Where do I begin...
Where do I end?
Remaining present with what IS during difficult times and times of loss can be heavy.
I have recently had a string of such difficult times. The most recent of which is the expected but sudden death of a brother-in-law. We happened to be out of town for a swim race that my partner signed up for. Only two hours away, we decided to spend a couple days with my sister and her ill husband.
My other sister and her husband happened to also be in town, along with my 97 yr old mother. It was the first time we were all together in the same place in about 7 years.
It was a gift that everything aligned to allow us all to be together at this time.
I received a phone call yesterday from my sister, only 2 days after we left her, to say that her husband had just died.
Expected, but shocked that it happened so soon. We knew it would most likely be the last time we saw him, but we did not know that she would so soon be losing the man she has been with since she was 12 yrs old.
How will she know who she is without him?
My sister is 9 yrs older than me. That would make me 3 yrs old when my brother-in-law entered my life.
How will I know who I am without him?
Several months ago my uncle (in his 90’s) died peacefully after a relatively brief illness. His 100 yr old wife is mostly bedridden and can’t understand why or how she is still alive.
I knew him my whole life. Family as I knew it and as I viewed myself in it is changing. And it will change again, sooner rather than later.
The older I get, the more losses prevail. With each person who transitions, I too find myself transitioning or transforming.
Covid? The loss of most everything as we knew it.
Hurricane Helene? The loss of Asheville, NC as we knew it.
The only thing constant in life is loss and change.
But why does it seem so heavy and so much?
I keep adjusting. I keep pivoting. I keep wiping the tears and carrying on. I know I am changing, but I’m not sure how.
It all causes me to truly cherish each moment. We don’t know how much time we or our friends and loved ones will be given.
I’m getting older too. I turned 63 on the day we left my brother-in-law to fly home. I’ve changed over the years. When I look at myself in the mirror I don’t recognize myself anymore. I try to adjust to and accept the face that stares back at me.
Change. Loss. Grief.
That’s what it is. For the past several years I feel like I am in a perpetual state of grief. Nothing stays the same. Nothing is the same. I feel like my internal and external foundations have been shook.
I can’t seem to put things back together to look familiar or the same as it once was. Nor should I. It would be impossible.
This brings me back to the present moment. In this moment what is simply is. It isn’t any particular way. We aren’t comparing it to the past or projecting it into the future. If I am in the present, I have to accept what is right now at face value.
If I am cold and I don’t like it, I can put on a jacket.
But what if I look in the mirror and I don’t like what I see?
Be here now.
The person looking back at me in the mirror IS me. When I’m not looking in the mirror I see myself differently. When I look in the mirror, it doesn’t match up with the image I have of myself; my ever changing aging self. So this moment becomes one of radical self-acceptance. Unconditional self-love.
What if I lost someone I love and I want them back?
If this moment no longer contains their physical presence, then what do I make of this moment? This moment becomes the feeling of the loss of their presence. I embrace the grief and loss that I feel. And I return to this moment.
I return to this moment again and again.
It is only in looking back that this moment is lacking or different. But we only have ever had and will always forever have this moment. Everything else is an illusion.
And this moment is exactly as it is. And I am exactly where I need to be.
I begin and I end … in a moment.