The ‘After’ Life – Life After Dad

The absence of my father is such an odd reality. For 3.5 years, he was my primary focus. He was my purpose. His care, his survival, his wellness, his presence were up to me to preserve. A month and a half into life without him, I no longer go to bed worrying for his comfort and safety. He no longer suffers. He is safe. He will not call in the middle of the night requiring my assistance and care. He will never ask Alexa to ‘call Melissa’ again. My phone will never inform me that ‘Dad Needs You’ again.

I miss him. I’m glad he doesn’t need me. I had forgotten what that was like, until I started looking through old photos. There was a time, long ago it seems, when he could not only care for himself, but he also did a great deal to care for others. I’m grateful for the reminder that old photos provide. My swiss cheese memory invites me to live in the moment, rather than living in the past. I had been so focused on our current reality that I had forgotten about our past… his past.

My father was a man of integrity and unconditional care. Aside from our family, he cared about his beloved Unitarian Church community for 50 years, the wellness of his clients throughout 30 years of Vocational Rehabilitation for the State of Florida, for underprivileged youth in The Boy Scouts of America, and for those who beheld his visage and saw the manifestation of Santa Claus. But all of those things had fallen away over recent years.

He let go of his career at 62, when the stress of his job invited an increase in epileptic seizures. He let go of his Commissioner role with the Boy Scouts at 77, when his mobility challenges and a move to be near his daughter made release necessary. He let go of being Santa at 81, when December arrived and he was in the hospital and rehab after a fall. He let go of walking when he was 83, after the fifth fall in a week resulted in a broken hip.

Long before I ever dreamed of becoming his caregiver, when I was still in Elementary School, Pop placed an ad on an actual bulletin board in 1701, a local comic book shop, seeking others interested in playing Dungeons and Dragons (it was the late 1970s). My father was the Dungeon Master to a number of teenage boys (including my brother and cousin), who would later tell me stories of how the days spent with Pop in his scripted fantasy world were among their favorite childhood memories. He provided a safe space for a group of young people who craved a sense of belonging.

I love that my Dad was a geek. I never had to suffer through the annoying noise of a single sporting event. Our adventures included attending Star Trek Conventions (that’s what they used to call Comicon and the like, back in the day). I had a pair of Enterprise dangly earrings, and a color glossy 8×10 photo of Mr. Spock playing his lyre. We saw Star Wars in the theater, though I can’t say if it was opening day (I was only 8, after all). I can, though, recall being really WOWed by the opening credits, let alone the rest of the film – perhaps my first image of a ‘strong female lead’.

Sometimes, he went along for the ride on things that my Mom wanted me to experience. He stayed in the hotel room, after driving two hours from home for my benefit – while Mom and I attended my first concert (I was 9 years old). We were there to see Andy Gibb, live in concert. Oh, how I adored Andy. Oh, how I adored my Dad.

I wasn’t really a ‘Daddy’s Girl’, though it might surprise you. He and I didn’t really have much in common while I was growing up. He was always there, and I always knew I was safe and loved… but I think he and my brother had more in common, as members of the Central Florida Atari Club at the birth of home computers, while my mother was taking me to concerts and igniting my passion for travel.

As I reflect on the last few years of our lives, I feel enormously grateful for the gift of every little thing that transpired since 2014. My parents bought a house up the street from mine. My father’s mobility was in decline. In 2017, I left the corporate world and was later introduced to 72T, the IRS loophole that enabled an early retirement.

In 2018, I was fully present to recognize the signs of the need to step into a more active role in managing the lives of my parents. The prognosis of a friend with cancer led me to the discovery of a path of study for End of Life Doula. Dad started falling down and needing help up. I was able to be there. I was able to acquire the tools we needed to serve his needs. I gradually learned the intimacy and sweetness of washing his hair and helping him dress. I took him to every doctor appointment, every ER visit, every transfer into and out of Rehab for recovery from falls and infections.

In 2020, when he broke his hip and found that he could no longer stand or walk (which had long been a struggle), I asked him to let me care for him as he had cared for others throughout his 30 year career with spinal injury survivors. And… in 2021, this July, when I finally had a weekend of respite, and he decided he was ready to go to the hospital… saying to me, “I just don’t know how I’ll get out of here.” Well… we all know how he got out of there. Sigh…

Last week, I took Mom to lunch with her Salon group. These are a remarkable group of women from the church, where my parents have been members since I was 2. I seem to recall that they formed during the last Bush Administration, to share fears and frustrations about politics, among other things. Throughout the first year of Covid-19, before the vaccine, they met weekly on Zoom, to discuss current events, politics, and how everyone was surviving life in pandemic. I went along as her driver, but was invited to stay.

They had all been expressive about appreciation for the care I had offered my parents. I was asked if the online studies had prepared me and served me well in caring for Dad. The truth was, the actual caregiving seemed to come naturally. I had never been a parent, and I had never been trained in any form of nursing, but somehow, I acquired the skills I needed, in order to keep dad safe and at-home. Much of it was initially terrifying. I worried about failing him, a lot. But, when I had no idea of how to change a diaper for an adult, or how to get someone into a sling for the hoyer lift, Pop and I watched a YouTube video, and set to the task of mastering the art of whatever was at hand.

I do feel, though, that the End of Life Doula studies did serve me well. The required reading alone, helped me shift my perspective of death from something to fear to something to honor. I was consciously walking my father through the end of his days. Each day that I arrived to serve my father, I was fully aware of the honor and privilege I had to do so. That I was financially free to dedicate my time and full attention to his care was a blessing I woke and spoke gratitude for each day. Having the capability and desire to give him the love and compassion everyone deserves at the end of life was a gift to him, to myself, and to my whole family. There were times when the stress of it all was overwhelming, but I was very careful not to wish it away. Not to… wish… him away. But when it was time to let him go… I knew how to respect his wishes and had the strength to do so.

I had trouble finding tears during those difficult days. I suspect my consciousness didn’t want the universe to find me ungrateful. I often found myself aching for his suffering, rather than my own burden. With so many health issues and physical limitations, he was pretty much always uncomfortable. Either from osteoarthritis or neuropathy. It was difficult to witness his suffering without being able to fix it. All I could do was hold space most of the time. But now that he’s gone… the tears come with grace and ease. I cry daily, even if just for a brief moment. The release is a relief, and I almost hope it won’t stop. It feels good to feel.

His 84th birthday has come and gone… without him. The one month anniversary of his death arrived unbidden. Just like so many of my friends and loved ones who lost beloveds before me… we are facing a whole calendar of ‘firsts’ without him. Meanwhile, we wonder if we will find the files of stories he started writing for me a decade ago, after he, Mom and I attended a journaling workshop at church. I told him that I would love for him to write down stories about his life, that I might have when he was gone. Mom reported that he was really into that project, and when he couldn’t type anymore, he ordered software to help.

In recent years, I asked him if he knew where I would find those files, and he never had an answer for me. I did have a moment of clarity after he broke his hip (I’d always heard it said that people don’t live very long after this particular event), and recorded a couple of hours of him answering my questions and telling stories from long ago. I haven’t played them back yet. I’m a little afraid to hear his voice, I guess. I miss his presence too much. I’m not sure what his disembodied voice will feel like inside my broken heart.

I still walk up the street to my parents’ house… Mom’s house, a few times a day. Mom doesn’t require the same level of care that Dad needed, and she’s been trying to make me feel like she can do things on her own, so that I can have a little more of a life of my own. But, its hard for both of us to let go. We are still working on developing our new normal. I have noticed that sitting in his vacant chair feels unnatural to me, even though it is better for my neck and back to do so when Mom and I watch a movie. I am still holding space for him.

I have had canvas prints made and they now hang in her living room and mine, to ensure his image remains present, even when his body is not. I talk to him and ask for his support each morning and evening… reminding him to show up in ways that I can understand. I speak his name to the wind (Daddy-Daddy), and remind him that he is missed. And sometimes, I feel him near.

A month ago, I woke to find that my phone had sent two text messages to two different friends. They were likely messages I had sent, but never went through… but the timing and the messages informed me otherwise. The first one was to a friend who had asked how we were doing, and I replied about my gratitude for a little extra care Pop would soon receive. The second message was brief… “I love you more.” Without a doubt, my father found a way to communicate, in a way that I could understand, his gratitude for all I had done to care for him, and exactly how he felt about me.

Mom and I are slowly getting to the other side of phone calls and paperwork to ensure Dad’s death benefits for her are secured. As we do so, she is moving toward ensuring the same for my brother and me, when she is gone.

But we are being gentle with ourselves. There are days that one task is handled, and then naps are had. Mom reminds me that she could drop dead tomorrow, and I insist that would be very inconvenient… and I am pleased each morning to receive a note on messenger that simply reads: “UP”. Keep them coming Mom! I’ll wait right here.

Thank you for walking this path with us. We love knowing you are here.

Respite to Remembrance

Thank you in advance, dear Universe, for allowing words to flow directly through my fingertips, for my mind is filled with grief and fog. There is too much importance to allow for escape. So, please… let this page hold space for me and my broken heart.

Just a little test escape… a weekend of caregiver respite, desired FOR me by my parents, and required by my body and soul, to enable my ability to continue serving with grace, ease, and joy. Three nights. It will only be three nights. I can trust that everything will be okay for three nights… in order to engage in self care. In order to pour my body into living waters, to be held in the womb of Mother Earth, in order to be reborn. Just three nights, to see how it goes, then possibly plan for longer.

For weeks, I planned and worried. A place to go that will feel healing. A selection of friends who stepped forward to serve ME. A stand-in caregiver to serve my father at each edge of the day. An extraordinary new neighbor, with an offer of support. It would only be three nights. I had an ominous feeling. My stomach didn’t feel quite right. There was a Tower in the reading, and a Four of Swords. Would it be the release and rest I needed, that would transform, or would it be… the thing I dare not speak. I worried that maybe we five wouldn’t get along. I worried that I should cancel. I worried about the loss of a large sum of non-refundable investment. I worried that we would get there, then be called home. I worried that something would happen, and I would be hours away. I worried that he would ask me to stay. I worried that he wouldn’t ask me to stay, even though he meant it.

There were signs, in the days before. Stepping out of my parents’ house on June 22, a snake greeted me atop the hedge. Then on July 8, my cats alerted me to a snake on the threshold of my own home, that I later discovered upon opening the door, was shedding its skin. I do not fear snakes, and feel that a sighting brings affirmation and reflection. I ask myself, in those rare moments, what might be the message? The assumption: Transformation is coming. Soon, that which has become limiting will be released and offer freedom.

Threshold Snakeskin

The day before departure, he wasn’t feeling well. There had been a couple of weeks of discomfort. We’d met virtually with the doctor, and followed guidance, but he didn’t feel good, and I struggled with leaving. I asked him to let me take him to the hospital. They could do tests, and he would have expert care in my absence. I could truly relax. His reply: “No, I’m not ready.” Respecting my parents’ autonomy as they age, has been a boundary I have worked not to cross… sometimes stepping on toes. My Mom calls me ‘bossy’, sometimes. I have decided to be a servant, for better or worse, and I mean to respect their every wish.

