sweet acceptance

December 10, 2010

I know some of you out there reading this are in the thick of your grief and can’t imagine life ever getting any easier or your pain subsiding. I remember being there: feeling that my wounds would never stop oozing, my tears would never stop flowing, and I would never feel complete without my beloved. I would never have imagined that I would be ok again.

Over the course of this past  month-and-a-half something has shifted in me in an enormous way. I wrote in an earlier post that I was suffering from what I called the second year anniversary blues. The weeks and months before the second year anniversary were fraught with much anger, chaos, stress, and constant low-grade irritation. Then it was the anniversary of John’s birthday on November 1st. He would have been 32. A close and dear friend visited and stayed with me. I was able to shed some tears over the loss of his beauty and how hard it has been not seeing his kind of beauty replicated anywhere in the world. How hard it is to begin dating men again when no one compares to his inner and outer beauty. My friend shared of her own loss of how his special, kind, loving nature had affected her so deeply.  We stood in the middle of Barnes and Nobles as she held me in her arms and I cried.

We saw the movie The Hereafter together and that helped me understand at a greater level that the grief and loss that we experience when a loved one dies is such an excruciatingly painful part of life that we all experience. It’s not just me and a few people I know experiencing the sadness of a death. It’s all of us. All around the world, people are crying, missing, and longing for their loved ones. We are not alone in our grieving. The Hereafter also reminded me of what a sweet feeling of relief it is to know that our loved ones are still alive, loving us, always with us, and even a part of us.

On the day of John’s birthday a state of grace set in. The week between his birthday and the day of his passing (November 7th) was an unusually hot one here in Los Angeles, with temperatures up in the eighties. It was a week full of warmth, peacefulness, and gorgeous sunset drives home on the freeway with palm tree silhouettes back-lit with yellows and blues.

That weekend I spent at a buddhist monastery in the mountains near San Diego. I turned off my phone, retreated from the world, and rested. During my meditation on sunday November 7th, through tears of love, I heard guidance telling me to rejoice and celebrate the day as the day in which John was finally released from his pain. The day he found the freedom he had always searched for. I could choose to commemorate the anniversary of his passing as a sad, lonely, depressing day or I could choose to celebrate it with him and feel joy about his release. I didn’t have to miss him or feel separated from him because he is with me and always will be. So go down the mountain and celebrate and have fun together, is what I heard. And so I chose to celebrate. I left the monastery and drove to the ocean ( i love california!). It so happened that there was a village fair going on that day in the town I happened to drive right into. I wandered through the fair in a state of peace, joy, and gratitude for all the beauty in my life and most of all for John’s companionship and love.

That day was a miracle – a shift in my perception – and since then I have let go of the past that I used to have with John. I have let go of my grief, my sorrow, and my loss. My perspective in my life and the world has changed so dramatically from a few years ago. My life and my place in the world feels exciting. Time is moving fast (and I love that) and I am more conscious of the gifts in my day to day life and the gifts that I have been given in order to be here and be of service.  I am excited for my future and the possibilities that lay ahead.

I know that what I just described may feel far off or impossible for some. I offer it here as a possibility; an invitation of hope. I never thought I would feel this way. And here I am. Let me hold the space for the possibility that one day you will feel infinitely better than you can imagine right now.  Things will get better in time, I promise. Keep grieving, keep processing, journaling, dancing, moving, meditating, and healing.  And in whatever it is that you do – don’t forget to pray for a miracle.

 

 

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4 Responses to “sweet acceptance”

  1. elana said

    i’m so happy to hear that you’ve been able to let go of the pain and sadness and can fully celebrate john’s release.

    got to keep moving-you’ve got things to do and books to write!

  2. DINA ROSENMEIER said

    Beautiful !!! Thank you for sharing. xoxo

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