#grief – startwithsparkles

Chance meetings.

Blind dates.

Overseas adventures.

Moments of beshert.

The times when the small voice speaks to you and you lean towards it. That indistinguishable light, our neshama, a flame burning bright within never tarries or wavers regardless of how far one strays.

The truth of moments that were page-turners in our own book of life.

Unknown to the seeker, but revealed in due time.

How can one unravel these choices? Tightly braided instances that revealed hidden layers we had known would distinguish the character traits we hope to behold.

Now, standing on the other side of the mountain of grief I seemingly traversed in my mind, the view on the other side is something I never would have imagined. Hindsight is always twenty twenty. The changes that life unfolds are never truly felt until one lives them.

They were once merely ideas.

Now they are lived experiences.

I can sit comfortably and not say anything, but yet listen more intently.

The world continues to turn.

The day becomes night.

The night becomes day.

How lucky are we?

These sunrises and sunsets, years later reveal new colors, rainy days, splashes in puddles beneath our feet. Wet cheeks from rain or tears it does not really matter. The distinguishing of my own pathway, looking back and seeing that the other led to a wondrous and mighty oak still standing tall, but feeling miles behind my own.

Where might mine lead?

The days may reveal.

Onwards toward the unknown.

Seeking light filtered beneath the branches of other’s tree limbs. Some bare, others full of layered pine needles, whispered branches, and lightly brushed with the rings of time.

Continued travels on this spinning planet.

Feet firmly planted in the ground, here I stand for now enjoying the view. The mountain she asked to be laid beneath. The trees swaying, wishing she could enjoy the view with me. A breeze caresses my cheek as it sweeps the ocean breeze, and waves crash beneath our feet. A fleeting memory lives in the atmosphere. Plucked like a cloud from above. See? It says. I’m still here. I am grateful to the one who introduced my parents so they could marry on this same day. The winter solstice. The moment she left, she went onwards on a metaphysical journey alone. Time stood still as I blinked, and the moment passed. Sand and children beneath my feet.

Traversing still.

Onwards the journey, with miles to go before I sleep, said Whitman. That is so aptly put. And hineini, here I am still.

Every year as December 21 approaches and passes I am filled with more emotions than I can explain. Most of them leave me with twinges of sadness or longing, but today I feel more than that. I feel fully grateful now.

When my sister died, I felt like an invisible tether was cut and my lifeline floated away with her.

Then, with time’s passing I realized that the many humans in my life could help me regain my tether and form a new lifeline, if I let them. I’m grateful for all the family and the friends that shed light over the last five years time. I have learned more than I could possibly explain, but most importantly I have come to realize that gratitude is the key component to making my days robust.

I am grateful for the circle of friends, (thank you to Maeve Binchy for your book to reference, but I digress), specifically the women who have become pieces of a sister puzzle in my life. I have learned that no one can or ever will replace or fill the shoes of my birth sibling. But here’s the thing, perhaps even the secret to understanding my personal loss and grief is this: time heals all wounds, or rather time transforms everything.

I can now see that Debbie and I had the fullest relationship and set of experiences that taught me lessons, filled me with joy and hope, and can still make me laugh today. That was the true gift that time bestowed upon us, our memories and the moments that we shared.

Now, I can clearly look at my other relationships that have blossomed in my garden. I know that each woman knows how grateful I am for them, but sometimes it’s helpful to say it out loud: Thank you.

Thank you to the friends and family who have helped shape a new meaning of sisterhood for me. Thank you for sharing your little people when loss filled my life. Thank you for sharing a momento as a reminder of love I can wear every day. Thank you for reading my blog and holding my hand from afar. Thank you for covering me with prayers and kindness when waves crashed down. Thank you for sharing humor and holidays when I missed that sense of knowing someone else’s thoughts on familiar days. Thank you for dropping off food, letters and care packages when I had tiny humans to hold and feed. Thank you for writing, texting, and calling me when fear and judgement clouded my mind and I sought refuge in your council. Thank you for reaching out and sharing your gifts of time. Thank you for filling tea and coffee cups and holding my hand. Thank you for passing the cupcakes and saying eat up without judgement. Thank you for welcoming me to your city and showing me new adventures. Thank you for shedding advice on love, loss, and motherhood when the going got rough. Thank you for answering my texts, calls, and keeping a connection going, even with distance and time. Thank you for allowing new bridges to be built and time to heal. Thank you for holding me in hugs and allowing tears to flow without explanation. Thank you for sharing your weekend days and time to meet and chat. Thank you for holding my tiny baby boys and filling their hearts with love. But most of all, thank you for allowing me the space, holding space and time and loving me just the way I am.

You know that if you read this and connected in some way, I’m giving you a virtual hug and that I love you.

Thank you.