Us...

It was a gorgeous Fall day filled with sunshine and anticipation. Orange, red and yellow leaves barely clung to the branches of the trees surrounding the temple;  a simple white gazebo, tucked on top of a hill.  Nature held on until the final “I do” to release its colorful confetti in celebration of two souls that had somehow found each other through the rubble of their individual pasts.   Friends and family came together to bear witness to a union even they sensed was a Holy gift.  Pre-destined, perfect timing, all  guided by a God that knew these two would help one another grow into their spiritual skins. If an infrared picture could have been taken,  the souls of those they loved who had passed before, wrapped their arms around them in a circle of celebration and angelic good wishes.  A mother’s presence crossed over from heaven and the light of her joy warmed the hearts of those witness to this special day.  Finally, her daughter found her worth and because of this, her dreams were coming true.

The couple wrote their own vows.  The words went beyond the ordinary.  They wanted their lives to be more than to love, honor and cherish, until death parted them.  They were equally interested in making a difference in the world they lived both separately and as a team: in their own ways, unique in their interests and talents, yet united in all that felt important to them - people, kindness, curiosity, values.  Two people locking arms, knowing they could accomplish more together than apart.  They had each others  back.  Always.  Their love was a soft place to rest and they cherished their time together.  Yet they also intuitively knew this relationship was much larger than both of them.   It was about the big picture; the eternal one. They crossed paths to learn and grow from the lessons their union would offer them.   It was truly a soul connection.  

Falling  in love was familiar, gentle and easy, like revisiting a past life and recognizing you have known one another before.  It was a safe place to live, devoid of drama, and reinforced an unfailing trust; a cozy comfort zone of the best kind.  Their relationship was a place where they could be themselves, always.   It was an invitation to see each other through fresh eyes, each others and God’s, instead of peering out from the harsh lens of their individual insecurities and perceived defects.

He taught her to trust others and most of all trust love, something she had little faith in.   She taught him to share and be open and honest with his feelings, something he struggled to do.  He taught her to take risks and walk with adventure.  She offered him the experience, adoration, and love of a child while he learned how to mentor and parent.  He taught her she had more talent and ability than she gave herself credit for.  She taught him to reach deeper inside and not only know the God of his religion, but experience Him in personal ways.  They both enjoyed the gift of humor; his sarcastic, hers self-deprecating. Life had already validated for both of them, that even in the darkest of moments, humor isn’t irreverent, it’s life-saving, and can be a grounding force for putting things back into perspective. They possessed curious natures and this trait made life an adventure, although he was clearly the more experimental of the two. Back and forth- student and teacher trading roles as easily as breathing in the freshness of a Spring day after many dark nights searching for answers. 

A perfect union between two flawed people with the intention of bringing forth their better angels.  

  

His physical presence left her in January of 1999. The grief was like a thick, black smoke choking the life out of her for a long time. She ran for her life. The harder she ran, the deeper and darker it got. Finally, she collapsed and groped around in the blackness for some light. Any light.  Emergency light.  Night Light. Generator.  There were plenty.  His family.  Her family. Friends.  Kind strangers.  She stood still and felt the loss and cried enough tears to fill a new ocean.  

I am her. 

A dear friend shared with me today that she has never had the experience of love at the level I had. That’s not the first time someone has said that to me. It was unique.  It was special.  This same friend added, “The grief must be so deep.”  It is. His love changed me and his death changed my life.  But, every day I am alive, it’s a choice.   I can choose to be grateful and honor the gifts and the growth, or get lost in the maze of what might have been. Most days, those better angels, which he helped to reveal, are in charge. 

On days like today,  I miss him.  Kirk Diedrich, author and poet, said, “When you meet the one who changes the way your heart beats, dance with them to the rhythm for as long as the song lasts.”  Our song will last forever.  The lyrics may have changed , but when I close my eyes and get very still, the ethereal strain of the melody is seared into my heart forever.  

