There is a philosophy in yoga that says we cannot lose anything that is truly ours. Our material things, jobs, relationships, even our bodies, are simply on loan from the divine. Who we are is deeper and wider than what we feel, what we do, where we go...
All the loss we have had this past year feels like a breaking off. The breaking off of parts of my heart that Mr. Carrico and John have taken with them. The breaking off of my dreams for my son Anthony. Those broken pieces feel like pieces of me... gone. Just gone. Gone are two wonderful people who loved me just as I am. Gone are the opportunities to learn from them and appreciate them. Gone are the naive assumptions that our family had reached our tragedy limit. Gone are the comforts of thinking that there will always be time later...
What is gone feels so much like parts of ME gone. I keep looking down, expecting a physical body part to be missing; surprised that I still have two hands; surprised that this body still wants to eat, sleep and work. I wonder what is left? After all of this breaking off, how much of my heart is left here?
That is how I feel...but I know that is not how Life works. When I can stop fighting the pain for a brief moment, I see a slightly different perspective.
Maybe this journey of grief is less about ME breaking off and more like layers of "not me" being pulled off. It is painful in its unfamiliarity like new skin in the sun. Maybe this shock of loss is my call to shake free from everything that keeps me from growing - guilt, fear, anger. Maybe that feeling of my heart breaking off is really peeling off its outer shell to contain more.
I still ask "what's left" and I'm still not sure. I am still so raw. I feel so sad and tired and old and sometimes scared.
But this is what I want, and this is what I will work toward - a bigger, kinder, wiser and more grateful heart. A soul that is not afraid of the sun. A woman who knows that her smile is a better testamonial of love than her tears...
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Thursday, July 5, 2012
My Brother John
As I sit on the couch this evening staring into the dark countryside, I offer my love up to my brother John. He died this morning in his sleep. To say that I am shocked and saddened just doesn't seem adequate. The pain of this grief is physical. My heart hurts; my skin hurts; my eyeballs hurt; I just really hurt.
There are so many stories and pieces of advice and words of encouragement that I can easily remember about John. He was so quick with kindness...and sarcasm. He had this irrepressible, irreverent sense of humor that would just shock laughter right out of me. I love so much his refusal to take himself too seriously.
My favorite story about John was one I didn't see, I just heard about it from him and his wife.
Several years ago, he was offered a job as a principal of an engineering firm. The company gave him the checkbook and told him to buy a car as his company car. The car he chose? A PT Cruiser. :)
What I love about that story is that it illustrates how John did not live his life to impress anyone. A PT Cruiser looked neat, so that is the car he bought. He was himself, no matter who happened to be looking at him at the time. He had so much intelligence and class, and absolutely no pretension.
He helped me organize my first term paper in high school.
When I was done whining to him about how big the paper had to be and how overwhelmed I was, he explained how I could break it up into more manageable pieces. (Incidentally, my brother Bill helped me type that same paper. It was the first time I ever used a computer to write a paper.) I use that same process daily and often think about that first intimidating paper.
He helped shape my work ethic.
He modeled working hard and honestly for what you want. When I passed my driver's test after failing it three times (long story), John and his wife Helen called me from San Diego and sang me a "Congratulations" song.
I called him first when I graduated with my master's degree...got my first teaching job...found out we were having a girl...
I am so grateful that I got him as my oldest brother. I am so grateful I had time with him. Every phone call started with his enthusiastic "HEY". Every phone call ended with "I'm proud of you. I love you." I can hardly bear knowing that those phone calls are gone.
I am hurting, and I know lots of us are hurting because he touched so many people. I love you, John. I will carry the best of you forward, as far as my path will go.
There are so many stories and pieces of advice and words of encouragement that I can easily remember about John. He was so quick with kindness...and sarcasm. He had this irrepressible, irreverent sense of humor that would just shock laughter right out of me. I love so much his refusal to take himself too seriously.
My favorite story about John was one I didn't see, I just heard about it from him and his wife.
Several years ago, he was offered a job as a principal of an engineering firm. The company gave him the checkbook and told him to buy a car as his company car. The car he chose? A PT Cruiser. :)
What I love about that story is that it illustrates how John did not live his life to impress anyone. A PT Cruiser looked neat, so that is the car he bought. He was himself, no matter who happened to be looking at him at the time. He had so much intelligence and class, and absolutely no pretension.
He helped me organize my first term paper in high school.
When I was done whining to him about how big the paper had to be and how overwhelmed I was, he explained how I could break it up into more manageable pieces. (Incidentally, my brother Bill helped me type that same paper. It was the first time I ever used a computer to write a paper.) I use that same process daily and often think about that first intimidating paper.
He helped shape my work ethic.
He modeled working hard and honestly for what you want. When I passed my driver's test after failing it three times (long story), John and his wife Helen called me from San Diego and sang me a "Congratulations" song.
I called him first when I graduated with my master's degree...got my first teaching job...found out we were having a girl...
I am so grateful that I got him as my oldest brother. I am so grateful I had time with him. Every phone call started with his enthusiastic "HEY". Every phone call ended with "I'm proud of you. I love you." I can hardly bear knowing that those phone calls are gone.
I am hurting, and I know lots of us are hurting because he touched so many people. I love you, John. I will carry the best of you forward, as far as my path will go.
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