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.
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.
