I so want to write happy, funny posts. But honestly, that’s not really my nature. A good part of my thought life is spent thinking about things that would make other people too sad. And they make me sad also sometimes, but there’s also something really beautiful in the sadness and the darkness. Somehow accepting those things (since they are part of life) makes me happy. This post is not about the general idea of death really. I want to tell you about some people that I have loved and who have died.
First, I wanna talk about Gramma. For reasons I don’t fully understand, I’m OK with her death. Sure she was 94 and I have made my amends for the most part so there was a cleanness between us. Maybe those are some of reasons I am OK with her not being here any more. I miss her more than I miss anybody, but I don’t grieve for her as often.
Then there is my mom. I grieve her now and then. I think about her with sadness and sometimes anger. I wish we would have gotten along better. I wish I had more better memories of my childhood. I wish she’d been more present. I wish there weren’t so many things about myself that I blame her for. I want to say that I know she was doing the best she could, but it never feels like that was enough. I want it to be enough.
Then there is my friend Bob. He once said that he was proud of me and this fatherless child ate that up! He talked to me in a way that no men had talked to me. Safely, intelligently and often with lots of humor. One of the things that I learned from him, he didn’t tell me to do. He told me his experience and I wanted the Peace that he had, so I followed his example. He too had issues with his mother. One day he was talking about how he wanted to have less bad memories about her. So he made a conscious effort to remember the things he liked about her. I watched him do it and talk about it for like a month and I watched him change. I heard the tone in his voice changed from bitterness to love.
So I followed Bob’s example. Back to Mom… The first memory that came back to me fondly was what a wonderful storyteller she was. I remember being little and while I didn’t always live with her, when I did, she always told me a story before bed. Sometimes she would read to me from books. The Brothers Grimm and other fairytales that had some darkness and some light. She would do the voices and read dramatically, and she was great fun! Sometimes she’d make up stories. Sometimes they were stories I had heard before, but we didn’t have books for, and I loved the stories. I particularly loved the voices she gave to the Three Billy Goats Gruff and the trolls that lived beneath. I was never scared even when she was telling stories about big bad wolves and trolls. I knew they were stories. This brings how much I appreciated how good she was at telling the truth. Not always about herself, but always about life. When I asked her about sex at the ripe old age of 7, like a professor giving a class, she gave me all the information a girl would need. There was lots of scientific explanations. Her embellishments probably fucked me up a little bit, but the scientific parts were useful. I carried some of that behavior on with my kid and I think the truth has helped me, and I believe it is also helped him and our relationship. I’m grateful for her ability to talk to me like I wasn’t a child for some things.
Recently, I lost my cat Lily. Tonight I was meditating and talking to her and thinking about some of the great things that I loved about her. Let’s start with how beautiful she was! She had the most amazing blue eyes and she had this wonderful orange tabby fir that was 3 knuckles deep. Everyone that saw her remarked at her stunning beauty. But she was broken when she came to me and it took a long time for my love and care to convince her that she could to trust me. It was having to earn that trust that made her love so wonderful. It really did make it special to know that I had been somebody this sweet little broken kitty learned to trust. She was a cat so I don’t know if she loved me the way that I loved her. I didn’t need her to. But when I was talking to her today, I started to wonder if she would say I was not enough: If I didn’t try hard enough when she started to have additional issues, and if I didn’t care for her the way she needed to be cared for. I suspect that is just my sadness talking because she lived to be 17 and I loved her so, I must’ve done something right.
And this is really the point of why I started writing this. I was laying here thinking about what it would be like when I died. Will I go to the place that all the other dead people are and will they be waiting at the pearly gates. No Peter. No God. Just all the people and critters I’ve loved with the list of how I failed them. And I think that’s what my grief is. Grief is part missing someone and it’s part regret. I say this because I don’t really grieve my grandmother and I don’t really have regrets there. The ones I seem to grieve the most are the ones where there were gaping holes in the relationship. Holes where I didn’t show up when I should have. Holes where I lied or acted in selfishness. Holes where I just could have been better.
I know this sounds like I’m sad, but I’m actually at a place of acceptance around it. Having this definition of grief helps. It helps me understand. Maybe I’m wrong but it gives me peace. It also is a lovely jumping off space to see if I have more work to do. More places I can be kind. More times I can show up even when I don’t want to. More places I can find ways to love all my people (and critters). I want to love in a way that leaves me with less regret. It’s very empowering.
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