Ecstatic whooping, chirping, buzzing… dancing in the sky like drunken sailors after a night of carousing, drunk on nectar, zipping to the sun, diving back to hover midair before dashing full-speed towards a blossoming tree, a delicate stop to plunge into a flower, drink some more…
I’ve written before how death and divorce can make holidays especially piercing, seeing everyone with their loved ones when so many of mine are now gone.
This is the first Easter in 6 years that didn’t feel like I was being stabbed with 1,000 tiny pins all day long.
I wondered why the feelings changed. Was it time? People love to say, “time heals all wounds,” but I have not found that to be true for me. In my experience, some wounds never heal.
I miss my beloveds all day every day. The pain remains, as big and all-consuming as ever, but the more it tries to pull me down, to destroy me, the more ferociously I create: writing, dancing, filming, creating…
I have learned to live with loss and grief, it is a part of who I am, and though I wish this wasn’t true, it is: grief is also an integral part of my children, and I know they feel the loss a little extra on holidays too.
Then there was the daily dancing for no reason at all. It didn’t matter if things were going well, or the world was crashing down around their ears, they danced together through it all.
I saw firsthand how dancing can instantly change the energy in any situation, shake off stress, tears to laughter, mundane to magic, grumpiness into giggles…
They’re just little bearded guys, but they are the keepers of the flame. They remind me that no matter how dark and treacherous a storm may seem, no matter how thick the fog of grief around me, when I don’t know which way to turn, I just need to keep my eyes open, watching for the light that will guide me home.
Am I developing clairvoyant powers? Or was it just coincidence?
Here’s what happened: Yesterday I went out to my back deck in the forest, surrounded by waterfalls and flowers, and laid out my yoga mat. I lit candles and …
’s been 22 days since my hip replacement surgery, and the hardest part is slowing down. I want to be healed. I want to dance, to stretch, to slide into bed without tweaking pain, to sleep on any side I choose. I want to jump into the ocean and then slide into a hot bubble bath.
This morning, I stumbled out of bed, put on my big sunglasses and my short silk robe, and felt sad when I noticed it’s a little shorter on me because apparently I’ve grown a little rounder during this pandemic. In my mind, I share a
When I was 16, and it was winter, my Dad would go out to the garage every single morning and start my car for me to warm it up before I got in it. Every single morning. I don’t remember getting into a cold car
Singing over the bones, grief and transformation…
Thad died knowing that The Pink Panther Strikes Again was the funniest movie ever, Calvin and Hobbes were the greatest life teachers, Elvis was the best singer on the planet, John Wayne was the MAN, bacon was healthy, and saltines could solve any ailment, from headaches to the flu. And if you threw in some vanilla ice cream and marshmallows, well, you could pretty much cure anything. Add a little whipped cream and you’re talking about world peace.
