Sunday, October 25, 2009
Autumn seems to be a time for grieving. Strong, warm Summer sunlight fades as a shadowy darkness takes over.
I spent most of the night crying. Tears soaked my pillowcase. Hubby lay beside me, breathing deeply. I placed my arm on his bony hip, cuddling him close to me, as I cried a river of tears.
I was remembering our first days together. Our first months. Our first years. As the old cliche goes "we were so much in love" (and still are to this day). It was pure bliss - heaven on Earth. I was bursting with happiness on a daily basis. I felt vastly rich. Truly loved and cherished. We played, we laughed, we travelled. Life was beautiful!
I wondered (as a kaleidoscope of the last 13 years danced through my head) will he die tonight? He had been sleeping on and off most of the day. As gentle love scenes played across my memory, flowers, moon-lit nights, birthdays, beaches, dazzling sunsets, caring and sharing - will tonight be the night?
I've asked that same question time and again over the seven and a half years he's been on oxygen. Will I find his body cold beside me in the morning; his spirit flown? Will I come home to find him on the floor? Gone - while I was out somewhere I didn't need to be?
The night before my mother died, the same swirling of thoughts and memories flashed through my mind - just like this night. I remember being a small child. Mom teaching me how to tie my shoe, wash my hands, say thank-you to someone. Mom tucking me into bed with a goodnight kiss. Mom standing at the door, waving good-by as I eagerly rushed out on my way to some adventure or other. Scenes from my teens, my graduation, my wedding, the birth of my children played in my head the night before she died. I did not know she was dying.
Very early the next morning, I got The Call. I knew in the depth of my soul that she had been sending me messages as her spirit chose to leave this Earth. They were not dreams, for I was wide awake. They were energy thought-forms. My sisters also received messages that night.
Was this to be the same happening? The very same scenario?
The next morning, Hubby awoke, looking better than he had in a long time. Relief washed over me like a wave. It's not his time yet. So why was I grieving? I don't know. Perhaps I had a slushy mound of grief stored up that needed release. All summer, I'd been riding a wave of joy, as I usually do. Sunshine and flowers; my hands in the Earth. I ignored sad. I pushed aside grief. I've been grieving for 7 and a half years - ever since his diagnosis. We need to treasure our time together. Not grieve the future.
I know, I know, but when I watch his daily struggles; constant unrelenting fatigue, frequent rest stops while slowly making his way across the room, eroded memory, emaciated body, oxygen tubing snaking across the floor; and the worst of the worst, even while resting in a chair, is.. just.. trying.. to.. breathe... it's hard not to look in the face of Grief.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
(pic compliments of the net)
Last night, after supper, I decided to go for a short walk. Our weather had been rainy and cloudy for the past couple of days, so I didn't really expect to see the moon. Waxing gibbous is where She is right now. Full splendor on October 4th - actually tomorrow!
Coming around the circle, and up a short hill (o.k. upward slope in the road), I looked up and saw a hazy, cloudy sky. There was a little patch in between the clouds that looked as if it were lit from behind by Our Mother Moon.
How pretty, I thought to myself. I guess that's as good as I'm going to get this evening. Just a haze and a bit of gentle light illuminating the soggy clouds from behind.
Continuing to stretch my legs and breathe in the fresh air, I walked on. Acorns crunched underfoot. All was dark. Streetlights are far and few between, here in the country, but lights shone from some houses as I passed by. Some people leave only one lamp burning in the window, as if to welcome passers by. Others have lights shining in every room.
Squabbling voices pierced the night air, interrupting the soft silence. Hmmm, somebody must be having a party, I thought. Strange that the noise level would reach the street. Our properties are large and unless doors and windows are open, you can't really hear anything that goes on inside the houses.
Squabbling turned into squawking and instantly I understood. Geese! Of course! Canada geese flying South for the winter! Quickly I scanned the dark skies trying hard to figure out where they were. How could I possibly see any movement in a dark night sky? Well I tried anyway and saw nothing.
The Moon however, chose this time to show off. Clouds yielded; hung back for a bit allowing Mother Moon to shine. Not brightly or clearly, but with an ethereal glow.
Waiting and watching, I stood rooted to the spot.
"Come on, geese - where are you?" I called into the darkness.
Honk! honk! honk....growing fainter now.
Oh well, time to go. Turning away, I started back home. On an impulse, I took one last look over my shoulder. And then I saw them! Two or three at first, flying one behind the other, silhouetted against the light of the almost-full Moon.
And then there were zillions! Wings flapping, long necks reaching as if to plant a goosey kiss on Mother Moon before flying away on their journey. I was in awe! Never have I seen geese flying over the moon before. Thought it was the stuff of story-books.
As the honking grew softer and more distant, I silently wished them farewell.
Have a good trip and enjoy the warm sunny Winter. See you in the Spring.
Had I not given in to that little tug at my shoulder nudging me to turn back at just the right time, I would have missed this magical moment.
I wonder what message the Universe is sending me?