Treasure Chest

Image from
www.BoneSighArts.com
He was her hero
not in the cape-flying
out the window kinda way
but in the best friend,
believes in who you are kinda way

The last week of January has traditionally been a rough week for me.  It’s been that way since January 30, 1999.  Watching the person you believe to have been your soulmate slip out of your arms into the arms of heaven leaves a wound on your soul.  There have been years that have been better than others, and possibly even years where there was a new love interest in my life.  I haven’t stayed stuck in the muck of hopelessness and grief, and he wouldn’t have wanted me to.  However, his presence in my life carved a deeper impression than a legal and holy merger between a man and woman who love each other whole-heartedly.   He changed everything I believed about me.

In the months after his death, I begged God to take me with him. Later, I ranted at the unfairness, and constantly dwelled on what life would be like if he was still here,  I lived in a twisted future world of fantasy; making up stories of the two of us, buying a business, traveling, building a small condo by some beach, and immersing ourselves in the activities of  precocious  little grandchildren.  How he would enjoy them.  Those stories I told myself just left me a little envious and a lot bitter.  

After a few years, I moved beyond that, and gingerly stepped into dating again.  I was a young widow and at the time the idea of living out the rest of my days alone was a dreaded fate, right behind death.  Being with him when he died, I no longer feared life on the other side, but a life alone seemed to me to be a miserable existence.  With that fear in the forefront of my mind, many of my choices in companionship weren’t really the best fit for me and with every break-up, it somehow made his death even more painful.  I wondered if I compared others to him too often, and decided I probably did.  Using him as a measure of suitability was destined to fail, not because so many of those others weren’t good people and nice guys, but simply because nothing can ever compare to the trophy on the shelf, shiny and flawless in my imagination;  picking and choosing only the stellar qualities and fireworks moments to memorialize him.  I pushed away the minutia of character traits and times when he wasn’t perfect. 

I’ve settled into a much more comfortable place and my dreaded widowhood has turned to comfortable singledom.  What that means is I am no longer defined by his death.  I treasure the Golden Decade I spent with him, but I have also had beautiful moments without him.  

However, he was my hero and always will be. He left me with a treasure chest of unconditional love, acceptance, and an explicit  belief in me and my capabilities, things I struggled to give to myself. He taught me to love me. He looked at me with a fresh set of eyes.  He saw my heart and my humor.  He saw my talents, unfiltered by insecurity.  He told me I was one of the smartest people he knew and reinforced it when he listened intently to my opinions and used them with his business, in his relationships, and for his own personal growth.   Those were the gifts he left to comfort me when he was gone.  Eternal, life-changing gifts.  I didn’t see it for a long, long, time and maybe I had to dig my way out of the grave in order to breathe.

I had to find my gratitude again to light the way back into the land of the living and uncover the blessings he brought into my life, rather than focusing on my loss.  

As I prepare for another January 30th, tomorrow, this year I think I will snuggle into the beautiful wool quilt my talented sister-in-law made for my father-in-law and gifted to me after his death a few years ago.  Surrounded by material symbols of love, it’s really time to send an extra helping of thanks to God and him for arriving in my life and helping me to see that I am really strong and talented, and loved way beyond the grave.  Spending the day honoring the treasure chest full of gifts that have helped me to navigate these many years since he's been gone, seems like it would be a better reflection of the love we shared.  My husband, my hero, my blessing.

The river of our soul which runs through us is what gives us our animation. - Elizabeth Lesser

Twelve years ago shortly after 9:00 a.m. the best man I have ever known, a beautiful soul, left this world.  He also happened to be my husband.  It was a bright sunny morning, and I remember being struck by how his hair shimmered and his face was bathed in sunlight giving him an angelic look even amidst the suffering.  It just seemed  too beautiful, not the kind of day someone should die.  Yet, if you knew him, you would say it was a perfect way for him to enter his new life.   In the sunlight... in his favorite room in our home.... in my arms.  He was surrounded by his beloved family and a favorite nurse who had become a dear friend.  She reached out way beyond her duties, and brought him comfort and laughter in his final days.  I swear I felt his soul leave his body, and then the room, as I hugged him and hung on tightly.  Along with it, he took a huge piece of my heart.   Only five minutes earlier I had whispered into his ear,  “Give my mom a big hug from me when you see her.”  In that moment, I thought everything that had brought any meaning to my life was gone forever. 

