Day 22 of writing my grief course. This past week has been a zinger. It makes you wonder if you are under attack by the universe? My husband even wondered out loud if we had done something horrific in another life to warrant these consequences? It has prompted me to get out my sage.
Seriously, the past 10 days have been so difficult that I wish I would have signed up for this course another time. Please, please do not tell me that this is the time I was meant to take this course. At the moment, that philosophy is not comforting me at all. I want to give the universe the middle finger today … but the kindness extended to me during this same time by new friends has offered salve to my soul. A note from across the pond on Mother’s Day; unexpected photos of a hummingbird and monarch butterfly which have now been placed in an unused garden frame I had been holding for the past 2.5 years and beautiful feather earrings which were purchased on Amy’s birthday. All received at the perfect time.
My tears could fill a river this week. Tears prompted by frustration, anger, sadness and loss. Being pulled in so many different directions has landed me back at the drawing board again this week. Dammit! The softer kinder woman has still not emerged from the rubble of this nightmare.
Along came a spider this week too. But instead of frightening me, it bit me and I had to hobble through this past week dealing with that nuisance too. Small potatoes in the grand scheme of things but it still landed me in a mini clinic with white coats that offer ambushes of Devastation Day.
So below is my response to today’s writing prompt as my mind wanders to where Amy is now … Many of the signs which Amy has given me since Devastation Day allowed me to write this as if Amy is writing these words. Oh how I wish Amy was here with me instead of guiding my thoughts and words to speak for her.
At the end of my suffering, there was a door… Huh? What happened? How did I get here? Why did I ever admit to my aunt that I had done everything on my bucket list? Oh Mom, I know you are devastated without me but you are stronger than you realize. Seriously, Mom, stop questioning if I can be here without you! I am fine. Actually, I am better than fine.
Grandmom escorted me here so while I was confused, I was not afraid. When Grandmom died suddenly 4 months before me, I played my Mom the song, I Will See You Again, by Carrie Underwood. I told my Mom I could not survive living in a world without Grandmom if I didn’t believe those words were true? Mom, believe it! Death is not the end.
Mom, remember when I was in junior high school and we made up our own secret word for I Love You! You said those three words were overused now and we needed our own word of love — we picked “feathers” as our word. Now I send you feathers to remind you that love never dies and our love is eternal. You must have been amazed when you went to the workshop conducted by a medium and when she started to walk away and then turned around to tell you that I was throwing a “feather” to you. You must “believe” Mom!
Believe what Natasha said: this is bliss. Peace unlike any you have experienced or in your capacity able to imagine. Beauty no color justifies. All consuming unconditional love. The body is overrated and will eventually betray you or just stop working. That’s the way it works where you are now, but it all changes.
Life where you exist now is over in a blink of an eye. When the time is right and you join me, your heart will be free of all that weighs you down now. All of your questions will be answered. The answers are here.
Until then, live your life. I am still with you always. Just not in the way you want me to be. Remember the poem that was sent to you directly from that famous person right before your first birthday without me:
Death is Nothing at All
Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away to the next room.
I am I and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other,
That, we are still.
Call me by my old familiar name.
Speak to me in the easy way
which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed
at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word
that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effect.
With the trace of a shadow on it.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same that it ever was.
There is absolute unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind
because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you.
For an interval.
Somewhere. Very near.
Just around the corner.
All is well.
— Henry Scott Holland
Mom, I will see you again. This is not the end. Believe!
Always, always remembering Amy.