The day before departure, my brand new next door neighbor called me to say that she should meet my parents before I leave, so she could offer assistance while I was away. At some point, in recent months, I had asked the Universe to deliver the right people to enable my respite. I have come to know that my request was filled in abundance. (I hope this will inspire you to start asking for what you need, too.)

I can’t remember Friday morning. I believe I stopped by while he was still sleeping. My friends arrived for the long drive north. I texted his caregiver about my concerns, and what to look out for. Don’t forget his pills. Drinks with electrolytes in the fridge. [Even though I’m scared, I trust all shall be well.] I texted that night to be sure he got tucked in. The first full day I’d been away since Thanksgiving, when he came home from rehab after breaking his hip – now a virtual paraplegic. 11pm, and all was well.

At 5:30am on Saturday, my phone lights up with “Dad Needs You”. My brother programmed Alexa to call me at his command. I didn’t know how to program anything else, and instructed him to call me if Mom (who is hearing impaired) couldn’t hear him. I would reach out from where I was to deliver assistance. His voice: “Melissa, I’m ready to go to the hospital.”

By the time all calls had been made, all five of us were in the living room, four beloved friends holding space for me and my Pop. I called my Mom with no answer. I called my house sitter with no answer. I called my new angel-neighbor, who followed instructions to find my key and then my parents’ key, to open the door for paramedics, who would carry my father to safety. “Don’t you dare come home.”, my parents said. He is receiving the care he needs. You can rest.

My coffee was served with a shot of Kahlua. I was carried to the sacred spring where my body could receive cold healing. I made calls upon return to the log cabin in the woods. They were running tests. A UTI. Should probably see a Pulmonologist as an outpatient. Fierce daughter reply: “My father is homebound. While in the hospital, doctors come to him. He may not be discharged until we know why he can’t breathe.” He later threw up, though he’d not eaten all day. He told me by phone he didn’t feel good, but not to come home. I screamed and cried as my friends held me close. It was the hardest thing to do… to not go home.

He was admitted that night. My mom was delivered to and from the hospital by my angel-neighbor. More tests. They would care for him to enable my respite. They would call with updates (I had to call every time.) It was hard to stay, but impossible to leave. My body, my soul, my heart needed respite. I needed my friends to hold my soul together and feed me the love I had given to others. They, too, are my angels.

We built a fire, and asked the flames to cleanse and purify my sorrow, my fear, my fatigue, and that which was ailing my father. We made wishes with treated pinecones, which burned green and blue. I thanked the universe in advance for holding my father close, for making him feel safe, and for giving me the strength I needed for whatever would lie ahead. His caregiver visited him in the hospital on my behalf, bringing him his glasses and tablet. He’ll want his books and puzzles, after all… while the tests are done and doctors are seen.

On Monday morning, we packed up and drove home. I checked on Mom then went to the hospital. I told him that staying away was so hard. He didn’t want to eat. He drank from a cup I prepared for him, but just a bit.

[As I type, two Mourning Doves have perched upon the feeder outside my window. One is preening and looking at me, while the other eats from the feeder, looking up at me, too. I’ve never seen them do this before, usually gathering bits on the ground. Their symbolism from dying.lovetoknow.com reads: “The dove’s appearance to someone in mourning is often viewed as a visitation from the deceased loved one. The person in mourning senses a message of hope or encouragement from their deceased loved one. Others believe the mourning dove is a messenger sent by angels, spirit guides, or even God..” Seriously… they are still there. I see you.]

I went back to ‘tuck him in’ Monday night, and returned Tuesday for our ‘morning ritual’. He didn’t want to eat. He didn’t want to drink. He said: “I just don’t know how I’m going to get out of here.” I watched him rest. I told him I would come back after a nap. As he did every day, he said: “I’ll wait right here.”

I was preparing to return to the hospital when the phone rang. The nurse said he was being taken to ICU. His oxygen was in the low 80s. I didn’t get to see him. I waited. Visiting hours ended. I called to say, “I’ll wait right here.”

The doctor said, he had given them permission to intubate and put him on a ventilator to work out the problem. We learned he had severe pneumonia. I told my brother to come. I informed my father’s five siblings. I went home to tell my Mom.

On Wednesday, my brother and sister-in-law drove up, as my father’s only out-of-state brother drove down with his wife. In the rest of the hospital, Covid restrictions meant that a patient could only have two visitors per day. Gratefully, ICU patients could have two visitors at a time.

We sat by his side, watching the machine do its thing. I remembered how it was reported that many Covid patients did not survive coming off of the ventilator. They assured me this wasn’t Covid, so there was hope.

My parents have gifted my brother and me with preparedness. When they moved closer to me, they updated their will, gave each of us power of attorney, established the line of healthcare advocacy, and advance directive / five wishes.[The male cardinal has just stopped by the feeder for a bite – my symbol for my love language – ‘showing up’. Thank you, love, for showing up today.]

In my father’s notes, he declared that his wish was not to prolong death. He listed what he considered to be life-support treatment to include “major surgery, blood transfusion, dialysis, antibiotics, procedures, devices, medications, (other than to keep me pain free) should not be used to prolong life. I have lived my life with love and service to others, made my own mistakes, suffered my own pains. When it is time to leave, I only wish to do so with love and dignity.” He marked the box if he was close to death that read: “I do not want life-support treatment. If it has been started, I want it stopped.”

I discussed these things with the doctor. We agreed to give it some time, while the family gathered. On Thursday, as my brother and I sat with Dad, before he and his wife would return home to care for my sister’s beloved mother with Alzheimers, and their teenage granddaughter, I heard a beautiful voice from a nearby room.

Out stepped a woman with a guitar, and so I inquired. By prescription, patients in ICU could have music therapy. Lexa offered to give therapy in advance and get permission later.

[The tufted titmice are now here… more than I’ve seen before. Usually 4 at a time, but today at least 6 or 8 (“The prayers that you are speaking over your life are heard and the Tufted Titmouse is a reminder that blessings are forthcoming. It is a symbol of faith. And an encouraging message for you to keep it.”). And the female cardinal is peering down from the oak branch.]

The therapist asked for a favorite song or genre, and I told her that he prefers folk music. She found John Denver, and when I heard the first title, I knew it was right. A life-long friend of mine used to come to our house for safe haven when we were young, and she had been distressed that Dad was so ill while she was traveling for work. The song Lexa performed for Pop was Sunshine On My Shoulders. I recorded and I cried. She dedicated it not only to Pop, but to my brother and me. As hard as it was for me not to leave respite, I know it was hard for he and his wife to go back home. Seeing how music affected Pop, I set up his tablet to stream the Folk Music channel on Amazon. I told him I would see him tomorrow, but he didn’t say, “I’ll wait right here.”

On Friday, I felt a shift. I was talking to Dad as I walked about the house, pouring my morning gratitude into coffee. “Thank you in advance, dear angels, for holding my father in the light of love, and for guiding me toward right action.” I pulled a card from Alana Fairchild’s Journey of Love Oracle, and the message was, SOFT. It was number 47 and the message was on page 111. It read as follows:

“A sanctuary bathed in soft light, your heart is receptive, inviting, and gentle. It brings strength to the weary, comfort to the lonely, and healing to the wounded. It is a magnet for all that is needed – for you, your beloveds, your world. Don’t imagine you must always be the fighter, going against the part of your nature that longs for harmony and peace. This is your time to be soft. To surrender. To let the subtle waves of the heart invite love in, and to receive. In doing so, you will give so much.

This oracle brings you a message of peace. Surrender now. Be soft. Even just for this moment of quiet reflection. You have perhaps been working too hard at growing and living. Take some moments to replenish and allow the divine to help you, dear one. Be soft so you are receptive to the Divine. It is when we let go that we truly perceive the obstacles that lie between us and oneness with the divine lover. Let go and perceive that the divine lover is already awakening in your heart.

You are the softness he desires
You help light his way
You nurture all
That he holds dear
Though tempest clouds dismay

And in the quiet of the storm
His gentleness comes through
And in the shelter of his arms
His heart is there for you”

When I got to Dad’s room, his skin was red with fever, and his heartrate was more than double its norm. They were allowing him to breathe on his own with the ventilator only offering oxygen. This, they said, was the process of trying to take someone off of the ventilator… letting them strengthen, then rest, then strengthen some more.

I texted my mother, my brother, and my father’s siblings, and I told them that I felt we should let him go. Though it pained us all, we were in agreement. We chose not to betray him. We chose to honor his wishes. We are capable of hard things. This is the hardest thing I have ever done. I spoke to two doctors and his nurses. If we took him off life support, he would not survive. If we kept him on for weeks to see if medication and machines could manufacture a new beginning, we would risk bringing him back to the surface, only to suffer the continued pain of life inside a broken, 84 year old body. He would eventually be moved out of ICU, and placed where the care would not be ‘intensive’, but lacking.

Daddy’s siblings came to see him and to say goodbye. They felt the decision was the right action. Since he is the eldest of seven, they were saying farewell to a brother they had known every single day of their lives. We talked about our history of lost loves, regrets, and signs. My Uncle told me that as he and his wife read my post that morning about the oracle card I had drawn, his wife had opened her wallet to reveal their room key, partially obscured in its pocket, it read: “It’s Time To Let Me Go”.

Between visitors, I read to my father. On his first day on the ventilator, I read to him poetry by David Whyte and John O’Donahue. And then I read him my latest blog post about the tree in my neighbors yard that will soon be removed. As I read those words to him, I realized that every word of Deep Grief and the Ailing Oak, had been written for him. Seriously, EVERY. WORD.

When Mom visited Dad, it was hard. They’d lived together for 60 years, and didn’t really talk much when he was not unconscious. She wasn’t sure what to say when it seemed he wasn’t listening. But I assured her that he could hear us. That night, she sent me a message that read: “You know what Dad likes? Winnie-the-Pooh.” And so, that is how I spent the last full day with my Father… reading to him the book that he once read to me. I remember the four of us circled in the living room, taking turns reading chapters as I was learning to read.

After five chapters, I reminded Daddy that when his body was gone from us, he was instructed to haunt us. My brother and I both requested that he show up to us in ways that we could understand. Every morning when I lifted him out of bed and into his chair, he insisted on listening to his music. With a love of Folk Music, I found a station and pressed play. Here were the first three songs that played, before visiting hours ended, and I was forced to leave him behind… hearing him say: “I’ll wait right here.”: Sailing by Christopher Cross – “Just a dream and the wind to carry me, and soon I will be free.” Followed by, Just the Way You Are by Billy Joel – “I said I love you, that’s forever, and this I promise from the heart. I couldn’t love you any better. I love you just the way you are” And the last song my father sent to me before they made me leave was, You Are So Beautiful by Joe Cocker – “You’re everything I hoped for. You’re everything I need. You are so wonderful to me.”

Okay Pop… music it is. You will communicate to me, in part, through music. I’m listening.

That night, I came home and asked our friends and loved ones to hold my father close. I shared the words of Phowa Practice from the Tibetan Book of Living and Dying, and asked them if they would say this prayer, or one of their own, on his behalf. [We are wealthy in our friends.] I asked one friend to drive my mother and me to the hospital the next day, and my life-long friend flew in to stay the night and say good-bye to the father-figure that she deserved. I spoke to the owner of our local crematorium, whom I discovered during End of Life Doula studies a few years earlier. We shared deep, meaningful conversation, and more than one synchronicity. I decided to commit the sacred vessel of my father to her care, when it was time.

