What remains……

  I have stumbled and fallen in these past 90 days of dealing with the death of my husband. I have also kept moving. I  have been  shaken to the core by what I have learned about the nature of people.  I have also been sustained by the essence of kindness,compassion and the unspoken strength of breath-some days only breathing each minute to minute as we should. I have found myself, more than once, in the wee hours of daybreak, curled up on the floor sobbing in silence so as not to wake my daughter.  I have also discovered what remains.  I have cursed at being human, at the heavens, at hell, at the suffering, at the reality of what is, ached for my mother to somehow, from where ever she is hovering above, to send me a sign- to let me know, to comfort, to care, to point me in the direction of knowing. And I have also made peace with the not knowing. I have pleaded for one more minute with my husband, alive to sift through his conflict, to comfort and pull him back to life-to living.  I have walked, prayed, sat still,  and begged for answers I know will never come-and yet, what I know to be true is this:  This profound uncovering of pain and grief is to be worked through-not taken away or forgotten.  THIS is to be lived through. This is the deep knowing.  This is what remains.

In this aftermath- in the blur and in between the sessions of processing and contemplating-I  have let go of the woman I was-and held onto all the elements of life that got her here. I have surprised myself on occasion by my ability to get up out of bed and go through the daily rhythm of life.Sometimes out of synch.  So be it.  There is new rhythm. I have discovered what is constant-what never waivers-in truth-what never has left.  It is nothing complex. It is almost too simple.  It is nothing that can be read, skimmed over and highlighted. There is no dog eared copy of this book anywhere on any shelf. This constant is not to be taken lightly and while it comes at a cost-it can not be bought or bartered.It is priceless. It is more than love.  For as anyone who has navigated the road less traveled, sometimes, often times, love is not enough-and yet, love is like the bread crumbs that lead you back home.  It is not choosing the path-it is, with no regrets, being the path. It is knowing what remains are the things, the nature of a soul on fire, is somehow, through luck, will, opportunity,choice, circumstance, people, love, loss and laughter  not so much the nature of riches-more so the riches of what sustains-what got me from here to there-however long the path has been and however precious and painful at this particular resting spot.  It is. This is the simple complexity of what remains.  It. Is.  It is choosing to move through-honoring what was and allowing that to bring me to the what is and what will be as life continues to unfold.  It is not allowing one thing to stand in the way of what is nurturing and nourishing  for my daughter, so she too can begin to value all that came before the day my husband, her dad, took his life and changed, as she says, everything. Through the 90 days we have honored his life and for the days-the very minutes that will follow for the rest of our lives, we will know what our family of three meant to each other. We will hold close what remained through the birth and very being that made us whole. It sounds simple.  It is not.  Don’t let any one ever tell you it is.  It is not easy.  Being the path-making decisions and standing in a place that is raw and real is no place for any one who would rather pull down the blinds and remain in the dusk of denial.  I honestly can not tell you what it is that fuels the fire in my soul-it is white hot-bright with the light of possibilities.  It is long fought and hard won and it is sacred.  It is vulnerable and rough around the edges.  It is not wavering.  It is walking through. Listening to the stillness-accepting -it is process.  It is the gift I give myself so that my daughter can find her own limitless choices and challenges that bring her closer to who she is-at 12, at 20, at 52.  It is what remains deep beyond love, loss, and letting go.