12 january 2010

today, on this tender day, i found bella:

• in a glee*full puppy, bouncing and prancing about, across the street from where i stood while waiting for the bus this morning.
• in the golden brown ponytail of a young woman on the bus.
• in trish's homemade remedy for heartache ~ thoughtful presence, laughter and all kinds of silliness.
• at the end of a heart*full phone call with momma this early-ish afternoon i spotted the tiniest, lightest, most delicate heart-shaped piece of tissue paper on the floor outside of my office.
• in the "timbuk2" bag of the person standing in front of me.
• wrapped around me while i wore her college hoodie tonight.

bus inspirations

today i spent most of the day on buses, making my way back to my new england home. here are three things that inspired me in my travels today:

1. to begin, some background on the first inspiration. my momma's bff since the 3rd grade, my godmother, b.w., died this morning. b.w. & my momma have been best friends for nearly 60 years. my heart aches for my momma, for b.w.'s husband, her three boys (all in their 30s), two daughters-in-law & three grandchildren. my eyes have been full of tears today (as they have been for much of this past week). on the bus this a.m. i opened my book, Girl Meets God by Lauren Winner, to these words: "Randi is the oldest friend I've got. There are a few people out there with whom you fit just so, and, amazingly, you keep fitting just so even after you have growth spurts or lose weight or stop wearing high heels. You keep fitting after you have children or change religions or stop dyeing your hair or quit your job at Goldman Sachs and take up farming. Somehow, God is gracious enough to give us a few of those people, people you can stretch into, people who don't go away, and whom you wouldn't want to go away, even if they offered to."
2. christmas trees for sale on amsterdam avenue in nyc.
3. a billboard with this message: "eat right. / be active. / have fun." simple.

across the river & back again

yesterday late afternoon, a trip across the river to my parents home for the evening & night. a walk with our fam's angel dog. breathing in the quiet, fresh, small town air. exhaling the city air & noise. our favorite pizza. mint chocolate chip ice cream. Marley & Me. a walk into town with dad for coffee (for him) & tea (for me). encountering neighbors along the way. sitting & sipping hot beverages on a familiar bench, one i sat on for the first time nearly 28 years ago while eating an ice cream cone. to bed just after 10 p.m. with her stuffed animal love tucked beside me.

waking at 6 a.m. rising to pain (still) in my left knee. in the shower, asking: "what is this pain in my knee telling me/trying to tell me?" listening to the answer.

stepping out of the shower & after some healing stretching, back into bed to write. then to read.

rising again. making my way back here, to my nest in the city. a smoothie. reading this post.

aware of a chain of aching hearts these days. a string of losses. first days, first occasions & first anniversaries of the grieving variety. deaths of children, grandparents, spouses, animal loves.

i sit here on this 3rd may saturday. the 3rd anniversary coming up. life as i knew it altered, shifted course (annihilated, disintegrated?), broke open on a 3rd may saturday 3 years ago. on this 3rd may saturday i can speak this, "i made my way."

so much i could say about what i mean by this ("i made my way") & not wanting to be misunderstood. for now, this - i made my way through. i crossed over. and, i am here. after the year+ of shock; after months/seasons long stints in the pitch black; after the devastation; after crawling, limping, walking around in the rubble. i am here. i weep & sometimes i sob, in thanks-giving, for my life, for my love, for my belief in the good/god/light...

listening to this song. to all who are tending to broken open hearts i sing you this, i pray you this, because i believe this, "Lights will guide you home..."

crashing & allowing & grateful

today.
a tidal wave of grief.
crashing.
missing bella.
her familiar physical presence.
those deeply intimate, sister to sister, parent to child, heart to heart things, moments.
playing with her hair.
holding her head when she had a headache.
the scent and feel of her skin.
standing at the bedroom door when she was days old...months old...2 years old...11 years old...20 years old. looking at her. watching her. feeling the deepest and wildest and most indescribable love.
her strong body.
her silly, wise and colorFULL ways.
her jokes.
her hats. [oh, the hats!]
the known.
20+ years of herstory and ourstory.
holding her hand.
telling her stories about "when she was little." often late at night before sleep.
reading her "'Twas the Night Before Christmas" every christmas eve.
delighting in her.
not being able to get enough of her.
praising her.
witnessing the miraculousness of her being.

today.
allowing the tidal wave.
the tears.
the sobs.
feeling the raw edges of broken openness.
holding both knowing "how this can be" and wondering "how can this be?"