I probably don’t have to write down for posterity that it was impossible to sleep, or how a body holding grief and empathy for the dying feels not a single inch of comfort. Everything is clenched from scalp to toes. The grieving become the embodiment of pain and suffering.

On Saturday morning, we moved through thickness and nausea. Not a moment spent without question. Is he ready to go? Are we ready to let go? How will we survive this day? Are we making a mistake? Will he suffer? Is he suffering? Will we collapse under the weight of not knowing? Have I misread the signs? From his advance directive and five wishes, have I betrayed him by waiting this long? Have I betrayed him by not waiting long enough? Will my knees fall out from under me? Have I prepared the right words for his soul to hear? Will he follow them into the light of all that is? Will he be stubborn and choose to remain in suffering, just to be with us for a while longer… like that Thursday before my trip, when I asked him to let me take him to the hospital? He is the one on the ventilator, so why am I the one that can’t breathe? Daddy-daddy… I love you.

We arrived at the hospital and our friends and companions said their good-byes, and we all stepped out after the paperwork was signed and respiratory therapist came in to remove all of the tubing that filled my father’s mouth, throat and nose. My mother and I returned alone, and I called my brother and sister-in-law, who wanted to be with us, though they could not be physically present. The nurse would come in to ensure Dad was comfortable. There was a gurgle of moisture in his throat. His eyes were closed, but when we spoke, he would turn his head. [Should I have opened his eyes for him? Did I fail him again?]

I spoke the words of Phowa, and asked that he know he was forgiven for anything that he may have thought or done, and that we hoped he would forgive us. When my mother spoke those words [“I forgive you, and I hope you forgive me.”], he turned his head toward her and his mouth changed shape, though he could not speak. In that gesture, I know there was forgiveness between them.

Dad’s brother, who had driven down when he’d heard the news, joined us in the room. He was committed to being present for all of us. I read a poem shared by a friend, written by Byron Ballard. The words are stirring and felt just right. We looked out the window, and the puffy clouds created a blue opening in the sky. I read these words and invited my father to go through the portal… just like in Stargate. It is open and ready for your next adventure.

Words of Byron Ballard

[Beloved brother, husband, father and friend:] You have come to the end of this pathway in a journey to which we bear witness.

You have come to the end of a pathway that is barred with a gate and a door.

May this door open swiftly and silently. May this gate give you a moment’s grace in which to rest your spirit before you venture through.

We stand here with you, as your companions, as your family, for you are beloved. But, for now, we must remain here. We cannot go with you to this old land. Not yet.

For you will see the Ancestors. You will see the Beloved Dead. You will walk among the Divine Beings that guide and nurture us all. You go to dwell in the lands of summer and of apples, where we dance forever youthful, forever free. We can hear the music in the mist, the drums that echo our sad hearts. We can see your bright eyes and your smile.

And so, we open the gate. We push back the door. We hold the gate open. We glance through the doorway, and with love and grief and wonder… we watch you walk through. Hail the Traveler! All those remembered in love, in honor, live on. Farewell, o best loved, o fairest, farewell.

I re-read to him the slightly edited letter that I thought I was writing to my ailing oak tree, but found it to be truly for him.

Beloved, sacred, holy being of earth and sky,

Thank you for loving us. Thank you for extending your beautiful branches into our lives. You have long stood sentinel near our home, offering shade and shelter for myself and many. Every summer, you host the return of our screaming cicadas and I am transported to childhood with memories of freedom. As years have passed, you have lost limbs and branches, and I have feared the day when your leaves would drop in the spring, and not return. And yet, you have continued to bloom… thriving through adversity… a body dis-eased but stubborn.

Every day, you remind me to thrive. You validate my own choice to nurture and support the lives and well-being of others. My own scars, bulges, and flaws are held in the light of love, because I have learned to love myself as I have loved you, even when gravity pulls you downward.

In this moment, we cannot fathom your absence. When you are gone, we will feel empty. Many will become temporarily homeless and afraid. Cicadas will rise from slumber and discover the lack of you. The view from our window will be naked and bright, and our hearts will be curtained no longer with branches and leaves, but with sorrow and longing.

I hope you will forgive me for being powerless to save you. I forgive you for not being strong enough to ensure your safety. I love you for the roots that have broken concrete, reminding me that Mother Nature is more powerful than anything man can do to limit Her progress. I love you for the trunk and branches of holding, which have been the playground of squirrels that have long entertained the cats who live here. I love you for your leaves of change that remind me that everything is temporary – as old leaves fall away to reveal fresh new growth each February.

Everything is temporary. Everything is temporary. And so, we must also say goodbye. We have to let you go. Thank you for loving us and for inviting us to love you back. We will miss you when you are gone… every. single. day. But we will also remember you with gratitude and great pleasure, for the memories you have provided. New growth will come again, you have shown us that truth. And just as you have embraced our home and property with your kindness, love and protection… we will be open to receive.

Because of your love, we have no choice but to love again. We love you. Thank you. Hail and Farewell.

I chanted the healing chant and the river is flowing chant, that I once sang to my goddess babies in their mothers’ bellies. I played a piece of music a member of our beloved church community shared with me that morning. The nurse came in to bring him more comfort. The gurgling was still there, and she left to ask the doctor about giving him another dose of something to dry it. My uncle stepped away for a few moments.

I pushed play on the Amazon Folk Channel I’d been playing each night when I left him. It had stopped with the question, ‘are you still listening?’ Wondering how long his body would choose to hold onto his tethered soul, I hoped it would bring comfort. And here… is what had been waiting to be played all day… The Air that I Breathe by the Hollies – To my mother, my brother, to my sister-in-law, and to me… my father sent this message: “All I need is the air that I breathe and to love you.” We laughed and we cried, for the irony of a beautiful being whose lungs could not hold oxygen. We watched the number growing smaller and smaller, and we were all honored and heartbroken to bear witness to the grand departure of our beloved Traveler as he walked through the gate. It was 1:52pm at his last visible breath, and 2:02pm at his final heartbeat. My new Angel number… 2:02. When I see it, I will know he is near.

“Peace came upon me and it leaves me weak, so sleep silent angel, go to sleep.”

Thank you for walking this path with us. There is a long, long way yet to go on this journey of grief, and we know we are not alone.

I love you, daddy. Send me the songs and the signs, please. I’ll wait right here.

Deep Grief and the Ailing Oak

For nearly 25 years, I have dwelled within the shade of two oak trees that stand sentinel at the front edges of my yard. Neither are the healthiest of trees; likely accidental volunteers that were permitted to take root and reach for the sky. The one that sits mostly in my neighbor’s yard is particularly special to me. Its branches reach nearly across the entire breadth of my house.

It is a squirrel super highway leading to the neighboring oak, and a diverse bird haven. The branch I spy directly out of my living room window is a perfect perch for our local hawk, and its leaves dance with the grasp of tiny tufted titmice, who grab seeds from the feeder before returning to a loving embrace. There is so much life happening in and around this beautiful being. I celebrate it daily.

Hawk in Upper Branch

Having recently purchased the house next door, my neighbor has had a number of people over to assist with projects required for a new beginning, and each has mentioned a concern for the wellness of the tree that also stretches limbs over her roof. This is a considerable worry in the land of annual hurricane season. To be honest, this beloved tree has been dropping bits of rotted limbs for many years. The Water Oak, we were told, tends to rot out in the middle, becoming a split risk.

So, I informed her that I would grieve deeply, but that I would offer my blessing for her to do the thing I could not do… tree removal.

Yesterday, grief settled into my core. I started researching sacred ceremony for the loss of a tree. I found a beautiful offering from another wordpress blogger, Druid’s Garden (link below). I stepped into the morning air, and spoke words of adoration to this glorious being, and took photos from every angle. I cannot fathom the emptiness that will be left behind. I cried for our pending parting, for the home and shelter that will be taken from so many creatures, and for the horror of chainsaws approaching to tear into diseased and struggling flesh. The thought of it haunts me.

https://druidgarden.wordpress.com/2015/08/24/druid-tree-workings-holding-space-and-helping-tree-spirits-pass/amp/

To come to terms with this inevitable departure, I’ve been considering how we help our pets to move on, when their bodies are no longer serving their spirits. It is an act of compassion. I have regretted waiting too long, to make that impossible call to the vet. Extra hours of suffering that I might have prevented would be that thing… if I could do one thing differently… it would be releasing my selfish hold to allow the arrival of peace.

The most memorable wisdom from studying the End of Life Doula path was Stephen Jenkinson’s chilling words about palliative care prolonging death. Much of his book, Die Wise was sometimes shocking to me, but I took to heart that I would not choose to prolong death, when that time comes for me. My neighbor and I discussed with the tree expert possible plans for making her house safer, but I realize now that anything other than complete removal would be doing what I would not choose for myself. But still… I grieve. Further, I reflect on the five statements of letting go from Ira Byok’s book, Dying Well. “Please forgive me. I forgive you. Thank you. I love you. Good bye.”

This song was playing on Pandora when I entered the house following my tear-filled reverie. Spiral Dance, my favorite Australian band, sing about The Oak and its many gifts to us. “For shelter and shade has the oak tree grown. The ship, the cradle, the hearth and home. Arms so strong they hold the sky. Stood so long that the heart can’t die.” My heart is singing a dirge, but The Druid’s Garden suggests something different… music that eases suffering, and I feel this song will be on my personal playlist. Our playlist; for the tree and me.

I don’t know how much time we have left together, but I have started tying cords, ribbons, and bells to branches within my reach. They represent adornments of my gratitude. When the time is right, I will scatter offerings of dried rose petals and white sage at the base of its trunk, sending my love into deep roots, which have kept us safe through many storms. I will scatter stone beads of Morganite, which will bring healing of trauma to the land which will have lost so much.

When I binge watched Marie Condo’s series on Tidying Up, I was inspired to write a love letter to my home, based on her tradition of greeting a home with gratitude upon entering. I would also offer this gesture to my beloved oak.
https://beethelight.blog/2019/01/04/ode-to-sanctuary/

Beloved, sacred, holy being of earth and sky,
Thank you for loving us. Thank you for extending your beautiful branches into my life. You have long stood sentinel near my home, offering shade and shelter for myself and many. Every summer, you host the return of our screaming cicadas and I am transported to childhood with memories of freedom. As years have passed, you have lost limbs and branches, and I have feared the day when your leaves would drop in the spring, and not return. And yet, you have continued to bloom… thriving through adversity… a body dis-eased but stubborn.
Every day, you remind me to thrive. You validate my own choice to nurture and support the lives and well-being of others. My own scars, bulges, and flaws are held in the light of love, because I have learned to love myself as I have loved you, even when gravity pulls you downward.
In this moment, I cannot fathom your absence. When you are gone, I will feel empty. Many will become temporarily homeless and afraid. Cicadas will rise from slumber and discover the lack of you. The view from my window will be naked and bright, and my heart will be curtained no longer with branches and leaves, but with sorrow and longing. I hope you will forgive me for being powerless to save you. I forgive you for not being strong enough to ensure your safety. I love you for the roots that have broken concrete, reminding me that Mother Nature is more powerful than anything man can do to limit Her progress. I love you for the trunk and branches of holding, which have been the playground of squirrels that have long entertained the cats who live here. I love you for your leaves of change that remind me that everything is temporary – as old leaves fall away to reveal fresh new growth each February.
Everything is temporary. Everything is temporary. And so, I must also say goodbye. I have to let go. Thank you for loving me and for inviting me to love you back. I will miss you when you are gone… every. single. day. But I will also remember you with gratitude and great pleasure, for the memories you have provided. New growth will come again, you have shown me that truth. And just as you have embraced my home and property with your kindness, love and protection… I will be open to receive.
Because of your love, I have no choice but to love again. I love you. Thank you. Hail and Farewell.

