A post-birthday reflection . . .

Yesterday was my birthday. A new year is ahead. I imagine in the eyes of some people I’m pretty old, but I’m not, not in my heart, not in my mind, not in my hopes or aspirations. And, conversely, I suppose in the view of a few, I’m young, but I’m not quite. (Oh! Shall I count the ways?) Yet I feel young, young enough, and I know that I’m not finished.

Today I’ve been reflecting. Sad events occurred last year, especially for me, for my family, and for some of my friends. Yet, good things happened too. I am convinced that life just does its dance and we are allowed to sit back and watch or jump in and join the tango. It’s a choice, really, and I know I want to play. So, today, I was thinking about what helps me along and it became perfectly clear: friends, both old and new; decent health, plain and simple; talent, that keeps me anchored to my computer some days; and love that, I’ve found, comes back tenfold with the giving.

Tomorrow will be here with the sunrise and will offer me (and anyone reading this) a chance to smile, to laugh, to dance, to read, to write, to move . . . or not. Every person can choose. Ultimately, and it’s simple enough, I hope, tomorrow will give me an opportunity to make a positive difference somehow, to tweak the world in the tiniest way. That’s the plan, anyway!

Hummingbird

You fluttered above my head

When you were gone,

So suddenly,

It shocked the watchers

Who saw you there.

While I spoke sweet words

Of love and loss,

You paid a sunrise visit.

Defying death,

You emerged again,

Eternal and beautiful,

And I cried.

I didn’t see you then

But I do now.

You are everywhere –

And I feel your presence

In gardens,

On porches,

Alighting on limbs,

Perching on palms,

Savoring the sap of life.

You’ve become an icon,

Now, sweet hummingbird,

And not just for me.

We all expect you near,

A manifest of infinity,

Reminding us of harmony

And peace,

Of courage and joy.

While you flit about

Here and there,

Dining on nectar

And other fare,

We know

Your spirit lives on.

With unabashed energy

You hover over us,

A reminder that a noble love

Will never be forsaken.

                        Judith DeChesere-Boyle, September 2013, For Alex

Don’t grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form.

                                                                                                       -- Rumi

Those we love and lose are always connected by heartstrings into infinity.

                                                                                                         --Terri Guillemets

On loss

Loss does not feel good. It sucks out my insides and makes me feel hollow. I cried before I slept last night and woke up to more tears. That doesn’t happen every day, and I’m lucky for that. The emotion does hit me from time to time, however, like a sleeper wave. I’m learning not to turn my back on it.

Sadness washes over me sometimes, suffocating, smothering, and then it draws back, and I can see the light again. I suppose it is best simply to be conscious that, after losing someone special, that cruel sense of loss is always lurking. Anyone who has suffered grief will understand. It’s not all bad, I believe, to take hold of the emotion, embrace it, gaze at it long and hard, and then let it go, at least for a short while. It’s a choice really.

“It's so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone.”

― John Steinbeck, The Winter of Our Discontent

Expectations

I’ve come to the conclusion that expectations are a sham. How many times have I waited in sweet anticipation for an event that is sure to fill me with joy, only to be left empty or tearful in disappointment? And conversely, how often have I feared the worst, finding instead that an upcoming appointment, a presentation, or a change (and those are always open for consternation) is instead a blessing, a gift, or an opportunity?

My musings are not meant to be negative; I was just thinking about this as I lay in bed early in the morning with further sleep evading me like a thief into the fog that, yet again, is obscuring the sunrise. Looking at the words that empty onto this page I realize that it is best to simply “Be Here Now”, as the old aphorism asserts. Rather that wondering what the day ahead will bring, I am enjoying this moment, this time, when words are my playmates, when only this moment matters. It’s enough to make me smile.

Dreams

Dreams are important to me. They always have been. Last night I dreamed about my mother who died in February 2010. “Honey”, as everyone called her, was ninety-five, a month short of ninety-six when she passed away. Last night, for the first time since she died, I dreamed about her. She came to my door that had a large window in it and pressed her nose against the glass. This happened twice. The second time, I opened the door and fell into her arms.

            “It smells like you,” I said.

            “It is me,” she answered.

            Her hair was dark brown, her face aglow, and she was smiling. She was wearing a navy blue dress with a wide, white collar. She was standing next to a lush, green bush, and in her hand she held a tiny, red flashlight. Had she been looking for me? Was she looking for him?

I suddenly was filled with so much emotion I thought I would choke. I could not speak.

“Have you seen him?” I asked in my mind, for my voice was stunned, silent. “I miss him so much.”

Before I could hear her answer, I woke up, strangling on a sob. This is the way I started this day.

My son Alex died of brain cancer on May 24, 2013. Every day since his passing has been new: new grief, new sadness, new dredging of memories, new ways to cope. Sometimes I just look at his photographs and that makes me feel better. I know grieving is a process; sadness is appropriate, and each day the pain of loss eases, if only by micrometers.

I’m just waiting for him to come to the window too. I know he had a little, red flashlight.