today.
i am wearing bella's hot pink, long sleeve shirt and her light pink, button down sweater and a necklace that i purchased (after her physical death) to honor our relationship.
i reach out to soul*sisters to speak these truths.
i do the laundry.
i go grocery shopping.
i thaw some in the sunshine and warm-ish air.
i listen to music.
i organize photos.
i write letters to january 2009 (thank you!) and february 2009 (hello!).
i drink glasses of water.
i eat the rest of yesterday's pear.
i prepare a bowl of oatmeal.
i whisper, "i love you so much, babe."
i hear her, "i'm right here. i gotcha. i am all over you."
i keep on keepin' on.
i am grateful for this love.

i just need to say it

today i exchanged a series of e-mails with my m. e-mails about thanks*giving eve/my big bro's b*day, thanks*giving day & thanks*giving weekend plans & details. in our final exchange about thanks*giving & birth*day details my m. wrote, "it's terrible without [bella] here [now, at this thanks*giving & birth*day time]...isn't it?...there, i just need to say it."

i read her words & it was as if a button had been pushed & the grief & the sorrow rose up (imagine the grief dwelling underground & then getting on the elevator in the basement & making it's way up to the 77th floor in 1.3 seconds) & tears filled my eyes (entirely). i wrote back, "it is. heartbreakingly painful without bella's familiar physical presence."

again, i am in awe of this grief journey. again, i am aware of how radical death is. my life, my being, is completely altered. and, this is not bad. no. there is no judgment in the naming of this transformation. it just is mind*blowingly incomprehensible sometimes. i have cried streams, lakes, rivers & oceans...tomorrow it will be 2 1/2 years, 30 months exactly, since bella died.

just

i've been receiving these "just" messages lately:

*just breathe.
*just do the time. [for me, this means doing the time of grieving & doing the time of healing...as if my life depended on it...which it does.]
*just write.
*just this.

what messages are you receiving lately?

sprout

this evening after work i went to get a manicure and pedicure in preparation for a very special event this weekend. [the tips of my fingers are sparkling light pink and my toes are gushing deep heart red.] while i sat patiently and obediently, with my hands and feet under dryers, i looked out the window and i experienced myself really seeing what was outside. even more, i experienced myself being a part of it. being a part of the flow of life. connected. grounded. here. alive.

a word came to mind as i walked home to my little nest: sprout. i feel like a little sprout. a sprout even as i grieve a loss unlike any other (bella's death) and as i heal the wounds from all that has come tumbling down in these early decades of my life. i know i will break free (sprout!) from the weight of the concrete and rubble of years and years and years of heartache, loss and sadness.

i've been getting power-full glimpses of this lately. moments when i feel something like hope. something like spring. something like being on the edge of a miracle. something unlike anything (or, at least with a texture unlike anything) i've ever felt. so grateful am i. as i enter this new month. this month of bella's physical death. bella: my great love, my darling babe, my sister, my friend.

i know (intellectually) i will be okay. it is something else entirely to feel that i will be okay, that life and living, that my life and my living will be okay, brilliant, even. it seems, the depth of my grief and brokenness is giving birth to a healing equal in proportion.

before coming here to write tonight i opened up one of my favorite books, The Soul Support Book by Deb Koffman, to a spread with an orange background. at the center of this spread is a panel/series of images of buds. the last panel contains the image of one of these buds bursting open. underneath it all are these words: "Everything happens in its own time." yes, yes. yes, indeed.

life savers

when i was in first grade my teacher, sister marie, gave all of her students little rolls of life savers every friday. even after she went to the hospital towards the end of my first grade year for all that time; every friday we were given little rolls of life savers.

sister marie died the summer after i finished first grade. i remember my mother receiving the phone call. i remember hearing the word "died" and understanding it and not understanding it. i think death is like this. i understood it as something big and powerful and incomprehensible then. i still do.

these days as i continue to navigate death, bella's death. as i feel layer upon layer upon seemingly endless layer of loss, sad, broken-hearted. as i feel outraged, ferociously outraged. i'm thinking about these life savers:

*spring (as i said to l. on the phone yesterday evening, "spring is saving my ass")
*music (two of my faves: mixes made by lovely babes c. and s.)
*the physical presence of beloved beings (a weekly tea date with t. in the park, our first outdoor tea date of the year; sitting across from k. at her kitchen table on friday late afternoon/early evening eating chocolate chip scones and veggie chicken nuggets with ketchup; and, surprise breakfast dates with b. & b.)
*writing
*my momma
*ice cream days (days when it's hot and ice cream sounds like perfection)

what are some of your life savers (or, what's saving your ass) these days?

