What does love look like now?
/It’s October.
I last wrote to you at the end of July, which feels like years ago, not months.
Life has unfolded in ways that weren't how we wanted things to go with my partner.
His cancer came back fast, hard, and painful in early August.
Kevin died September 14th outside, on a clear bursting blue sky, smoke free, lightly breezy afternoon, surrounded by loved ones (physically present and so many other places) at Hospice House in Bend.
"What does love look like now?" was the question I asked again and again as we faced what was happening and were able to hold a space of unconditional love for each other, which felt like a miracle and a gift from whatever holds us all in the mystery of this existence we call life and whatever comes after.
And that led to life being a living prayer for us, and Kevin having a good death all things considered.
We had a spiritual support team that wove it's way into existence in the form of friends/neighbors who are pastors and grief weavers, and the chaplains, and Hospice House staff, and a grieving ritual before he died, and so much love and healing that happened for so many, bundles of those moments, and Sweetness, who was at the Hospice House 20 hours a day, that carried us. Oh my.
And while it was, in many ways, an incredibly stressful time, that question and the weaving of support kept us moving towards more community, more gathering, more touch, more strength, more tenderness, more kisses on the top of his head, more singing, more snuggles, more friends and family, more whispered I love you's, more telling him "do what you need to do, it’s okay to go" (saying those words that were true and wretchedly not true at the same time, hardest words).
What does love look like now?
In this moments --- love looks like ---
Lots of heart aching middle of the night wake ups, tears streaming in my sleep.
Lots of 4 am conversations with Kevin, sometimes mad at him for leaving so soon, some of it feeling regret, some of it begging him to come back, some of it swells of deep gut wrenching sadness.
Early morning date with grief to practice what I've offered to so many others.
Attempting to welcome it all.
Lots of phone calls from friends and family. Lots of dinners with Sarah and Ed. Lots of pausing to be with whoever I meet as I walk Sweetness.
Lots and lots of weeping.
And ---
Seeing a few clients because
it feels good to focus
on other people
and to have a small amount
of a familiar rhythm ---
and to offer
some of the wisdom
I’ve gleaned.
It gives me
a teeny sliver of a glimpse
of how to make meaning
out of this year
out of this enormous loss
out of illness and chemo and
surgery and hospitalizations
and moments of pausing
moments of tenderness
moments of hand holding
moments of frustration and anger
moments of heartbreak
and his last breath
Outside on a marvel of a day ---
surrounded by loved ones
the scent of juniper wafting ---
his last breath lingers in those trees.
his last breath.