Sunflowers & Crows: Grief Illuminating Love
Under the presence of the full moon,
I felt an illumination that extended beyond the night sky. Somehow, the commotion I heard in the stairwell, the invitation to have a beer on the rooftop (although I dislike beer), was, perhaps, less random than I thought.
They were both beautiful, the two of them visiting for work projects from the Country Colombia; as our conversations deepened, they became more like friends versus strangers I’d only moments before met. Slowly and quickly, I saw how each of our paths found us at similar crossroads. The more energetically robust of the two, began sharing her recent experience with the death of her stepfather. She shared how hard it is to be there with your loved one as they slowly begin to transition. What she found herself encouraged to do, was fully accept and be there with this reality—for once in her life, it wasn’t about making a situation better, but finding the courage to fully be there with it, just as it is. And in her acceptance, she encountered a depth of love within herself and in the love she had for her stepfather who was dying. It was grief, but it was deeper than that—it was a level of love and intimacy that could only be experienced by being fully available to the present.
Moments after she shared, silence held us closer. I couldn’t find the words, and then I realized there were none, they had no use, here, in the space that vulnerability had opened us both up to.
Looking up to Mother Moon, I felt my heart soften. The timing of this conversation was no coincidence. I was connected, deeply, to something so beautiful—I always had been, even when I couldn’t see it. I thanked God, for the loved one that I, in the very moment of us standing there, knew that was passing away. She was dying—and before that moment, that night, I myself couldn’t let her go. The restless nights, the sleep-talking—they were all symptoms of my resistance. But now I was ready. I thanked the Divine for the love this special human being had ushered into my life. I thanked her for showing and reminding me that God will always make up for what we have lost or missed out on in life. I began remembering every laugh we shared, every meal I watched her make from scratch. I recalled the many moments I savored of being at her dinner table, watching her eat, watching her love spread in ways I could not fully comprehend, but felt. I remembered the care packages she sent me for every holiday while studying at Longwood University, how each package reminded me that although I was lost and struggling, I was without a doubt loved. I laughed at the many times she called me a smart ass and the confused looks the servers at restaurants would have when she shared, as she always shared, that I was her child. This is my Doctor child!, she’d proudly say. I thought about the voicemail I had saved and replayed while driving down to see her for the last time a week ago. God keep you alright, is how she ended that voicemail, every call and conversation. And now, I could only ask that God would keep her alright. I prayed, asking that the love she shared, spread, and instilled in my heart and many others, that it would grant her soul full admission into eternal serenity. I’d miss her, but I knew she wouldn’t be far.
The little house on Pitts Creek: the garden with sunflowers that surrounded it and the crows that protected it, but above all, the woman that called me inside, to love. Soon she’d be gone, but so much would remain. She taught me how to tend to life, she taught me to look closer at life, even in the darkest seasons, to see what I have…at what’s already there, not missing. Her love has opened new streams of understanding in me, its taken me to places that fear never could. Under her watchful eye of love, I have grown.
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When I awoke the next morning, I saw that I had missed a call from my Best-friend (her daughter) last night at 9:37PM. She’d called while I was up on the rooftop. Before returning her call, knowing and accepting what her call meant, I closed my eyes and smiled. God keep you alright, I whispered.