The Anniversary of Sybil’s Death

The twenty-third of March was the first anniversary of my niece’s death. She was pregnant with her first child, had a stroke and went into a coma because of complications from preeclampsia. Her son, Jack, was delivered by C-section on March seventeenth and Sybil never recovered. It amazes me how the anniversary of a person’s death brings up so much emotion and grief. I knew all year that I was sad and grieving but I was not aware of how much until the first year rolled around.

When I am feeling grief I am not just experiencing the loss of Sybil. I am dropped into the very pit of despair. It is as though I am touching the reservoir of loss itself. I experience long-held fear and doubt and grief that have always been there. I want to push the feelings away because they are so unpleasant. But grief holds me until I begin to soften around it, accept it, and get in touch with things about myself I probably would not have had access to without it.

The tendency I feel with grief is to close in on myself. The only relief seems to be found in the silence of solitude. And yet, what grief demands of me is to open. It does everything in its power to get me to open my heart. Loss puts me right smack in touch with what is important in my life. Even though closing in is an attempt to protect—it doesn’t work for long. My rational mind tries to understand what really happened even though it cannot truly know the meaning of life and death. But my heart, if I can keep it open, seems to find its own intuitive way.

Grief comes from trying to protect anything from being what it is…from trying to stop change. Each one of us experiences our humanness to the degree we can open to our joy and sorrow. It is from this humanness that we come to watch the constant change and changefulness of the mind. We see the whole world reflected there and we notice that everything ends. Every thought ends. Every feeling ends. Each taste, each moment of hearing, each seeing ends. It has never been otherwise. Every experience, every relationship ends. Moment to moment, change unfolds.

Our experience of life is the experience of change. Everything that has a beginning has an end. Nothing stays the same. In this flow of change, there is no real or solid place on which a lasting foothold can be taken. Every moment is precious. Every moment is just as it is and nothing needs to be otherwise.

When we recognize that all we have is this moment, then life becomes important and we open to it just as it is. Our loved ones, our children, our friends become so precious. Life takes on new meaning. Each moment becomes a whole lifetime, a universe unto itself. Our priorities change, our heart opens, our mind begins to clear of the fog of old holdings and pretending. What truly matters becomes very apparent. We are no longer “a victim of life.” Every experience, even the loss of our dearest ones, becomes another opportunity for awakening.

I am deeply saddened by Sybil’s death. The gift is in being reminded that each moment is important. The pain of opening the heart to loss is countered by opening to loving everyone and everything in my life to its fullest. The longing for what was becomes simply a part of this moment and there is nothing more than that. I miss Sybil and am allowing myself to grieve and heal. That is part of the great mystery of life that her death has brought into my awareness. I offer her my blessings for bringing me to these realizations.

Thanksgiving 2011

This year my Thanksgiving was an emotionally complicated Blessing. I spent it with my family: my brother, his wife and their son, my sister, her son/wife and 2 girls, and my son/wife and my granddaughter. We all went into the day knowing it would be challenging.

You see, in March, my niece Sybil (my brother's daughter) died from complications of childbirth. Her son, Jack, was spending Thanksgiving with his father's family in Florida.

In anticipation of the day and the obvious void Sybil's absence would create, we each tried to come up with a way to honor her. There were lengthy conversations that occurred between various family members. Candles, flowers, writing memories in a book to later give to Jack and speeches were all suggested but none of the ideas felt quite right.

Then my sister started scanning family photos from many generations that could run as a slide show before dinner on Thanksgiving. We all got very excited about her idea because it was about our family and shared experiences. Pictures of Sybil and other family members who had passed on were seen and talked about in the context of an event or something we had shared. It took us into the past while keeping us fully present with our feelings in the moment. Showing the photos was just right!

My sister said a few words before dinner--talking about our love for each other and about our terrible and tragic loss of Sybil. Even though she spoke briefly--there was not a dry eye. And, somehow, that too was just right.

Since Sybil's death in March, each of us has had our own individual grieving process which have been as different as our relationships with her were. After the initial shock of her death, we have had to make our way through the many emotions the grief has presented over and over again.

Thanksgiving was the first time our family shared our grieving collectively. Several things were different. For one thing, everyone was very present. There was great acceptance of each other's grief and lots of space for each person to be where they were. The day was full of compassion and deep love for each other.

The 3 babies who were there accentuated the fact that Jack was not. Trying to set up a Scype call with Jack and his father proved unsuccessful. I watched this add layers of different feelings for various people. I was mostly aware of my own sadness for my brother, his wife and their son and my anger at Jack's father for not realizing how important making contact was and for not making it a priority to happen.

My experience of Thanksgiving this year has moved me forward in my grieving process in ways I can feel but have no words for. I am deeply grateful for my family and feel huge love for them. I miss my niece and still have moments when I forget or don't believe she is not here. It will take a long time to come to terms with and accept her passing. I am just so proud of my family for having the courage to face reality together gently with total unconditional love.