As I walked, I felt the clouds speak in whispers behind me. I stopped and turned, staring into the sky not knowing what had shifted. Whose voice that was from above, I couldn't quite make out.
As I continued to walk, I heard it again, turned and stared into the sky.
The voice trailed off again... I could not know.
I continued to walk and the sky fell silent. The trees ruffled behind me, in front and above. My feet felt light and my skin swam in the gentle, summer breeze...I could not shake the feeling of the shift however. That sensation of knowing intuitively things may never be the same again.
I want to be sensitive to these things and not shrug them off without at least giving thanks for the knowledge and experience. Even if I had no idea what the knowledge and experience might look like. I prayed as I continued my walk, looking to the sky as though the clouds could answer every enquiry I had.
I don't know exactly why I was holding my phone at that moment, maybe thinking of skipping a song or something relatively insignificant.
When it rang, I stared at the number for a long time, not recognizing it. I finally answered and knew almost instantly what had happened, what had shifted in our universe. The voice was familiar, but cracking minutely, he pushed through and told me she had died.
I again stared to the heavens and whispered my sigh, "oh God...may she finally be at peace."
It had happened, what we worried about for many years. I whispered 'oh God' to the heavens, felt my skin tingle and my body drain of energy and coordination. I sat on a wooden fence until the sensation passed through me and I could feel my feet again.
My brain shut down. Our conversation is but a shady memory now except for our mutual condolences and kind thoughts. Neither of us really knew what else to say after a few minutes. We both worried and knew the time would come sooner rather than later even as we also knew she deserved to get better. Perhaps more than she believed, we believed in her.
I don't know exactly why I was holding my phone at that moment, maybe thinking of skipping a song or something relatively insignificant.
When it rang, I stared at the number for a long time, not recognizing it. I finally answered and knew almost instantly what had happened, what had shifted in our universe. The voice was familiar, but cracking minutely, he pushed through and told me she had died.
I again stared to the heavens and whispered my sigh, "oh God...may she finally be at peace."
It had happened, what we worried about for many years. I whispered 'oh God' to the heavens, felt my skin tingle and my body drain of energy and coordination. I sat on a wooden fence until the sensation passed through me and I could feel my feet again.
My brain shut down. Our conversation is but a shady memory now except for our mutual condolences and kind thoughts. Neither of us really knew what else to say after a few minutes. We both worried and knew the time would come sooner rather than later even as we also knew she deserved to get better. Perhaps more than she believed, we believed in her.
Where she and I spent a considerable amount of time, these situations unfortunately happened far too often. She had been struggling for so long that I had begun to take for granted that she could survive anything. So much so that when she texted me the day before she died, neither of us seemed to have any doubt we would talk again. But we don't control those kinds of things and the truth is that on a long enough time line, which gets shorter and shorter if we continue to push the edge, everyone's probability of survival reaches zero.
She was definitely one of God's own prototypes; through all of her struggles she never became hard hearted. She continued to try and spread as much love as she possibly could despite her slowly deteriorating health from the alcohol consumption. Her consumption had turned physically and mentally damaging almost immediately upon taking the first sip.
It seemed to me from our conversations that every time she drank she ended up in the hospital or somewhere even worse. She would say, "that really is how this whole thing works, I am going to places I never dreamt of seeing... And I wouldn't wish on my enemies... Jails, institutions and hopefully not death but I have felt like it has been close."
She was always gentle, just not with herself. She tried to pass along that love for her fellow humans that very few people possess. And every time she struggled or took a step or two backwards, she fought against the kind of demoralizing self pity us alcoholics can fall into by always wanting to reach out to others somehow.
It doesn't matter that it is difficult for us to help others while dying ourselves, as she demonstrated regularly to me, her love for others never ceased. I am relatively certain that her final thoughts were directed outwards to those suffering worse than her and to her friends and family, who she loved deeply.
I tried to pass along the logic to her of helping herself first and I'm sure I was not alone in those efforts. Honestly, as I listened to her talk about the joy she felt when helping others, I sometimes doubted logic altogether. I simply don't know if she was ever really capable of putting herself first once the levee broke and she hit her first bottom.
She was definitely one of God's own prototypes; through all of her struggles she never became hard hearted. She continued to try and spread as much love as she possibly could despite her slowly deteriorating health from the alcohol consumption. Her consumption had turned physically and mentally damaging almost immediately upon taking the first sip.
It seemed to me from our conversations that every time she drank she ended up in the hospital or somewhere even worse. She would say, "that really is how this whole thing works, I am going to places I never dreamt of seeing... And I wouldn't wish on my enemies... Jails, institutions and hopefully not death but I have felt like it has been close."
She was always gentle, just not with herself. She tried to pass along that love for her fellow humans that very few people possess. And every time she struggled or took a step or two backwards, she fought against the kind of demoralizing self pity us alcoholics can fall into by always wanting to reach out to others somehow.
It doesn't matter that it is difficult for us to help others while dying ourselves, as she demonstrated regularly to me, her love for others never ceased. I am relatively certain that her final thoughts were directed outwards to those suffering worse than her and to her friends and family, who she loved deeply.
I tried to pass along the logic to her of helping herself first and I'm sure I was not alone in those efforts. Honestly, as I listened to her talk about the joy she felt when helping others, I sometimes doubted logic altogether. I simply don't know if she was ever really capable of putting herself first once the levee broke and she hit her first bottom.
She was an angel, there was no doubt. One of those rare humans who wandered through life, never quite grasping the human limitations of her own earthly body, mind and soul.
You will remain, my friend, your poem of love and compassion tattooed across my heart guiding me in everything my Creator leads me to do. I am not alone for you touched many in all of your compassion. I will hear your voice as I try to be the person you always thought I was.
I know that I will see you again; not only the faces and hearts of all the helpers, but in those of our suffering fellows, who you cared for so much. Selfishly, I wish you were able to find your freedom from our illness that you would still be here, still giving all of your love to those who maybe feel none. But there was another plan, another path for you to walk another ocean for you dream upon.
You will remain, my friend, your poem of love and compassion tattooed across my heart guiding me in everything my Creator leads me to do. I am not alone for you touched many in all of your compassion. I will hear your voice as I try to be the person you always thought I was.
I know that I will see you again; not only the faces and hearts of all the helpers, but in those of our suffering fellows, who you cared for so much. Selfishly, I wish you were able to find your freedom from our illness that you would still be here, still giving all of your love to those who maybe feel none. But there was another plan, another path for you to walk another ocean for you dream upon.
