Last Summer, Scott drove the van to the edge of the water
I could feel myself going down late yesterday afternoon. A slow descent. A feeling of worthlessness and despair dosed with frustration and bursts of anger descended upon me. I felt the sense of defeat. Grief had won the biggest round yet almost three months since Scott's passing. I've written before that sadness is okay with me. It's a friend that opens my heart. I can feel love buried within the sadness. There is a hope, a continuation, a connection I feel with sadness.
Depression, despair, on the other hand is an enemy. An enemy I keep far at bay. I do not allow despair and depression near the fortress. My legion of angels, guides, Scott, the tools at the ready in my healing chest stand guard. Yesterday, we were losing the battle. I fell at the gate, the hike wearing down my physical body that I neglected to see couldn't take the hills as well they used to, people around me not understanding the amputation, the carnage, the sword that severed half of me, gone, that seems like Forever.
That is what it feels like losing my soulmate.
I know deep inside, the key to my way out is hidden in love, an infinite love that will win this battle. A love that fills me with hope, peace, and joy. An all powerful love. My critical mind wants to keep me down. It tells me awful things, how my body is falling apart, how I am worthless in the world, how I am a terrible writer, how I will never feel or see Scott again, how this is the end. There is no hope for tomorrow. I know this voice. I've lived with it all my life and no matter what I do, how much healing work I do, how many times I spend in nature, how many times I have felt and been carried by infinite love, how many miracles I have witnessed in my life and the life of others, this critical voice will haunt me. It's not real, it's a weak shadow of nothing. But, oh boy, does it feel real, when you are going down.
What am I going to do?
I start from scratch. I don't push away the feelings. I call on Scott, my angels, love and I say to them, you better help me here. I am not asking. I am not begging. I am demanding. I need you to help me get through this patch. If I am here to love and serve, I need you to have my back. And then, I let it go, knowing they are working miracles on my behalf whether I can feel them or see them. I trust. I remember to trust.
I make my bed. I clean my room. I light the candle on our altar. I set out my books, my writing tools, my laptop. I eat a hearty breakfast. I write the truth. Now, I wait until my sister is awake, so I can ask her to take me to the beach so I can watch the sandpipers, take photos, and beach comb.
I wait. I remind myself, that there is a bigger picture here. Work is being done. Miracles are being created. I allow my emotions to wash over me, knowing they are like the weather, they change in time. I am not a fixed state.
I am. I am. I am.
And that will be enough to get me through to the next moment. And the moment after that. And one after that.
I am not alone. I am supported. We might lose battles, but I will not lose my life over this. I am here. I will always be here. Just like Scott, just like everyone that seems lost. We are here. Always connected. Always present finding our way through the thorns and storms to the light within.