I’ve spent a good number of the years since his death in survival mode, limping along. I began filling the empty hole, that spot where the other half of my heart used to live, with anything I could find to stop the bleeding.  A little busyness, a lot of workaholism, some over-achievement, food, and a few relationships that hauled in a whole lot of drama.  Drama is a great way to avoid the grief process and dull the pain.  You don’t feel much when your life is in a constant state of turmoil and uncertainty. Just about the time the ache sets in, you manage to align yourself with some new crisis or addiction that diverts you from stopping, facing it head on, and walking through those stages;  denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.... step, by painful step. I stayed stuck in phase one, denial.  I was convinced if I stopped for too long, the pain would overtake me and I would be trapped in a limbo land of chronic grief and spiritual death. So I stayed, hung out... put my blinders on and settled in. 

I didn’t realize by staying there, I was not honoring the man who actually showed me what true love looks like. I wanted to forget, how it felt inside my spirit to be with another soul who calls forth the best in you.  I think we all already possess our gifts, but being with the one you are supposed to be, takes them off the shelf, polishes them all up, and walks with you hand in hand as you share them with the rest of the world.   After his death, I took the gifts we shared, and stashed them away.  I became a hoarder; holding onto his legacy, keeping it locked up, along with so many of those good qualities he brought out in me, all to myself. 

He believed in me.  I made him smile, and laugh.  He told me this every single week for 18 months via a card in the mail, while he was away, going to school.  It became a contest to see who could pick out the most humorous, outrageous cards.  I have the best collection of Far Side cards known to man. His favorite humor... oh, so sarcastic, and "sic".  I loved it, it suited me too.   We compared notes when he came home on the weekends, sharing the events of our respective week with each other.  I helped him study and became a whiz at Anatomy,   incorporating body parts in our conversations as a learning tool for him.  He told me my Patella’s were the finest he'd ever seen.   We treasured our moments; learned how to be mindful  long before it was a buzz word, savoring the minutes of our time together.  We planned adventures and  trips. We had long talks in the hot tub, reciprocally sharing our bucket lists and dreams; encouraged our differences and celebrated our similarities.  He taught me to step outside my comfort zone, lighten up in my frugality, have some fun. I taught him that the best things in life don’t always have a price tag.  He taught me to work harder at not judging others because we haven’t walked in their shoes.  I taught him it was safe to share secrets, and be who we truly are because sometimes we help others most when we are honest about the paths we’ve traveled.  Through his long, painful illness, he taught me what it means to have limitless faith and be optimistic no matter what. I taught him that often the greatest gift we can give someone else is to be still and receive... their support, their offerings, their help and their love.  We traded roles, from student to teacher and back to student again. We reminded each other, everything is in the hands of a Higher Power and our life together would be greatly enhanced if we let it remain there. 

Maybe on that beautiful sunny morning, 12 years ago, when I felt the movement of Mark’s spirit, it wasn’t his soul departing.  Perhaps it was a part of his soul entering and infusing mine with his animation, so I could pay it forward.  I like to think so now.  It’s been a long journey.   Maybe using those things we taught one another, those blessings... perhaps it's time to venture out there, love another again, help others to polish their gifts too, serve, and live the remainder of my days, with the same energy and joy I did when he was alive. It’s an aspiration and it would be an honor.....   

This realization has been a long time coming.  I’ve talked for years about THE BOOK.... My story... our story.  His life was so much about helping others, perhaps this is one way that his animation, wholly alive, inside of me, his legacy,  can live on.  This, is the year of sharing my experience.  Two steps forward, ten back, ultimately getting there, walking out into the daylight, no need for something to fill the hole in my heart.  It’s no longer damaged and broken.  It’s healed, and whole, and ready to give back and be joyfully used again.