature that crawls inside other people's emotions. So there I am with Naomi and her family, feeling all her feelings of losing the man she loved for nearly forty years. I don't really know Naomi well. I see her as a compassionate human, grounded in civic and neighborhood giving, reason and practicality. But whether we are emotional or practical, grief is grief, loss is loss. I find the older I become the more I see how difficult and tremendously sad our living can be.
Words are not flowing through my fingers. I am struggling to express myself. What I feel over Randall's death is so much more than the loss of a good man. I selfishly see that he is my age and I cry because life is too short and I can't seem to grab it by the tail and swing it down and capture it. Even if I try to close my hands around my days, the minutes, the hours, sift through them at tremendous unstoppable speed. I am frantic. I want to grow old. For I now see that my sixties are but the child of my older age. I want to have at least thirty more years and I feel so greedy for wanting more life when a friend has died.
I don't want to waste my days though I know I do. I want to give myself over to my passions without allowing my fears to block the way. At least I'm here trying to write. I'm here trying to carve out my feelings. What I know is love is my main passion: giving love, lessening the hate, lessening the differences, spreading an appreciation of diversity and our connections as mortal human beings. After writing Naomi a note, I also sent Oksana's nine year old daughter, Anna, a card. I want her to know how beautiful and special she is. There is death but there continues to be life.
Last night at our full moon, I came to Lilly's with my weighty heart. I thought I didn't want to be there. I was a huge lump in a chair, waiting for our potluck to begin. Why am I in such a hurry? Why do I think “being on time” has any relevance? Why do I think my time is wasted when I wait for others to “be on time”? I want desperately to let go of prediction, judgment, categorizing time. I want to melt into each moment, be surprised, be present to what is given, let go of expectations. Once I ate, once I relaxed, once I told myself that in grief can also be joy and gratitude for simply standing on the earth's abundant ground, I discovered I could laugh and lighten my load. The nearly full moon broke through the clouds with our sound and music making. The energy was as bright as the moon. Last night I literally felt the moon's presence embrace me and the blessings of nature caress me. I knew then it was OK to enjoy the evening. Randall would want everyone to love what they were doing. I sensed for a few moments Randall was all right in the spirit world. He appreciated his life. He had more love and fulfillment than most and wisely knew what being truly human means.
My sadness continues but writing about brings me some comfort. My words are my stepping stones to understanding. We had the perfect, mostly clear sky evening last night. It was as if the sky held the tears behind the clouds so we could dance and sing and connect with each other. This morning the rain has returned with an intense vengeance. The darkness is there at the peripheral edge of my vision. I want to shake my brain and tell myself I know what's important and everything else doesn't matter. I'm here now at this kitchen table in the warmth of my cozy home writing these cherished words. I am alive!
© 2011
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