Thank you for walking this path with me. I love knowing you are here.

Boxing Up The Former Self

Mercury Retrograde is a good time for reflection and release. So, this weekend I started clearing out my closet. I left the corporate world in 2017, and I’ve spent the last four years, it seems, metaphorically unpacking. I started by figuring out what I DON’T want to do. I determined that I didn’t want to return to the corporate world, and I didn’t want to continue doing what I’d done for the previous 25 years. I spent a couple of years writing out where I’d been and who I was; curious about where I’m going and who I might become.

In the last year and a half, I have found purpose and direction. I have chosen to take what I learned managing the lives of executives – transforming those skills into eldercare management for my aging parents. Being of service is my joy, and I can think of no better way to serve in the foreseeable years to come, than to the endeavor of helping them each feel safe, nurtured, and loved for their remaining days. It is a privilege to have the opportunity to do so. Not only because I want to, but because my retirement savings and the 72T loophole allowing access to it, provides such freedom.

For quite some time, I have been aware that the clothing I actually wear is a tiny portion of what fills an entire closet (or two) and dresser in my home. My style never was corporate, especially since the last phase of my career was spent where business casual and jeans were permitted. But between no longer identifying with anything ‘business’, binding denim, or the maxi dress, bohemian goddess style that once resonated, there is quite a bit of letting go to be done in my dressing room.

What surprised me, as I started flipping through clothes hangers, was the hesitancy I felt. A lifetime has passed since I last donned any of these items, and yet… there was momentary uncertainty in pulling down each piece, folding it, and placing it in the box of surrender. Contemplating how much money was spent on each piece. Pondering a number of items never worn – as if I tried on someone else’s style, then failed to claim it as my own. Can I do this? Can I say farewell to that woman who abandoned her wardrobe? Will she return with regret for all she’s lost? Am I leaving her naked and vulnerable?

This culling feels like an act of severance. The woman who purchased these garments and wore them, doesn’t live here anymore. The current resident is different. Her once long hair, no longer dyed blonde, as all falseness and pretense has been cut away. Shorter, white and silver curls now frame her full and make-up free face.

This woman no longer tries to fit in where she doesn’t belong. She is finally exactly where she is meant to be. She is valued, appreciated and loved for exactly who she is, exactly as she is. Consequently, clothing once sought to make her feel pretty, professional, or desirable is being replaced with that which makes her feel nurtured, comfortable, unhindered, and unburdened. No more binding required, she is abundantly at home in her own skin. The opinions of others are not more important than her own comfort.

There is glorious freedom in this second half of life. Discovering that one can live a simple and joyful life with less (less income, less expectation, less judgment, less time given away to those who don’t matter) is liberating.

Perhaps I once bought clothing to fill a hole. I guess they call it ‘retail therapy’. It all seems silly and wasteful now, but I won’t belittle the woman I was. I will simply sit in gratitude for the woman I have become. I am now hole-less. I am becoming more whole.

As I pack up the remaining items that have caused me to pause, I will bless each piece with love for the new body it will embrace. As for each new owner of my former closet couture… May she feel nurtured, protected, comforted, and held in the light of love. May she know that she is already goddess incarnate, not because of what she wears on the outside, but for who she is on the inside. May she walk through the rest of her days in belonging, feeling valued and treasured exactly as she is, for exactly who she is. May she know that she is sacred and whole. May she feel safe, secure, and free to speak her truth and may she walk in beauty, having all she needs and plenty to share.

Thank you for walking this path with me. I love knowing you are here.

This former wardrobe will be joyfully donated to a local charity called Adriana’s Attic, Inc. Their mission is: “To help adults and children in need of clothing, hygiene items, food, and medical supplies. We believe that spending a few hours volunteering your time to help the working poor and homeless in our community and around the world is critical.”

If you are in Central Florida and wish to support this endeavor, please visit their site to learn more: https://adrianasatticinc.org/

The Awareness of Joy

Last week, one of my Thursday circle-mates posed a question for our weekly conversation. It was based on a graphic she had shared earlier in the week, which found resonance. It was based on the idea of how we tend to be painfully aware of what triggers our anger, our fear, our trauma-based emotional and bodily responses to something in any given moment… and asking us to ponder what might be our HAPPINESS triggers.

Graphic that sparked our conversation / from mombrain.therapist, shared by
Women Veteran Social Justice Network

When I saw this, I immediately thought of a recent sensation I had while standing in my kitchen, after a friend had left for home, following our first visit in more than a year… now that we are both fully vaccinated. So… here’s the funny thing about this thought (see my post about my swiss-cheese memory: https://beethelight.blog/2018/08/14/a-blessing-or-a-curse/), I couldn’t remember exactly what it was. Ha!

I swear, it was profound… that thought and that sensation in that moment! I should have written it down. Sigh… What I decided to do, was to write down whatever came to mind on a list of Happiness Triggers. I am now keeping this running list open on my desktop, so that I can add to it when things come up.

(What that feeling might have been, I decided, was this: Not only the one-on-one time I get to share with someone I love, but the time that follows when I can reflect on our togetherness with equal gratitude for the time I now have to spend with myself.)

Walking home from morning ritual at my parents’ house up the street today, I was being triggered left and right, literally (magick happening in neighbors’ yards, as I passed). So, I came home to write it all down.

*Asterisk marks a happiness trigger

It all started when I *woke up in my own bed, *in my own home of 25 years, with *plenty of time for my morning coffee ritual before it was time to be responsible to others. I shook off sleep with *the sound of a favorite book being read to me through Audible. Making my morning pour over coffee has become a form of prayer. As I pour hot water over the grounds of my *favorite coffee, I start with a counter clockwise drizzle to release the oils, and I offer gratitude for the aches and pains I feel, which remind me I am human, and I ask for the release and resolution of it, too. Then, in a clockwise motion, I pour hot water over the grounds with my daily gratitudes to the elements. *I am grateful for the eastern element of air which fills my lungs with the breath of life. *I am grateful for the southern fire which inspires me to action. *I am grateful for the western water that cleanses and heals as waves of loving emotion flow over me. *I am grateful for the northern earth that holds and sustains me, keeping me grounded.

I continue the coffee ritual as I pour cream into my cup, using techniques inspired by Kyle Grey and Jennifer Weigel suggestions for manifesting magick throughout the day. *Thank you in advance, dear Universe, for revealing your magick to me today in ways that I can understand. Thank you for inviting me to be mindful and aware of the messages you are sending, and may I receive them with clarity.

I enjoyed the time I had to myself, with coffee, and reading updates from friends on social media, and then got dressed to start the ‘responsible to others’ part of my day. I stepped out into the beauty of the day, *warm sun and a cool breeze, under a blue sky with puffy white clouds, surrounded by lush greenery on lawns and treetops. As I ventured up the street, a *large dragonfly floated far above me, as I crossed paths with *a flock of young Ibis. I delight in their presence on my block, and always eagerly greet them with, “HI-bis!” They went about their business of bug plucking, and scooted around the *squirrels at play. A *butterfly fluttered by as I turned up my parents’ driveway (*just 7 doors up from my own).

Though I do quite a lot during morning ritual with my folks, there are more days than not, when happiness is triggered for the sheer fact that *all I do is in service to their love and care, which enables a flow that comes with grace and ease. These days, *when I come to the end and tuck them in for the night, and return to my home at the end of the street, I feel enormous gratitude and peace for the blessings we have to be able to live this lifestyle, and for my strength and ability to manage all three of our lives relatively well. I am grateful that on most days… *this feels pretty easy, even though it is quite a lot.

After getting Pop changed and out of bed and into his chair, giving him and one of the dogs their meds, cooking breakfast, cleaning the kitchen, and ensuring everyone had what they needed for a peaceful day, I headed back out into this glorious Florida day. I passed by the flock of Ibis (HI-bis! Say hello to Isis for me!), still doing their part to aerate our lawns, remembering that it was this yard through which I *witnessed an opossum crossing last night (Hi Possum!). Then, in the next yard down, I stopped to *watch a black snake slithering its way through green grass (Oh! Hello!)

As I watched the snake and waved fare-the-well, my neighbor drove up in his little red Moke, I remembered the *bunch of bananas he left on my porch last week, and hoped he enjoyed the Hummingbird cupcakes I baked and shared thanks to his gift of inspiration. Then *another neighbor passed, as I stood in my own yard, *chatting with a blue jay who was singing in my oak tree, and we spoke of the blessing of this beautiful day.

I entered my sanctuary with a mind to *love on my kitties, and to *write all of this down. Next on my agenda is to *indulge in a good nap, and maybe even *a hot bath with epsom salt and essential oil. The bright red *cardinal in the tree outside my window shows up to remind me that my love language is ‘showing up’. So, thank you for showing up, dear ones. I love you more.

By the way, my eyes roll back in my head at *the smell of sweetgrass when I drive through the mountains of North Carolina, and pretty much the sound of *anything performed by Stevie Nicks or Fleetwood Mac starts a bonfire of joy for me. I would love to know what you have noticed triggers happiness for you!


Thank you for walking this path with me, and thank you in advance, dear Universe for making this a magickal day.

*Messages from the Universe
Dragonfly
: self realization; emotional maturity and understanding the deeper meaning of life
Ibis: great wisdom and the ability to work magic
Squirrel: preparedness, abundance, multi-tasking, new-life, rest, better days, and laying groundwork
Snake: fertility or a creative life force, transformation
Butterfly: change, renewal, hope, endurance, and courage to embrace the transformation to make life better
Opossum: expect the unexpected
Blue Jay: truth, faithfulness, and solidarity because they are vigilant in their tasks
Cardinal: devotion, loving relationships, good fortune (for me – love is here)

More Eldercare Blessings

I wrote about the many tools that have been helpful in caring for my father in October 2019, when his mobility was still possible but greatly challenged. A year later, things had changed. He fell and broke his hip in the fall, and he has not regained his ability to walk. Caring for him in this new chapter has brought some additional tools into my parents’ home, so it feels as if an update is in order. I am reminded by friends of the importance of sharing what we are learning about keeping our old people safe and well. May this be of benefit.

One of the challenges for eldercare in the United States is understanding Medicare and secondary insurance options and limitations. To bring Pop home from rehab before Thanksgiving, I had to acquire a hospital bed, a hoyer lift, and an adjustable bedside table (among other things). Medicare would cover a bed with electric adjustable head and foot, but you would have to manually crank the bed height (a burden when trying to protect the back of the caregiver). You can get a fully electric bed with a monthly fee. And if your loved one has a larger frame (6 ft. tall and 200 lbs), and a larger bed is needed, the monthly charge is significantly more.

