Yesterday was hard, although I tried my best. And how could it not have been? Over and over the message and my own thoughts about my Uncle’s passing caught up with me, leaving behind such heartache and such a sad feeling. A empty hole I have come to know so well.
Over and over I found myself wanting to reach out to my cousins, his children and just wrap my arms around them, knowing darn well the tough, heart wrenching road that lies ahead. I remember how much needed to be arranged when Mom passed, how much needed to be taken care of, in a time of disparity, when shock took over, and made you power through those things as if on autopilot. There wasn’t any time to grief, to let it fully sink in, to allow yourself to mourn. I know that my cousins are caught in this trap right now while trying to come to terms that they have just lost their father and might still lose their mother as well. I can’t help but wonder if during this tragedy and while fighting for her own life, she is aware that her husband lost the fight. It is hard to make arrangements, even harder to find closure, which usually comes much later. For right now the fear continues for their mother, who is also hospitalized with Covid.
My heart is heavy and bleeds love, compassion, and understanding. Over and over, I search for the right words, words that could bring comfort, that I could share to bring some peace to their hearts, and yet I know that such words simply don’t exist. Emails have been sent, and cards are being written, conveying that I am here, that I understand, that they are not alone, offering whatever comfort I can in sharing the grief.
Other family members have made contact yesterday, in a way and not son many words expressing their own mortality. The generation of my mother and father, the same as their parents, is leaving this earth, slowly fading into dear memories and remembrance. It’s a process inevitable, happening to all of us, but it doesn’t change the fact that I am just not good at it, at all. Would anyone be? Yesterday, in a moment of grief, I said to myself that my heart just feels too much, too strong, too intense. It takes my breath away at times, but should it be any other way?
One year later after Moms passing and 46 years later after Dads passing, I still feel the pains of a life without them. And the same goes for the animals I have lost over the years. I just feel too much and I know it is in part what kept me from getting another animal, until my Cinnamon Girl came into my life in the mist mysterious of ways.
Today, another day, I find myself connected in the energetic, continuing to feel the pain of those losses. Not just in the physical, but also in the form of other losses, lost connections and people of the heart who have moved on with their own journey. My day is on hold, sitting, petting Cinnamon, who seems to know, picking up on a low, my own vibrations while I’m dazing into the sunlight that is entering through the blinds. She has squeezed her little body into the tiniest of spots with me, just so she can be as close as possible to me. I imagine I will try to keep myself busy, recognizing that it is my natural reaction and an effort to distract myself from the seriousness that is death and loss.