death and rebirth

This appears to be a summer of death. No, this isn't a depressing entry, but a rather beautiful one. Mom's dying wasn't unexpected, it was beautiful, and I've written about all of the amazing things that have come out of it. Mostly the closeness that I have with three of my sisters that I've never felt before, or the incredible outpouring of love that I continue to feel from friends and family.

But an interesting thing has been happening lately, and it goes so far beyond ordinary synchronicity that I must note it here. First I noticed that I am becoming obsessed with pearls lately. I go onto the Mikkimoto website to find "Pearls in Motion" necklace like Marietta has so we can be twins. Then I find a strand of pearls that I want to buy matching sets for Kari and I for Christmas, and on and on. Then Melissa tells me that I will meet someone named Lucine - when we look up the meaning of the name, and you got it - pearl. Then I think of Randy Pausch, and how I respect and admire him. I'm writing a column next week about all of the people who inspire me. He was on the list. I went to his website to see if he was still alive. As of a couple days ago, he was. He died this morning. No coincidence.

It's as if I'm IN this current of Oneness, and I'm never out of it. Everything is flowing easily and together. I call Marietta while she's on her cell phone with Peggy, who later calls me while I'm on the other line with my other sister Nancy, while Marietta then calls Dad, who's sitting right next to me. On and on. Like the ribbons on a Maypole these currents of thought and love twine around all of us, connecting us, reminding us that we are never alone - that we are connected to each other, we are a part of each, we belong to each other. And all of this? Beautiful, simple and beautiful.

I'm floating on a slow river, laying on a raft with one hand in the water. I don't care where I'm going, I'm not pushing anything, or looking beyond the next week or so. I'm getting a lot of "things" done, but I'm not planning much of anything. Sure, I may still be quieter, more distant and withdrawn, but I am different, and that's a really good thing. Mom? I miss her with every ounce of my being. I see here everywhere here at Dad's, in the roadrunner needlepoint picture I pass on my way to the laundry room, in her handwriting on the notebook of presents received, on the embossed stationery we are using to write thank-yous to everyone for the memorials. I sigh. I'm not crying so much. I know she's dead. I know she's gone from this physical plane, but this transition is easier than I supposed it would be. I don't think my health is too affected. Probably more so from the past year that I was driving back and forth, all of those nights in the hospital, all the worrying and pre-grieving. To be here? It's actually fresh, clear, clean, pristine, even, and the view is panoramic. There aren't any other people here, where I am, but that's okay - I'm not alone.