Life Goes On

I've been in touch with many of the people who offered their sympathies on my mother's passing, but there may be some of you I've missed, who've wondered how I've been.

It's four weeks today since her death, and life does indeed, go on. My sister has just become a step-granny! A beautiful baby girl has entered this world, and we welcome her!

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It has seemed strange to me at times over these weeks that there can be such a depth of sadness, such a sense of loss, so many tears, and yet, at the same time, we can be laughing, enjoying music or a poem, but this is just as my mother would have wanted it. She didn't dwell at length on instructions about when she died, but two things she did make very clear were that (1) she didn't want any artificial flowers on her grave. [That was so well-known, that we didn't even need to tell people. Of the 50+ wreaths and bouquets that came, none had a hint of anything artificial about them]; and (2) that we (my sisters and I) were not to wear black after her funeral. Some of my aunts wore mourning for a long, long, time after my grandmother's death, and my mother told us we were not to do that for her. She loved to see us in bright, cheerful colours, and that is what she would want. I have a good deal of black in my wardrobe, but when I wear it, it's just because it's there, and not because I'm in mourning.

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My mother would want us to get on with our lives, to have fun, to enjoy the good things in the world, as she did.

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I've posted the SoulCollage® card that my sister made just a couple of weeks prior to Mam's death. She's there at various stages in her life - prior to her marriage; on her wedding-day; as a young mother (I'm the baby on her lap in the upper right); and as the mother of a growing family. This card is a lovely mememto, and my father has been greatly comforted by it, with its reminders of all those times.

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I really have appreciated all the kind words, the thoughts and prayers that you have sent my way in these weeks. So many people have shared their own stories of loss and bereavement, and offered their wisdom about the need to be gentle with myself. I'm listening, and taking that to heart. Thank you all.

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She would have been so happy to hear about the new baby entering our extended family today.

Poem

For Death

(by John O'Dohohue)


From the moment you were born,
Your death has walked beside you.
Though it seldom shows its face,
You still feel its empty touch
When fear invades your life,
Or what you love is lost
Or inner damage is incurred...

That the silent presence of your death
Would call your life to attention,
Wake you up to how scarce your time is
And to the urgency to become free
And equal to the call of your destiny.

That you would gather yourself
And decide carefully
How you now can live
The life you would love
To look back on
From your deathbed.

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Lila kindly sent me a link to where I could find that poem, among the comments on his book - "To Bless the Space Between Us - a Book of Blessings" on Amazon.com.

The commenter left quite a long essay about O'Donohue, who died in January of this year, concluding with a quote about what O'Donohue said happens on the other side: "I believe that our friends among the dead really mind us and look out for us," he wrote. "Often there might be a big boulder of misery over your path about to fall on you, but your friends among the dead hold it back until you have passed by."

I now have someone very special watching over me. Since my mother has moved into the spiritual realm, she is more aware of me now probably than she had been during the past few years. In this I am blessed.

"Grief is a journey that knows its way"

When I wrote last week about what gives me solace, a couple of people who commented suggested that I might read some of John O'Donohue's writings. I recall the poem, "Beannacht", which Cate included in her blog tribute to him just after his passing. Lila suggested I read his poem about death walking with us, and, though I have encountered it in the past, I cannot find it right now. The only one of his books I could lay my hand on in my house was "Eternal Echoes". (One thing that has happened me in these few weeks is that my memory has been affected. My instinctive knowledge of my bookshelves has been erased or diminished greatly. I can't find my away around my own library. Strange and scary!)

In "Eternal Echoes" I read:

"Despite its severity, the consolation at a time of grief is that it is a journey. Grief has a structure; it knows the direction and it will take you through... Experience always knows its way. And we can affort to trust our souls much more than we realize. The soul is always wiser than the mind, even though we are dependent on the mind to read the soul for us. Though travel is slow on the grief journey, you will move through its grey valley and come out again onto the meadow where light, colour and promise await to embrace you..."

Read again:

"The soul is always wiser than the mind, even though we are dependent on the mind to read the soul for us."

I know this. My soul knows this. My heart knows this. My bones know this. We all really know this. The soul seeks out what it needs. My sister sought me out this week. She came up to stay a few days on Monday, and we followed her need for the sea, to put her feet in the sea.

Do you know the consolation of poetry? Imagine at a time like this having the sudden opportunity to hear Billy Collins and Seamus Heaney read together! We went on Tuesday evening, and that was soul-healing.

Yesterday, we worked in my garden, clearing, tidying, and filling pots with colour. My sister helped me make a space in which it is a pleasure to sit once more, and in the evening, we lit candles and torches and sat to welcome two friends for a visit.

We turned to our SoulCollage® cards. I seleced four cards to suggest what would support me in this grief journey. The first card I pulled was my "Caring Gardener", and I was so surprised! When I speak from that card, I'm reminded that, as I care for the earth, the earth cares for me and keeps me in contact with the cycles of life. (I share the full SoulCollage reading on my SoulFragments blog HERE) This is a really important part of the grief journey, I'm sure.

I know that if I were to return to visit this garden I visited in March, when the above photo was taken, those spaces will be filled with lush and colourful plants and vegetables. Prior to our mother's death, both my sister and I had spoken of our intention to make a vegetable-garden next year. It seems all the more important to us now that we should carry this out - on however small a scale, we both feel the need to grow something that will nurture.

I am trusting my soul to know the next steps on the journey.