packin' up

to heart-shaped Africa i am going. we (me & my momma) fly on friday early evening. to the land from which my dear bella's spirit rose to twirl & tango with the moon & the stars...to be of service in new ways.

here i go. it feels like i am "returning" to a land that has been calling out to me forever & ever. since the beginning & before the beginning. returning...even though i have never been to Africa in my physical body in this lifetime.

one of the gazillions of squealing-with-delight delights: taking bella's stuffed animal love that my momma, big bro & i purchased in july 1985, weeks before bella's birth. bella took her stuffed precious moments lamb love with her everywhere. everywhere except Africa. she left him for us. this lamb love is taking flight with us, too. and, no, no, no he will not be "checked."

bless you and all of your pilgrim voyages, internal & external, in the moments, hours, mornings, nights, days and weeks to come.

sunday's treasures

• romaine lettuce, mung bean sprouts & baby bok choy salad dressed with homemade asian dressing
• 3rd chakra exploration
• listening to Eckhart Tolle, Snatam Kaur (these songs: By Thy Grace and Long Time Sun), Karen Drucker (this CD: Songs of the Spirit, vol. 2) & Devi Premal/Miten (this song: So Much Magnificence)
  
• foot love: arnica montana & traumeel
• sleeping for nearly 10 hours last night
• releasing tears, holding, grief
• the gift of a tribe of women who i call & when receiving their voice mails i am safe to spill open & sob
• telling the truth: i'm scared
  
• returned phone calls & messages
• laughter
• connecting with bloggie beauties in/through this space
• this word, this prayer: union
• identifying the perfect gift to give my big bro before me & momma travel to africa
• gratitude for my life
• remembering: the present moment
• be-ing in/with my body
  
• you
  

(right) foot invitation

in late november of 2005 an injury emerged in my right foot. really, it was like that. it emerged. or, perhaps, descended is a more fitting word. i literally came home from work one day and took off my comfortable/practical footwear (no potentially pain-inducing shoes for this chiquita) and experienced a powerful, piercing pain in my right foot. it felt like a bone in my foot needed to crack or that two bones were stuck together in a weird, unaligned way and needed to be realigned. the pain was debilitating.

after a bit of a fiasco with one doctor, a new doctor and an mri i was diagnosed with a stress pressure and was given a snazzy black cam walker boot to wear & a prescription for what would be months of physical therapy. this was the beginning of a series of sudden events (all in 6 months) that ripped through my life, transforming my life beyond recognition. [did i mention that days after finishing physical therapy for my right foot injury i took a misstep while walking down my narrow, steep & curvy staircase in my (former) home and severely injured the left foot?] the transformation is still unfolding.

in recent weeks my right foot has been a bit achy. it's aching on a deeper level in the past 24 hours. and, i've been a bit hysterical about it (at least in my mind & energetically). visions of me in a big black boot in africa dance in my head. [the same boot i was wearing when our beloved bella went off to africa for her study abroad program.] this a.m. with tears in my eyes and a strong desire to crawl under my desk at work and sob uncontrollably and howl i sent an e-mail entitled, "help!" to members of my community. it was all i knew to do; it was all there was to do. what i was asking for (as i realized in receiving my community members' responses) was: "please speak to me in the spacious, loving voice of wisdom/spirit because i can't quite get it together enough to gift myself with this voice. i am too busy being anxious & dismayed. please give me other words (words other than the "f" bomb!). thank you very much." [speaking of anxious, i recently heard someone define anxiety as "excitement without breath."]

so here i sit. having iced my foot, made an appt. with my beloved bodyworker and taken some deep breaths. [nearly everyone's first response to my "help!" message was: "breathe."] i am noticing my resistance. again. again & again & again i notice this: my resistance. i don't want this to be this way. i want it to be my way. my way does not include an aching right foot three weeks from when i am boarding a plane to travel to the land where my bella died.

i'm not gonna lie, i want to throw some color-full language in the direction of spirit/energy/love/light/god. and, isn't it true that spirit/energy/love/light/god is really me? so, yes, i suppose i want to throw some color-full language my way, too. we are one. it always comes to this doesn't it? no-body, no-being, no-thing is doing this to me. it is. it is life. living. being.

and, here i sit. as i am a vessel of wisdom and as it is nearly 12 hours, 1/2 a day, since i sent out my plea, can i respond to my "help!" message? i can begin.

