Our part is not knowing, but looking, and touching, and loving

One of the first things I read this morning was "Grief is Universal but grieving is personal." My grief for Lucy comes in waves. Mornings are tsunamis. I pray. I snuggle with Silas. I read Facebook and grimace at the predictable plethora of Life is amazing! Everything's perfect! status updates. Fuck that. I go downstairs. I feed Silas. I feed myself. I play with Silas. I open my car's back door, because that's what I did when Lucy was here and I'm not ready to stop yet.

I miss her so much. I'm going to write soon about some of the things I miss about her. It's still really hard. Sometimes I'm OK, sometimes all I can handle is Good Orderly Direction (one acronym for God) one moment at a time.

I do my best to get through the day, doing what I can without pushing myself. Most days someone comes over, distracting Silas and me for a few hours. The companionship is extremely comforting.

Today is only the second Monday since she passed. I hate Mondays right now. I prayed pretty much constantly this morning and had a good cry while packing candle orders and working in my studio.

The mail delivered a sympathy card from someone I don't even know, plus a gift from my friend Carole. I want to write about it and will as soon as I get her permission to share what she wrote in her card. It was so powerful -- a gift not only from Carole, but from Spirit and Lucy. I stood at my altar, lit my Lucy candle, closed my eyes to say a prayer and as I touched Lucy's collar it felt energetically exactly as though I was touching Lucy. I stood there quietly for a while, peaceful inside, basking in the knowledge that I was touching her energy. I've never experienced anything like that before.

Immediately afterwards I said something to Silas about his sister and he trotted over to the dining room drawer where I keep their dental chews aka Dobie crack. Lucy was OBSESSED with dental chews, wanted them 3 times a day. Silas likes them but rarely asks. I really believe Lucy was here and prompted Silas to ask for a treat.

Silas and I had a really nice afternoon. Some work, some play, some laughter. I am so grateful for Silas. I am equally grateful for today's energetic connection to Lucy. I've been praying to be open to experiencing her in new ways, with new senses. I knew I wanted to write about today even though I don't have enough focus to write flowery details. This is mostly for my own memory. Two weeks. A very hard morning transformed into a very special day.

I believe I will never quite know.
Though I play at the edges of knowing,
truly I know
our part is not knowing,

but looking, and touching, and loving.

Mary Oliver

I love you, Lucy.

Comments

[Olivia Brown]

Your altar is beautiful, Carla.

I heard somewhere that you always go through grief alone; I think that is true. People can support you, which is fantastic (and I know you have a lot of that) and it helps tremendously. But you still go through it alone. You are on your grief path and it will wind back and forth and back and forth and be all your own.

I know that shiny positivity sometimes irritates me too. Life is so multi-dimensional. Sometimes certain philosophies and/or people don't or can't acknowledge that. On the other hand, there is the normal joy of life, and even the routine of life--as people go through it, and it's hard to take when you're grieving. It's hard to believe that it can even be there when the reality is that someone has died and we are lost without them.

I know I felt weird blogging about ordinary things like shoes and contests and chores after Lucy had died. It seemed so trivial. Yet hurtfully, life does go on after death. It seems to me that it is almost blasphemous that it goes on. But it does, and then (this is where I am now) it is okay that it goes on. Memories start to fade and that seems horrible. This makes me angry and seems wrong.

Yet at some other level I marvel at the gift of life and am grateful for who I love. (Actually loved, since they're dead, but I can't write "loved" since I still love them.)

So the grief journey continues...

xoO