"All Will Be Well"
The weekend is over, the guests have gone, the house is in order, the garbage is taken out, the laundry and dishes are done, the animals are fed, their pens clean and the wind blows the chime that sounds like church bells representing my mother, Lyla.
I take a moment to just “Be” with the reality of losing my mother.
To master embracing change whether unexpected or anticipated takes trust in a power that is beyond my human understanding. I’ve had many opportunities to open my heart and practice trusting in the divine but I have not always fully embraced the opportunity. Here is yet another opportunity.
I stop the attempts of distracting myself from my feelings through binge watching all the episodes of the Tudors.
I do my best to stop the movement of my body and mind. I sit, close my eyes, focus my attention within and hold myself energetically in a space of love, I allow the tears to come, the sadness arises and I breath.
In this moment, I hear mother’s chime outside the patio door, it’s accompanied by Walter’s.
I’m thankful for the wind today, for my mother’s voice is calling through the chime, “This too shall pass”
I open the patio door, even though it’s humid, and rainy. I allow the flies to come buzzing in so I can hear my mother’s song. The resonance is beautiful! Walter’s chime harmonizes with mom’s and the tears flow. It sounds like hope. It sounds like mom’s promise “There’ll be better days ahead Karen”.
This is where I open to trust. I trust and put in the divine’s hand the “days ahead”. I trust that there will be “better days ahead”. There will be joy again.
The ebb and flow of life is filled with loss and joy. You can’t have one without knowing the other. A well-lived life is full of these moments.
The chickens begin clucking, the pig is grunting the goat bleating. I go out to investigate. No emergency just conversations flowing amongst the crew. I coo to the chickens, pet the goat and gently hug the piggy. But it’s just not the same without Walter’s presence.
I come back in the house attempting to journal in hopes of easing my pain.
I get uncomfortable. I move. I grab something to eat. I do a small chore like putting the kitchen waste basket in the shower filling it with bleach water to remove the odor I think I smell.
I retreat from grieving. I can only dip my toe in the water of pain today. I will test the emotional waters again, perhaps tomorrow as I’ll have watched all four seasons of the Tudors by then.
I have no doubt that my body will wrap this grief up and store it. I’ll have no choice but to take it out again or suffer the consequences of the emotional pain morphing into physical pain if I neglect it too long. This is the deep inner work of the soul my teacher Debra Morrill talks about in class. I will come back to it. I will acknowledge and embrace the change.
The chime’s deep, beautiful tones softly ring out my mother’s loving and supporting words, “All will be well.”