sweet gem, you are doing a really good job of paying attention to your right foot. yes, sometimes you are obsessing. and, that's okay, too. you are listening. all that's being asked right now is that you take that attention deeper...that you tune into the listening tucked away underneath those first layers. you are excavating & adventuring. i know it's dark in there. still, i know, there is a voice in this that wants to be heard by you. i know you are beginning to hear it. faintly. and, i know that you want to find it, hear this voice and her words clearly. i know you want to cozy up next to her/these words. i know, too, that you are a bit resistant. that you don't know if you can or want to tune in. i know you're wondering: what will be asked of me? and, i want you to know: we can do this. complete the circle. heal more. i know you're hungry for it. i know that as you were reading about Rabi'a al-'Adawiyya last night that you were touched by these words "on fire with love and longing" and that you knew that this was you, too: on fire with love and longing. this has always been you. on fire. this foot thing, it's only this: you becoming more of you. filling up your own (spirit) self in your (spirit) skin. your body is a temple. these words keep showing up, yes?! we are cleansing the vessel. keep tuning in. it will all be taken care of. you will be taken care of.

peace to you all on this winter's night.

what there is to say...

lately there are these moments (occurring with some frequency) when i experience a burst of this: i think about my life, the whole of my life, mostly the time in front of me (e.g., all of the christmases, my wedding day and the day(s) i give birth) and i can hardly be with/hold/bear the knowing that i will never again be with bella in this lifetime in her familiar physical form. [yes, there are new ways in which bella & i tango & twirl. this is true, too. and, i am thank-full. so thank-full. this piece, however, is not the piece that needs to be spoken, heard & held tonight...] it's just too big to hold that. you know? thank-fully this isn't what is being asked of me, to wholly hold that in my tiny (and, mighty) hands.

so much will change. so much has changed & in the most brilliant, healing & life-affirming ways. and, that essential piece will never ever be. the heart-ache & the heart-break of this is...oh, i just don't have the word for it. is there such a word that captures this? this love journey. that is what it's all about really. this fierce love. in the days after her death the only words that i had in the sobbing were, "i love her so much. i love her so much." this was not a revelation. no. this was something she knew/knows and everyone knew/knows. she's my babe.

i know that there is something for me to learn about these bursts & this particular part of my grief. something about not needing to hold forever in front of me. i just need to keep making my way, to allow my life force to guide me. bit by bit. i don't need to control the direction. i just need to allow. the unfolding. the mystery.

here

my time in boston and the timing of my journey to boston was perfect. perfectly divine. visiting with the most tender creatures. each creature providing me with the perfect gifts and invitations. i received (and i am continuing to receive) the gifts of: feeling at home; giving voice to what i need in particular moments (e.g., to cry, to rest, to be quiet); laughter; envisioning my future; light-ness; allowing; grounding; not apologizing for my way(s) of being; abundance; energy; connection; activism; gentle-ness; soul-full-ness; fresh air; blue, blue skies; sunshine; rest; answers to my heart's & my soul's questions; direction, a solid sense of where to channel my energy; affirmation (all is well. i am well.); love; gratitude; hugs; cups & cups & cups of tea; space to release tears; walks; sharing a room with k. and enjoying late night conversations in the space between our two twin beds, feeling our sister-hood; clarity; and, family.

as i think of my late night conversations with k. and the words traveling through the space between our twin beds, i remember and i honor the space between the literal twin beds that me and my sister, bella, shared at my parents' home during her familiar, physical life and the conversation that we share now in the space between our metaphorical twin beds. as in my conversations with k., i recognize that there is no distance, no space that my conversations cross with bella. these are the conversations of our heart, an expression of our shared heart. we are one another. i am you and you are me. there is no difference. there is no separation.

lately in my journey, the journey i was invited to at the moment of bella's physical death, i am aware of what a radical shift this is. as i make my journey i am aware of always holding many things at the same time: gratitude; the miraculous; a sense of being taken care of; peace-full-ness; grace-full-ness; wisdom; spirit; presence; a sense of being grounded; continued & deepened relationship with bella; a sense of being un-grounded; joy; sadness; dis-orientation; exhaustion; fear; wonder; shock; worry; hope; trust...

sometimes, i am rooted/oriented in/around a particular thing or hand-full of things while, in some way, holding all of the rest. all of this, no doubt, per the universe's request/nudging/guidance.

these days i need to give voice to: how radically different my life is; how sad and literally heart-broken i feel sometimes; how in awe i am of what it's really, really like to live this journey and how often i experience the absence of words to describe this; how many tears there are in me to be released & released & released; how much i remember about bella's familiar physical presence and our relationship during the time of her physical life and how much i miss that...

please know, that this does not dismiss or conceal the rest, the whole, the abundance of the all of what i am holding. it is simply that i need, i must give voice to this, to these pieces.

thank you for holding the space. bless you and all of the pieces and things that you are holding.