march 2018/ admittedly it's been a while
With the moon full tonight, it's as if it meant to warmly signal through its sure presence, for us all to wrap up February neatly and reassuringly. It's nice to know it’s there, whole and solid after the ride thus far of 2018. It’s taken me until tonight to be able to act on my goal of writing again - of picking up the pen again to hear the scribbles of thoughts fall through the tip of a roughed up pen; of hitting just-showered-clean, but jagged ends of chewed up nails to the keyboard; to reflect on the ebbs and flows of this past month.
I don’t think I’m alone in saying, what a year it has already been….
On this full-mooned ending to February, I had come home initially feeling scraggly, on edge from a long day of work, with a heartbeat sounding like it was amplified through a speaker in my inner ear, to find my dog, Bradley nudged behind the trash can in a corner of my apartment. He only does this after he has had a seizure. I’m still not sure why. I’m not sure how long he was stuck there or what he experienced, not sure if he’s made peace with these monthly episodes or is completely fearful; Perhaps he doesn’t remember a thing or even me or where he’s lived before. These moments shake me with fear, with sadness, with anger even, that he or I have to deal with this. But tonight was different. The potential reality that Brad could have been found without life, simply gone forever, coated me with a sense of extreme calmness, serenity almost. For a split second and for the first time in my relationship with Little Brad, I thought, not only that this could be his time to depart, but more significantly, that that would be okay. It’d be the first time that I’d be confident in saying that he had lived a full life, and secure that I had given him enough; That we have had the blessing of a truly unbreakable bond.
After the storm of a jagged day, after the stillness of shock, I sifted through what it has been like to take care of Brad, post-seizures and middle of the night vet visits. I sifted through intense losses that so many close to me have experienced recently; I sifted through the fragility of happiness and of more, life.
This month my neighbor had to put her dog, her baby down. I hugged her on her way to say goodbye knowing that’s all I could give. I watched news of shootings this month, the utter desperation, confusion, the rightful anger and pain that emerged from both those that experienced moments of life and death first-hand and witnesses nationwide. I held the man I love as he shared the loss of his close friend who left such a lively mark on this world; I could only listen to his words drop and let them hover and stick to the air between us as he realized and spoke the undeniable truth that I have become so familiar with; that he would have the rest of his life to miss someone dear. I know this because I miss my mom every day since I've lost her.
My care for Bradley was actually quite similar to how my mom’s relationship to caring for me had been, I realized. I had previously come from a place of wanting to be the best caretaker possible, the best provider and dare I say, a “perfect” one. I didn't want to let go, to release control, or more selfishly, want anyone to think that I wasn't doing enough for him. Even more fundamentally, a more dangerous view remained: that I, myself, was not enough. With my mother now gone, I see so many of her struggles, like trying to be too many places at once, followed by wanting to completely check out from the demands she had put on herself, manifest in my own psyche. As I've had the blessing and the curse of her mistakes to learn from, and with these recent, loud reminders that life- this wondrous continuum of experiencing- can be shut off as quickly as the flip of a light switch, priorities seem a little clearer. I’ve been heavily reminded that the more we hold on to something out of insecurity, the less we are able to accept what life brings in, and therefore, fully provide what is needed to those we love in each moment; the less we are able to really experience the vibrancy of this life, this very temporary life.
This month, it has also become all the more apparent how far away we are from acknowledging death in our culture, much less its aftermath. It’s become clear how much we are lacking in understanding that death is very real, and like a disease, its loss never departs from us. Loss is not something we are meant to “get over” or “get past” or perhaps even heal; rather, our relationship to it must evolve and grow with. This idea or even, instinct to want to make someone feel better, cheer up, or return to "normalcy," aka go back to how they acted before loss, is actually quite a selfish reaction that exists at large. We, as a whole, generally default to pushing the uncomfortable away, whether it's our own discomfort or it is letting someone else experience their discomforts. This perpetuates a notion and an assumption that we all want to just feel good - "good" on the surface, rather than the full spectrum of joy, passion and cruelty involved in the true beauty of pain. Because We tend to refrain from talking about the multilayered reality of death (as opposed to the superficial drama of it) we tend to cut the experience of loss, of trauma and of celebrating life totally short. We minimize the potential to vibrate with pure emotion, to be fully human, fully ourselves. This is the stuff of connection. This is how we grow, beyond discomfort and into something real.
The experience of grieving or accepting death cannot and should not be masked, for if it is, we will not be open to be reminded of the great responsibility we have to celebrate of life, community and our human duty to reach out and depend on one another. When loss or death kisses our worlds, it serves to remind us of the responsibility we have to live all the more deeply and to engage with every breath we have the opportunity to inhale. So, moving into March, let's change, or rather, start the conversation about death as not something to hide from, but rather to embrace as part of a journey.
You are here, be here.
Your truth is needed, live it.
Feel fully, because it's why you're here, to be fully.