Since my father is prone to bedsores and pressure wounds, I asked for a pneumatic air mattress for prevention. It turns out that Medicare will cover that… but only if your loved one already has multiple wounds that won’t heal. They care not to prevent them, apparently. Rather than leasing one from the hospital supply company, I found a mattress overlay that electronically moves air through pockets.

(Forgive the link, I have yet to learn the professional technique for such things.)
https://smile.amazon.com/gp/product/B00TZ73MUY/ref=ppx_yo_dt_b_asin_title_o09_s00?ie=UTF8&psc=1

Medicare covers a hoyer lift for your loved ones who are unable to stand, walk, or transfer. That lift is completely manual… but they do not offer a fully electric option, even with a monthly fee. Since I am in my 50s and hope not to require eldercare before my parents are gone, it was absolutely necessary to have a fully electric version. This amazing tool allows me to get my father out of bed everyday and into his recliner, then back to bed at the end of the day. This gives him some level of normalcy, and I am grateful for this blessing. I found this lift through the same catalog that provided his recliner lift chair. It can be folded up for transport, but I doubt we’ll use that feature. I’m amazed by its maneuverability through tight spaces. We found the u-sling or the divided leg sling to work best for us. I was grateful to have gotten lessons from the staff at rehab…. but Dad and I also spent a morning watching videos on YouTube. It all takes practice, so be patient with yourself.

https://www.spinlife.com/Proactive-Medical-Protekt-Folding-Take-A-Long-Power-Patient-Lift/spec.cfm?productID=170785

From the same catalog, I ordered a table for the hospital bed, so that we can do breakfast in bed when necessary. He may stay in bed longer on the days the bath-aid comes, and she is able to use it for her needs, as well.

https://www.spinlife.com/Drive-Medical-Multi-Purpose-Tilt-Top-Split-Overbed-Table-Overbed-Tables/spec.cfm?productID=111716

We have a Costco membership, so that is where I get gloves and wipes, and doggy pee pads, which protect the mattress, and sometimes the tile floor where the aim-challenged dogs might tinkle now and then.

Since Pop can’t get to the bathroom any longer, I went searching for a urinal solution for someone with dexterity issues, that can serve for multiple uses overnight, when necessary. I found a cool device that I would have loved to have that time we slept on the steps of the Supreme Court when we were in our mid 20s. There were no open public restrooms in DC back then, and we had to go to the car to pee in a cup and then dump it out. (Yes, that actually is the craziest thing I’ve ever done.)

https://smile.amazon.com/gp/product/B08H8D87D8/ref=ppx_yo_dt_b_search_asin_title?ie=UTF8&psc=1

Other challenges are related to acquiring the care my father needs without being able to take him anywhere, since he can’t stand or transfer into the car. One exciting discovery was shared by his Physical Therapist. I was thrilled with the care he was receiving while Medicare covered home care for a few months after his homecoming, but longed for someone to care for his feet and toenails. They set up a Podiatrist to come to the house, which is when I learned Medicare covers these visits even when one is not receiving home care. Glory! Glory! We are in Central Florida, and had a great visit with Dr. Rivera from WoundMD. Pop’s feet have never looked so good. They can be reached at 407.720.4253.

UPDATED: Meeting with the Primary Care Physician and the Neurologist (for his epilepsy meds) can be done virtually, thank goodness, but the Dentist is a different story. When Pop complained about tooth pain and I started to panic about how to find a dentist that wouldn’t require transferring Pop out of a wheelchair (not to mention hiring transport to get him there), Mom hopped on line and found a mobile dentist. Imagine that! I think this is another Florida based business, but I’ve not had the time to research it. These magickal beings are from Tooth Fairy Mobile Dental Service. They provide comprehensive onsite dental care. You can find them at XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX. The dentist and his hygenist came on Friday, and took x-rays and discussed a plan of care, which we’ll receive in writing Monday. I am removing my recommendation for this service, which has been a horrible disappointment. I now feel that they are designed to take advantage of elders who are in need of care.


The next big task was finding a new bath-aid, when Medicare stopped covering home health. This is something they do intermittently… ‘we see you need help, but if you aren’t making progress, we will stop providing that help’. I confirmed with his secondary insurance that they would cover a home health aid for bed baths, since he cannot stand to enter the walk-in tub, but when they referred me to the next step, I was denied further assistance. After several hours of telling my story to several people, I cried and gave up. I decided to let go of the need to have that assurance, just so I could get my poor guy a bath. I called several home health services, and found a few that had a 3 or 4 hour minimum of care for each visit. Since I am the full-time caregiver for my father, that felt wasteful of a fixed income for two retired social workers, so…. I kept looking until I found someone who offered a simple rate for bath assistance. A dear friend recommended the Visiting Nurses Association, and I learned they had a name change in our part of Florida. Now, Mediri Private Care, a partner of Orlando Health, we have found our lovely new bath aid for the foreseeable future. Again, in Central Florida, their number is 407.644.2433.

The biggest obstacle of the year, of course, has been how to protect my father from potential exposure to Covid-19, and how to get him vaccinated. Gratefully, my lifelong friend is on top of what is happening in community care, and she immediately alerted me to Florida’s program to vaccinate homebound residents. A week ago Saturday, we celebrated the delivery of the Johnson & Johnson (one and done) vaccine to Pop, at home. If you are in Florida and have someone who needs to be vaccinated for whom getting in line somewhere would be a challenge… here’s what to do: Send an Email to… HomeboundVaccine@em.myflorida.com to put in your request. They will reply with a link and a form to complete online. The 311 form allowed me to alert the Fire Department of my father’s inability to get out of the house on his own in an emergency, and in the comment section at the bottom of the form, I noted that we would like him to receive the vaccine at home as soon as possible. Our request was fulfilled within a week. They also are provided with one extra vaccine per household, in case someone else is in need. Since my mother and I had already been vaccinated, I was thrilled they were able to vaccinate an elderly neighbor of ours with the allotted extra dose.

For the last year, my greatest stress in caregiving has been that while handling all of the errands and grocery shopping for my parents, I would be responsible for killing my father by bringing home a virus I couldn’t see. I cried several times the day the CDC delivered his vaccine…. tears of joy and relief for him and for me.

When I list out my daily activities in eldercare for friends, that this is quite a lot is often affirmed. While I acknowledge that it certainly is quite a lot, I also understand that we are blessed to have access to the tools we need to make keeping Pop at home possible and somewhat simple.

Thank you in advance, dear Universe, for delivering all we need to keep our people safe and well with grace and ease, and may we be blessings to others, as our lives have been so blessed these many years.

Thank you for walking this path with me. Know that you are held gently in the light of love. Always. And… If there is anything you’ve learned about eldercare that is helpful, I’d love to hear about it!

Gratefully Exhausted

I cried… first thing this morning as I saw images of his departure. My whole being relieved with a sigh, a shudder, a sob. I was bullied as a child, and the last four years have felt like being on high alert, awaiting the final, fatal blow from an abuser.

That 73 Million countrymen and neighbors would have brought such a beast back into my home, after witnessing the bruises and scars of the last four years, gleefully handing him a bat to finish the job, remains something to be dealt with. Forgiveness must come, for we know it will only ooze beneath the surface – and look what happens when disrespect and loathing is left to fester – January 6, 2021 – another day of infamy. But still… accountability is necessary for forgiveness, and healing comes as words meet action. Trust has been diminished, but hope has been rekindled.

A woman who was once a boss, recently died. She remains an important part of my life’s story, despite having been one of those bullies and abusers. Her behavior and actions led to my departure from a workplace I thrived in for a decade. As time passed, I could see the beauty of that blessing. Her tyranny pushed me forward. What started as defiance to make a point to her, became the open door through which I walked into a new and better life. So, I have said a prayer of gratitude to her departed soul. Thank you for revealing to me that life can be so much better.

I feel that these last four years have been that sort of lesson for this beloved nation of ours. Pulling back the veil of denial and darkness. No longer willing to sit idle in apathy while our fellow Americans are brutalized, bullied, and abandoned – we are invited to ‘rise by lifting others’ [R. Ingersoll]. As we witnessed in our pandemic stillness that which we could not turn away from, it was up to those of us in privileged (if unintentional) ignorance to educate ourselves, to be vulnerable with our truth, to seek the forgiveness of those whom our lack of consciousness may have harmed, and to do everything in our power to make it right.

Those first tears of the morning were a release and a relief. My body informed me of the tension she has held these four long years. The abuser has left the building. Thank you for revealing to us that we can be so much better.

Millions will surely write of today’s Inauguration. I feel that my words could never do it justice. I felt a sense of pride and gratitude to see that though it was far from normal, sacred ceremony continues to be a balm for healing… even when masked and physically distanced.

Every choice was made with intention and purpose, and every element delivered hope and glory. I cried… a lot.

Our country should have celebrated our first female president in January 2017. I am certain it will be revealed that the popular vote would not have been her only win, as more and more truths are revealed in the years ahead. But without the chaos of the last four years, I’m not sure that we would have progressed as much as we are about to. So many of us would have missed the opportunity for enlightenment. Gotta love that pendulum swing!

There’s so much more to say and to consider. We now have a President who is responsible and compassionate, and our first (but not our last) female Vice President, who is brilliant and strong. I will not pretend that they will always be the perfect leaders, but I am certain they will lead with mindful compassion for people and the planet, with truth and integrity at the core of each decision.

I believe the world is slayed by the poetic perfection of Ms. Amanda Gorman, whose words carry the weight and the hope for where we’ve been and where we wish to be. I am physically and emotionally spent from four years of fight or flight survival. We all deserve a hot bath and a nap today!

So, here’s to the end of an error, and to the light of new beginnings. May there be accountability and justice, woven with healing and growth. May we continue the hard work of creating a more perfect union bolstered by equality AND equity. Let this new decade finally begin, and let respect and caring help bring this pandemic to a close, as we grieve those we’ve lost, and lift those who continue to fight for the lives of those they took an oath to serve and save.

Thank you for walking this path with me. Please stay safe and well, for you are sacred. I love you!

The Empty Calendar

Today, I pulled down the 2020 calendar to be replaced.

It was a gift from my financial advisor, featuring paintings from The Saturday Evening Post. Once upon a time, I would have passed on such a gift, seeking something more me… with artwork from a Pre-Raphaelite artist or Mary Engelbreit, but since I owe my current lifestyle, in part, to the compassionate insight of my financial advisor, I liked the idea of holding him close. (Thanks Tony!)

What a strange thing… to flip through the pages of a bygone calendar year like the one we’ve just narrowly escaped. To be honest, the world I manage resides mostly on google, but the big things would usually go on the wall calendar. Like a visit from my brother and his family, a trip that might take me out of town, or a workshop I designed to share with others.

In this case, January reminded me of a friend’s knee surgery, Second Sunday Supper, Book Group, and my 51st birthday. February boasted my second annual Seeds of Intention Workshop (where we would assess the different areas of our lives to determine where we wanted to focus our intentions for… the year ahead), filing my taxes, and what would be the last time we would get to see my brother and his wife, who had come up from South Florida.

