Familiarity with Death
It has been awhile and I would apologize for the absence but I wouldn’t be acknowledging my need for the disconnect. I would be doing my peace of mind a disservice. I’m happy to inform you all that while I haven’t been posting blogs, I have been writing – Every. Single. Day. And now, I’m less than two weeks shy of my epic Japan trip, and I’m sure I’ll be returning with loads of material to share with you all.
With all that being said, I have been learning so much within the last month since I lost my baby George. Bambino, his big brother, died a very short ten days after that and I’ve just been devastated to say the very least. In both cases, I had to tell two different doctors who were working vigorously to save my babies’s lives to, “Let him go.” I cannot begin to put into words the war that manifests in one’s mind, body, and soul when having to make that decision so quickly. Without warning or time to comprehend, I suppose I was just listening to my intuition.
“Let him go,” I managed to command through endless tears.
In Bambino’s case, I knew he needed to go. I didn’t want to put him through any more pain – physical or emotional. He died of a broken heart. I watched him suffer for the ten days in the aftermath of losing our Georgie and I think that was the most difficult part for me.
In that moment when the doctor told me they were performing CPR on my Bambino, I knew he needed his little brother more than I needed him. Their bond and love for each other was and still is the only thing that brings me comfort during this difficult time of balancing the grieving and also shoving it down. I let it out in small doses when I feel like my physical being just can’t bear it any longer. And the rest of the time, I fill up my time with healthy, active living and this right here – writing.
Death and all of Its Dark
I’ve lied in bed with death. I’ve held it, kissed it, inhaled it. Death is familiar to me. Too often, it has involved lives I deeply love being taken prematurely and in unfathomable ways.
There’s beauty in the ability to embrace and understand the virtue of patience. For me, there’s also a deep-rooted element of fear in doing so. I’ve been consciously practicing patience and the art of slowing down for a couple of years now. Sometimes, my nature screams in violent protest. A lot of people don’t comprehend my experiences that have sometimes led me to this desire for now, now, now. If not now, when? What if we don’t get a next time? What if I go to sleep tonight and someone I care about or I don’t wake up?
I’ve also been practicing patience and care for my opposing selves – the patient and relaxed versus the fearful and passionately impulsive. I’ve acknowledged that neither is wrong and both equally deserving of love. While I’m consistently open to the life lessons that are there for each and every one of us, I’ve learned a lot from death.
At the end of the day, humans just want to feel connected to another breathing, living being. I think that’s the reason why the loss of a pet is one of the most difficult losses in life. Our fur babies connect with and love us unconditionally.