Then, I flip to March. It’s kind of eerie to look at. There’s a trip to San Antonio for a wedding, followed by a countdown. 14 days to wear a mask each time I entered my parents’ home. Somewhere in this wordpress account, is an unfinished post about the beautiful wedding I attended. It remains unfinished… much like the calendar.

Page after page of 2020 is blank. Void of significant pronouncements. Right up until October 20, which reads: “Dad Broke Hip”. Then, “Pop to Rehab”. In November… there was one weekend marked with something completely different – a two-day escape with a friend to Merritt Island. Then the day before Thanksgiving, “Dad Discharge”. December, again, is blank.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I did nothing with my days. They were filled with enormous care, and loads of love. I have no regrets for the extreme caution we have chosen, in order to keep ourselves and those we love safe and well (not to mention those we don’t know, but care for just the same). Many of those days were filled with learning and growing, with spiritual deepening, with virtual connectedness, and the acquisition of new tools and new skills in the art of eldercare. We miss our people, but so far… though physically distant, we are still all present and accounted for.

But so many are not as lucky as we. Those blank calendar pages remind me of all the lives that were brimming with to-dos and check marks of accomplishment, with no more pages to be flipped. My heart aches for those who have lost loved ones this year, whether to this virus, to dis-ease, despair, or the horrors of brutality. I grieve not only for those who were unable to have the hand of a loved one holding theirs at departure, but for those they have left behind, without the opportunity to be surrounded and held by those who love them, each longing to ease suffering in the smallest, but most meaningful way.

I remember feeling so lucky that Dad had remained relatively well all year, because I couldn’t imagine him being in a hospital or rehab facility, should there be covid restrictions prohibiting visitors. When that fifth fall in a week broke his upper femur, I was relieved to know that he could at least have one visitor each day.

My parents and I have stopped doing the whole gift thing for Christmas. So, this year I bought us the box-set of the 90’s TV series, Northern Exposure. We’ve been watching two episodes each evening. It is a delightful way to end each day. A gift that keeps on giving.

One of the episodes we watched tonight was an old favorite. I think of it each year around the solstice, as the town gathers to celebrate the birth of the Sun, through the indigenous tale of the Raven. The episode takes us through the lives of our beloved community, each unique and fantastic… valued for their individuality and authenticity. Each honors the season of light in their own way, and their community holds space for all of it.

I could weep to remember that this world my parents and I are diving into, with intense longing, is fictional… but frankly, it reminds me of what it means to be Unitarian. I was blessed to grow up, not in a dogmatic religion that excludes the ideas of others, but in a loving community that honors all traditions, and has space at the table for everyone, including Mother Earth, herself.

In a year that has made consumerism feel rather foolish, I was struck by a quote from the town DJ and philosopher, Chris in the Morning: “Happiness doesn’t come from having things… it comes from being a part of things.”

Being a part of several sacred circles this year has delivered great light and joy, in the darkest of times. The big events on the 2020 calendar were few, but commitments to weekly or monthly gatherings on Zoom were consistent and sustaining. We all long to gather again, in safe spaces that are free from shields and obstacles, but what I know for sure is that we can do hard things. We can love others enough to keep them safe for a few more months… or several, if necessary.

As I hung the new calendar where the old one used to be, I opened it to a blank January. So far, it is marked for Inauguration Day and my 52nd Birthday. These pages are holding space for hope. One day, I will get to mark a square with ‘Vaccines’ for the three of us. And then, maybe… at some point… my brother and his family will get a few squares. That will be something to celebrate, indeed.

Thank you for walking this path with me. I am grateful for your presence in my life. Please know that if you are walking through your own darkness, or living with the ache of longing due to a loss that cannot be whispered or spoken, you are held firmly in the light of love. May the Raven soon carry the light of the Sun to brighten your heart and sky. I love you.

Time for Mending

One week ago today, my phone rang at 7:37am. Three out of the four other times that week that my phone rang was in the hour of 2am, so I’m pretty sure my body thought it was home-free, for the night, from the trauma of what those calls announced.

When the caller ID says it is ‘Mom’s Cell’ calling, I know that Alexa is calling me from my father’s bathroom. It informs me that my larger than life, 83-year old father is lying on the floor and that he needs my assistance.

This fifth call in a week wasn’t really a surprise. His Leo’s pride kept him from calling me BEFORE he pushed the button of his lift chair to bring him to his feet (he didn’t want to wake me), and then pull his red Rollator Nitro walker before him so he could struggle to rise and make his way to the bathroom to empty his bladder. Had he called, I could have been unlocking the front door of my parents’ home before he released the brakes to step gingerly away from the safety of his recliner.

Instead, I got the familiar call that puts my body into a trauma response. Wondering where on the floor I will find him, and if this will be the time that I am unable to help.

The fourth call was one of those times, actually. I pulled out the Indeelift device that helps us lift his body to where his knees are at a 90 degree angle, so he can then push himself to a standing position, but he didn’t have the strength to pull himself onto the platform. I had to call for a ‘lift assist’, and the fire department sent over four strong men to set him back into his chair.

But the fifth call… this was the one we were all dreading. This was the one where he didn’t get to decline a trip to the emergency room. This was the one where the pain was too great. This was the one that led to x-rays. This was the one that came with a diagnosis that comes with horror stories. My father, the man with bones and toenails of steel, had broken his hip.

I think he and I both went to that dark place with this news. I asked him what he was thinking, and he said that he was considering everything this would mean. He didn’t elaborate, possibly because I was in tears considering the same thing, feeling as if I had failed to keep him safe. I was thinking that for years I’d heard it said, when an elderly person breaks a hip, they are not long for this world. He was probably thinking he should have called me before the trip rather than after the fall.

It would be 24-hours before they could do the surgery to put a rod in his leg and repair the break in his upper femur. I was grateful that Covid-19 restrictions allowed one visitor to stay with him in the ER and during visiting hours, once admitted. They gave him a pain blocker and some pain meds to get him through the night. As he was drifting off to sleep, and I wished him sweet dreams, he said to me, “We’re going to have to get you one of those handheld crossbows.” I’m not sure where those pain meds were taking him, but I wish I could have seen the view from his perspective.

On Sunday, he was accepted and transferred to a Rehabilitation Hospital that has a pretty strict regimen for recovery. They provide each patient with three hours per day of physical and occupational therapy. The intention is to have each patient out within two weeks. To be honest, I don’t know that any amount of therapy will help. He has a host of complications that may impair the possibility of getting stronger. He fell four times in a week, and that was before he broke his hip. That said, before surgery I asked him if he wanted a Do Not Resuscitate order should anything go wrong, and his response was a resounding, NO! So, here’s to the strength of spirit for something more.

As for me, I have not had a day off of caregiving duty since this time last year. In addition to wanting to stay close for the possibility of a 2am phone call, Covid-19 has never gone into remission in the state in which we live. It hasn’t felt wise to travel and risk exposure or worse, unknowingly delivering the risk to others. 2020 has been a difficult year for all of us, and I have the added joy of constant highway construction just a few yards from my house. It’s like living in a war zone with the sound of dump trucks banging like cannon-fire, constant motion of cranes and power shovels, and then there’s the rattle and hum that shakes the whole house and bounces the art off the walls as dirt is shimmied and compressed into a highway foundation. Oh! And the pounding of pylons! That felt like an all out assault on my entire body. Needless to say… I’m exhausted.

One of the things I have to acknowledge is that I have two significant strengths at play, when it comes to my choice to not go back to work and care for my parents full-time. One is EMPATHY and the other is RESPONSIBILITY. When I am more distressed about our current situation than either of my parents seem to be, it is quite possible that my strengths are out of balance.

I feel obligated to stand at attention and be of service. It’s what I’ve always done. I used to get paid for it. Somehow, in my need to feel needed and worthy of love, I trained myself to give away so much of myself there was nothing left for me. The year my boss was dealing with a hostile takeover, I told myself I couldn’t take time off unless she did, because it would cause HER more stress. My own stress level and five weeks of unused vacation were secondary. Not because she required it of me, but because I demanded it of myself.

I’ve noticed how my body and mind have been telling me that it is time for a break, the way it did during that difficult year at work, but I hate that it may be made possible by my father’s extended stay elsewhere to recover from a broken and mending body.

I’m working on figuring out how to get away during a pandemic, and plans are starting to develop. Meanwhile, I am mindful of how beautiful it can be to find one’s self in need. During these months of lockdown, I have gotten to know my neighbors. Many of us have been here for decades, but the coming and going of our lives kept us passing with a wave or completely out of sight. Now, we have exchanged phone numbers, and text each other to see if anyone needs something from the store. And when a neighbor was outside the morning the ambulance came… I received messages of concern and outreach from several neighbors, wanting to know that we are safe and well, and how they might be of service to me.

Dear friends and beloved community are letting us know that they are holding us close, and they are standing-by, intending to assist in any way. One friend thanked me for allowing her to cook a pot of soup for us this week. I thanked her back, for reminding me how important it is to allow those who love us to be of service, when they are so desperately wishing there was something they could do.

So, thank you, dear ones… for taking the time to read about the heavy burdens I am carrying, for sending your healing energy and caring thoughts for my father’s recovery and wellness, and for holding space for a woman who is still learning how to treat herself with the same kindness and compassion she so abundantly offers to others. Much like the highway that runs through my side yard, I am a never ending work in progress. It seems tedious, but worth the effort.

Thank you for walking this path with me. None of us should have to do the hard things alone. I suspect that when we feel that we are isolated or abandoned, it is because we are too overwhelmed to notice that we are surrounded by a Tribe that has been paving the way all along. Goodness, we are so blessed, and ever so grateful. We hope that you and yours are safe and well.

Beloved October

This morning I woke with a sense of joy. My favorite month has finally arrived. I greet it with enthusiasm, as I do my cats (GOOD MORNING FLEUR AND NEVILLE!), my sanctuary (GOOD MORNING HOUSE!), and the lizards on the porch, as I step outside to check the weather (GOOD MORNING LIZARDS!). GOOD MORNING OCTOBER! To all of them and to you, I say: I’m so glad you are here!

Living so close to the equator in the state of Florida, October isn’t really so different from September. Really, it is just the idea of it that brings my spirit to a glorious new vibration. I mean, we don’t even get to enjoy the striking color display of states just north of us. We pretty much experience different shades of green throughout the year, until the dull green oak leaves get pushed out by the vibrant green leaves in February, when the world seems coated in yellow-green pollen, and no one can breathe for the code-red pollen count.

Still, I know change is happening somewhere. I can feel it in my bones. For example, the high today is expected to be only 82 degrees. We’re actually having a cold-front! It makes me want to step out of the air conditioning and twirl as I burst into song.

I think the animals are doing the same. I’m in a suburb, so wildlife sightings are limited, but today I was delighted by it. As I walked to my parents’ home to help my father with his morning routine, I happened upon a grand celebration. No less than nine squirrels were dashing around the trunk and branches of their neighbor’s tree. I tried counting them several times, but then three would dash up and to the left, while three more went up and to the right, and a few more came down the trunk and into the yard… and back up again. I stood there, as witness to an abundance of joyful activity and I laughed until I cried.

Since I pay attention to synchronicity and seek messages from the universe, I am taking from Squirrel spirit that I am prepared for the future, I am abundantly blessed, and now it is time to manifest more joy in my life. I mean… NINE SQUIRRELS! One cannot ignore Mother Nature when she is trying to get your attention in such a remarkable way.

Thank you, dear universe, for the abundance of joy in my life, for providing all I need with plenty to share, and for the blessings of beauty that surround me every day. I am grateful.

To be sure, I have struggled with despair in recent weeks. I live in a state where Covid-19 restrictions are being lifted, while thousands of people are testing positive, and more than 100 people die each day. It is painful to understand that life is so meaningless to so many. I have felt oppressed by the realization that in order to keep my parents safe, we will all have to continue living in exile for the foreseeable future. I miss my people. I miss hugging them. I miss seeing their smiles, in real life… unmasked and radiant in the reflection of mutual affection.

Oh, and then there’s the awareness that there are people trying to get rid of the best healthcare coverage I’ve had in 50 years. I cannot, for the life of me, understand how anyone could believe this is a caring thing to do. Why don’t people care about the safety and wellness of others?

But today… today is the beginning of October! And even if I can’t see it… I can feel that change is coming. The things in life that no longer serve us are beginning to shrivel on the vine, and soon it will all fall away. There will be a time of naked awareness as the pile at our feet exposes the truth of what wickedness once grew unhindered and fed by poison.

Then… one day soon, we will bear witness to new growth and vibrant blossoming of new beginnings. This life thing, on the earthly plane, is comprised of a series of cycles, and all things must end. I, for one, value the darkness, and I do not fear endings. In my life, every ending has delivered clarity and greater understanding of where I’ve been and how I’d like to pave my path forward. It shall not be an easy task, but imagine where it will take us!

Thank you for walking this path with me.
May October bring you an abundance of blessings and endless moments of joy. I love you more.

Joy and Woe Entwined

Each week in my world, an international circle of friends gathers to discuss a random topic. This week’s discussion was inspired by a portion of William Blake’s 1863 (published then, written earlier) poem, The Auguries of Innocence. The piece of the much longer poem that initiated conversation was this…

What happens in circle stays in circle, but I can tell you what rose to mind for me, and some of what I shared… at least, what has not yet fallen through the holes of my swiss-cheese-memory, as we discussed what brings us joy, and what the words of this portion of the poem unearthed.

The thread for which my mind first reached was that JOY is surely woven with SORROW. It brings to mind a tapestry upon a cold castle wall that not only warms the corridor, but seeks to tell a story.

Empathy is one of 34 inherent strengths that comes most naturally to me, and I am also an Aquarian extrovert, so when I think of what brings me joy, the first images to come to mind are, at once – spending time with those I love, and bearing witness to the joy of others. Because I feel the emotions of others, I simply relish the opportunity to know that loved ones are happy, safe, and well.

The most recent example was a friend who called for my support. Facing a change of ‘home’ in her 80s, the uncertainty and the financial challenges felt overwhelming. She’s engaged me as her End of Life Doula, and I confirmed I would be her ‘person’, should there be an -in case of emergency- situation. But I also reminded her that, as she looked at the many options for shelter in the year ahead, that above all, she should remove from her concerns that she would ever be homeless. She is well-loved by many with guest rooms, so her worse-case scenario would never include being abandoned and destitute. With that reminder, her entire being began to relax. She called the next day to tell me that I was right, that everything would be okay, and that she already has solutions. And just like that, her sense of peace, became my JOY.

I sometimes get the sense that when WOE is winning – pressed tightly to the chest – encased in fear, we may fail to see that JOY is right there, too, holding space, and awaiting our notice. When we do, everything relaxes, and as we breathe more deeply, we are able to witness everything falling into place, exactly as it should.

The last blog post I shared, was a plea for your assistance to enhance healing energy for someone in need. And this… is what next came to mind about the entanglement of JOY and WOE. A friend and former colleague had recently come back into my life through social media. She was sharing the joy of her work life and personal life – in a pandemic paradigm, along with the woes of friends who struggled with the deadly virus that took some and spared some. I thought of the blanket of comfort she is weaving now, with a special page dedicated to her beloved’s unexpected and all-consuming battle with lung cancer.

The walls of her castle are warmed with photographs of past adventures, the loving memories of devoted friends, online-gatherings to walk a healing labyrinth on her beloved’s behalf, with prayers spoken, songs enchanted, and the very real terror of the limitations of the body and medicine. Connectedness through community is their lifeline, and joy comes to greet the sorrow with the arrival of bucket list gifts, and friends wearing masks to carry the wounded warrior out of the house and into the car to return to the hospital for more chemotherapy. I am agog with the vulnerability and courage they are each expressing to the universe. They are showing us all how to strengthen the weave.

If you are willing and able to read my last post and wish to add your healing energy to the intention of his wellness, please click here (when you finish this):

https://beethelight.blog/2020/08/22/circle-up-for-love-that-heals/

The third thing that came to mind, was the JOY of building deeper bonds of commitment and connection during the WOES of social injustice and global pandemic. I don’t know about you, but I have a minimum of four online gatherings each week, some of which have been occurring since the Spring Equinox. As the Autumn Equinox approaches, only 15 days away, what started as a way to know that dear ones were safe and well through the early weeks of uncertainty and skyrocketing death rates, has become a comforting salve for our longing.

We long to gather safely in one sacred space, with beautiful smiling faces unburdened by the veil of a mask. We ache for the hugs that remind us we are not alone, and that this is not all a dream, we are real and tangible, and lovable, and necessary in the lives of those who love us. We are grateful for the JOY of this technology, which enables us to, at the same time, sit in the living rooms of those we love, to show them that we are safe and well, and through the light of our eyes, exhibit the sorrows of our seclusion and the commitment to doing whatever it takes to get to the other side of this challenging banishment… for HUGS AWAIT!

I hope my circle-mate won’t mind me sharing this one item that resonated from our conversation that night. She said (far more eloquently) that her grandmother taught her that when she goes about selecting pieces of fabric for making a quilt, she must ensure there are many muted squares – so that the favorite fabrics can be savored all the more.

From afar, I witness the mingled vines of JOY and WOE through what is happening around the country and the globe. Friends in the west are facing the specter of a dry scorched earth as wild fires rage, and the Gulf Coast endures yet another destructive hurricane, and little earthquakes are happening in unexpected places. In other countries, communities are reopening and reconnecting to the lives they once knew… with some caution, but some freedom, too.

And in my own tiny world… amid the WOE of missing hugs and mountain adventures, from this sanctuary I JOYfully embrace the comfort and safety of a home surrounded by oak trees, beloved tiny lizards, and wonderful neighbors. I am writing to you from a peaceful living room that is filled with a great deal of art that I love, and two kitties at rest. We are surrounded by the WOEful heat of this sunshine state, but are blessed by the JOY of air conditioning, while my parents, just seven houses up the street, are doing the same with their three dogs.

We are all safe and well, and continue to find JOY in the small things. That we have each other is not taken for granted, and without a doubt, we know it to be no small thing, at all.

Thank you for walking this path with me. I love you more.

Circle Up for Love That Heals

A couple of years ago, I learned about the loved one of a dear friend who was facing an overwhelming future based on a diagnosis and prognosis she’d received. The ache I could feel with my empathic heart was extreme. I crafted a meditation to invoke healing with the help of others, and today that ache has returned.

A former colleague and respected friend has been reaching out for support from her beloved community, as her most sacred being and life-partner has been given an overwhelming diagnosis. Once again, I do not know him personally, but I know the heart of my friend, and I can feel her ache, her fear, and the weight of her burden. My intention is to send Reiki and ThetaHealing to assist with the battle our patient is facing, as well as to bolster the strength of my friend as she holds space for the one she loves.

Once again, I’d like to engage your support.  I promise that it will not cost you more than a moment of thought, and what I know for sure is that the light produced by your mindful awareness will add to the light of mine, and together… we may just permeate the darkness descending upon a sacred soul.  Now, the soul of whom I write is specific, but together – our reach may be expansive.  Each of us may be just a drop of quenching rain, but together we can be a monsoon of healing light, a tsunami of love. 

With so much suffering and loss in the world, I am often strengthened by the thought of touching the heart of one being, that they may touch the heart of another, with the ripple effect causing eternal waves of love that heals.  You can help.  We can help.  Somehow, in a place beyond our understanding… we shall gather, heal, and overcome.

The sacred being of whom I speak is a gentle, loving soul who went to the doctor about an imagined rib fracture, and came out with a diagnosis of lung cancer. His partner, my friend, has spent a good part of this year rallying around friends who either did or did not win a battle with Covid-19. She is already exhausted, and has asked for support. Darlings, this is called surrender. This is what we all must do to survive during extraordinary times. We are all living in such times, and we must understand that we are not alone, for we are all one. Please reach for the support that will nurture you through the most difficult days. I promise that your hand will be met with a circle of loving kindness.

Whether you are ready to surrender, or have empathy and energy to offer, we are all grateful for your stunning, radiant inner light.  The love from one heart is great and enveloping, but the love of many?  It is all consuming… a cloak of comfort on a cold dark night.  Please take my hand and share your light and consider opening to receive the light of others… I can see it growing brighter as you approach, and it is sweetness to behold – this love made manifest. 

Further, I hope you would not consider it greedy to ask that you share this intention with others.  Imagine the power of our light when it is passed from one sacred soul to another!  We are each torchbearers… passing our light from one to another, until the whole world is aglow with a radiance more powerful than the sun.

I value and respect privacy, so for the purposes of our focused connection, I am going to refer to our sacred vessel as B. Know that time is not linear, and your light will make a difference even if we are all focusing at different times or on different days.  Also understand that if you are in need of healing light, or wish to offer it to someone you care about, you may pull it from this cosmic gathering and place that being at the center of the circle right next to B. Love is infinite. We have access to an endless supply. Remember, when you offer your own healing energy, you are never depleted, for this is a divine force that moves through you… you cannot help but receive through the giving.

Great Spirit, Mother / Father God, Universal Force of Creation, Powers that Be, Elements of Air, Fire, Water and Earth which surround us and flow through us, Light of Truth, Unconditional Love, All That Is:  Allow this sacred circle of beautiful beings to become a combined vessel of your love, filling up and spilling forth with an abundance of healing light energy.  Allow the light of love to flow freely, without obstacle, and let it drip down the healers’ hands, washing away our sorrows, our fears, our hunger and thirst, our aches and pains, self-doubt and false limitations.  As we are made of celestial matter, we contain the healing power of a thousand suns, and the distant light of a billion stars is ever present in the combustive force that warms us from within.  Let this divine energy rise up through Earth’s core and crust, through saline ocean, and forest floor, through the soles of our feet, rising up through the roots that are our legs, lighting up our energetic being as it is filled – (red) root, (orange) sacral, (yellow) solar, and into our (green) hearts contained by strong and resilient trunks, and let this molten, healing light flow through arms to hands that are our branches, through (blue) throat, (purple) mind’s eye that sees what is not visible, and (white) crown through which we connect easily with all that is… rising up and out to deliver exactly what is required, be it for the good of all.  Amen, So Be It, Blessed Be.

If it is difficult to connect with the soul of someone you do not yet know, think of someone you do know who has made you feel completely loved.  Hold that beloved being in your heart and radiate and reflect that love back to her or him.  As you feel that radiance shared between the two of you, allow that light to expand to encapsulate others in your circle – such as family and friends for whom you feel a sense of affection.  Now, expand that light even further, beyond those you know well and out to acquaintances, and then to people you don’t know in your community, in your city, in your state.  Let your light of loving compassion grow and spread beyond the boundaries of country, continent, planet.  Let your love reach and grow into the darkness of space, surrounding the galaxy, and then every galaxy – known and unknown.  Know that your light is expansive and boundless. You are one with the universe and all that is.

Now, bring your focus back into your center.  Visualize this place that is in a realm that is not limited by what we know in this world.  In this place, there is plenty of room for all of us to gather.  We are each standing in our own strength, prepared to share it freely with one another.  If you once felt alone in this space, feel the arrival of other light beings, as the palms of your hands are filled with the palms of two others.  As each of us arrive in this sacred circle, a pale blue light radiates from each being, and as hands are linked, the light begins to pulsate and grow stronger as it flows gently in a clockwise motion, from heart to heart and hand to hand. 

As the circle is made complete, you look before you and see B seated at the center, enveloped in the pale blue light of your loving presence.  Let B be represented by that being who has made you feel most loved and cherished, and let that love be reflected back to him.  He is surrounded by Universal light delivered through sacred souls from all over the planet.  You may be holding hands with someone from America, from Canada or Ireland, from India, Japan, Australia, or from Africa… your light is mingling with the light of people from countries whose names have never crossed your lips.  We are all one, and there are no barriers here.  We are all here for one purpose… to bring divine healing light to the soul of another, in whatever form is needed.  When we offer our healing energy, Reiki, Theta, our thoughts and prayers, it must be unattached to outcome, for we cannot know the destined journey of one’s soul.  We can only trust that exactly what is needed to bring healing to that sacred soul, in any form, will be delivered by our care.

As the light surrounding B grows and pulsates, it is like a magnet that is pulling from his body any residue of past harm, be it betrayal, fear-based thought, denial of personal worthiness, resentment, guilt, or environmental impurity.  As all remnants of negativity and dis-ease (mentioned and unnamed) are removed from his body, his energetic being, his DNA, and his beautiful soul, all areas of exit are filled and sealed with golden light.  The pale blue light, which has grown in strength as each new soul enters the circle, becomes a beautiful emerald green.  As B has been emptied of what no longer serves him, he has become an open vessel to receive the light that we offer, as well as the sparkly white light of creation that flows from above.  We are grateful witness to the arrival of this light, and are awed by the beauty that illuminates B’s own strength and beauty as he is filled with this light that is like the golden light from a holiday sparkler, or a downpour of luminous glitter. 

This light fills every cell of his body with divine healing energy, as it delivers strength and fortitude for the road ahead.  B is receiving through his open heart, the wisdom of the universe, the strength of earthly ancient mountains, the air to fill his lungs and speak his truth, the fire to move his muscles and accomplish every task he seeks to fulfill, the water to wash his spirit clean of fear, anger, bitterness, and regret. What remains is love, joy, and with full forgiveness of the past, complete self-acceptance and approval.  

B is filled with divine light and soothed by the love that surrounds him.  Whatever is required for his peace, comfort, and transformation in the form that his soul has chosen will be provided with grace and ease.  He is one with all of us and we are all one with the Universe.  Together we transcend the limitations beholden to the confines of the human body, through the power of the mind, which is greater than our understanding.  Once again, we place our trust within this truth… that assistance is given to those who reach.  Together we reach beyond what we can see, feel, understand, and know that this mystery is received and freely given through the love that resides within each of us.

Finally, in this sacred place where we have gathered, we raise our hands toward B, and send golden light energy from heart to palm and into his being, so that he may carry the love of this circle within through all of his days upon the earth and into the mystery of what comes next, many years from now.  And when you feel that you have given what he needs, place your hands upon your own heart, and receive that same energy that flows through you and each sacred being within this circle.  Allow your own body and energetic being to be filled with this Universal Light Energy.  Feel the light and love of this vast community surround you and enter your heart.  Know that you carry this love within you, and that it seeps through every pore with a radiant light that brings healing to old wounds, and attracts an abundance of goodness to your life.

When you are ready to return to the place where you are sitting, I hope that you hold onto my gratitude and my love for the light that you have offered, and for the healing it has provided.  You are loved and valued beyond your previous imagining.  Hold onto that and let it grow in your awareness.  Your light will illuminate your path, and beauty surrounds you, every step of the way.

With so much suffering and loss in the world, I am often strengthened by the thought of touching the heart of one being, that they may touch the heart of another, with the ripple effect causing eternal waves of love that heals.  You can help.  We can help.  Somehow, in a place beyond our understanding… we shall gather, heal, and overcome.

Now allow the white light of cleansing and separation wash over you as you start to wiggle your fingers and toes, allowing the light to gently find your eyes. And finally, send your energy deep into mother earth, pull that golden, molten core energy up into your being, and when you are grounded, cut the cord of this connection and seal your energetic being like closing a zipper.

Thank you for walking this path with me!  I love you!  It is done!

An Unusual Harvest

Today is Lughnasadh, or Lammas, in the northern hemisphere. On the Celtic calendar, it is the cross quarter holiday that marks the midpoint between the summer solstice and the autumn equinox. When we lived in farming communities, it was considered the first harvest.

Since some of us were born with brown thumbs and outside of farming communities, as many do in the current era, we can still find value in these calendar pages through the power of metaphor. And so, once again, I ask… What’s in your harvest?

My Sacred Gardeners and I met in February for the annual workshop on intention setting. At Imbolc, we planted our figurative seeds of intention. Even with a brown thumb, intentions can grow when nurtured with mindfulness and attention.

We anticipated gathering again at the end of March, for the Spring Equinox, and even had a Beltaine retreat planned in my beloved Blue Ridge Mountains. It was to be a weekend dedicated to falling in love with ourselves, right down to a commitment ceremony with rings and circlets of flowers for our heads.

But sometimes, something happens in life that takes our attention away from the garden. A loved one dies, a job is lost, the path forward becomes less clear and uncertainty enters like a thick fog. 2020 has certainly been that kind of a year, ten-fold.

But every eight weeks, the wheel of the year turns to remind us to come back to the cycles of nature. Everything changes. All life is temporary. We remember that though these days are challenging, frustrating, disappointing, sad… they, too, are temporary. This pandemic will come to an end. This physical distancing from those we love will come to an end. This financial insecurity and horrific failure of leadership will come to an end. In the meantime, we are free to set our fears and worries aside, to come back to our gardens of intention.

So… this would be the time of year, the midpoint Imbolc and Winter Solstice, to assess the status of our intentions. What is ready to be harvested and stored to sustain us through the long winter? When I look back at my own lifechart completed with my gardeners, I can reflect on the key words I chose to adorn my candle of intention.

I realize that what I might have pictured to be a result of these intentions may not have manifested in the ways I had intended, but I can usually see that the Universe conspired to bring them to fruition in glorious and unexpected ways. The beauty of the garden is always found in the eyes of the beholder. One gardener may prefer something tediously manicured, while another may delight in allowing Mother Nature to do Her own thing.

What I have found is that my word for the year is RECIPROCITY. and I have found it in the ways that love is offered and returned, as friends and community respect and care for one another. We wear masks, we connect by phone, text, and Zoom. We don’t take personally the necessity of our distancing. We do what we can to deliver kindness, compassion, and togetherness in new and innovative ways.

I wanted to EMBODY TRUST. Which was not just to be the friend and daughter that those I love could depend on to hold their truth with gentle reverence, but that I would do the same for myself. That I would trust myself completely. That I would hear the sacred voice of my own intuition, and never doubt it.

I intended to continue to HEAL AND GROW this year, and I certainly have. Gratefully, much of this work can be done out in the world, but is even more succinct when done in solitude or isolation. In silence and without distractions of others, we can hear the cries of the oppressed, and ask ourselves what we don’t know. How is my silence harmful? How might I do better and be better as a trusted friend and ally? Oh, yes! I have learned so much… and I am still learning.

To CULTIVATE JOY was an intention, and I can see the many ways this has grown. Right before our world shut down, I was reunited with the boss who loved me, at the occasion of her son’s wedding. When he later wrote me, he said that it was so obvious to him how much she and I loved and cared for each other. And even though that was the last time I’ve gathered in a room with others… I have continued to find joy in the beautiful moments of each and every day… in a brief chat with a neighbor, having a giggle with my parents, witnessing the bats fly over my head as I walk home from tucking them in. So much delight can be found in living a small and simple life.

I wanted my year to be GROUNDED IN LOVE, and though there are many days when anger and outrage rise to greet the news of the day, it is always love that grounds me. Primarily, self-love. Each time I enter my home, after caring for my parents or doing the bi-weekly grocery run, I greet my kitties, and I walk through a mist of homemade balancing spray. As I do, I feel my shoulders drop, and my whole body relaxes. I can feel my roots reconnect to the earth through my sanctuary of home, and all is right with the world.

The final word on my candle of intention makes me laugh. Ganesha, the remover of obstacles, always reminds me to be careful what you wish for. The word is RETREAT. Well… my intention was to host TWO retreats this year, in those sacred mountains. At first, we thought we would just lose the opportunity in May, but now… as my home state has skyrocketing Covid cases, it is clear that none of us will be traveling in October, either. But still… this intention surely did manifest. Just… not as imagined.

We have retreated into our homes, to keep our loved ones safe. I am in a daily retreat, really, as each day when I return from caring for my parents, I enter my home, and come back into myself… each day a little deeper. I can remember hearing about silent retreats or going on retreat alone, and thinking it had no appeal. And yet, I have found myself here over and over again, not just this year, but in the two years prior, as I endeavored to create a life beyond the corporate world I’d always known.

What I’ve found here, is that though I may be alone, I love the one I’m with. There is no one I’d rather be secluded with when the world is plagued with a potential plague. That’s kind of a pleasant surprise, for the girl who searched long and hard for a love she deserved… to have found it within herself.

Finally, all of these intentions manifested in the form of a new kind of togetherness. With our worlds becoming so small, during self-isolation and continued extreme caution until a vaccine can be discovered and broadly shared, some of us have chosen to see more of each other. Since March, I have been virtually meeting weekly with a Thursday night group of International friends from a course we took together, a weekly Friday night group of intuitive friends, a Saturday morning group with my Sacred Gardeners, and a Sunday night group with my goddesses.

So, I no longer meet people for lunch, but I do take an occasional masked-walk with a friend, with a hip-bump greeting instead of a hug. I write random letters and send them the old fashioned way, in the mail. My friend, who lives on the opposite corner of the country, and I have become pen pals, and last week she sent me sealing wax and a spoon for melting – so our letters are both sealed with more than just love.

I don’t know what I thought I’d find when I decided to walk through my garden of intentions, but I have to say, I’m pretty darned pleased with what I’ve found here. I allowed Mother Nature to do her thing, and as always, she has WOWed me beyond belief.

I hope that you and yours are safe and well. I hope that despite the unexpected twists and turns of an unusual and extraordinary year, it has been kinder to you than realized. I hope that your personal harvest is filled with light, love, and laughter that nourishes, nurtures, and sustains you throughout the coming seasons. Thank you for walking this path with me. I love you more.