A woman died. She wasn’t ready to go. There was so much left to complete. Driver’s licenses, graduations, careers and new families haven’t happened, yet. Her home, marriage and career weren’t the way she wanted. She was in the middle of life, she wasn’t ready.
We all — in the end — die in medias res. In the middle of a story. Of many stories. –Mona Simpson (From her eulogy for brother, Steve Jobs)
Various iterations of this story happen daily. When we hear about them, we stop and try to grasp the thinking mechanisms of the Divine. We want it to make sense.
The more distance between our lives and that of the deceased, the more able we are to see a purpose or, at least, accept that it was the right time for her to go. When someone we feel close to departs, in the midst of living, it’s stunning.
I’m grateful for the ample distance between my emotional heart and the woman who, in the middle of it all, left this world. Yet, even from here, I’m bruised and uncomfortable.
Spiritually speaking, I am well aware of the Divine order of things. I don’t need an explanation or a teaching. I understand how to sit with what is and just be, but there’s a huge part of me that refuses to surrender to perceived loss.
It’s the alchemist in me.
Alchemists like me (you may well be one too) need to take the sticky sadness and seeming wrongs of life and transform them into something impactful. In taking pain and transmuting it into something meaningful, we feel triumphant. We stare the causes of suffering in the face and wrestle them into submission; we make them march in our armies, transmuting pain into love.
The alchemist says, I see the pain, the sadness, the upset and I cannot undo it, but I can transmute it. I can turn it into heightened kindness, more generous giving, more fierce loving and exquisite awareness of the wonder in every moment she missed. This loss will add much good to the world.
I shall make it so.
~ Cynthia
Photo credit: by Xerones
As always, beautiful. I admire your writing style: simple and to the point, I tend to ramble and when I find someone who can express themselves so wonderfully I have to stop and appreciate it. This writing came at an ideal time. I live in a small town and one of our own passed away after a 10 year struggle with cancer. She was very involved with the community, had teenage daughters and everyone supported her and her family and learned so much from her. Her death has shook so many to their core. I have shared your blog with a woman who was a dear close friend of hers in hopes it will give her hope and purpose and help her move forward and keep her friends spirit burning brightly thru her own actions and life.
Thank you so much, Marsi, that means everything to me –it’s another example of alchemy.
<3
As I am reading this, the tears begin to pour down my face. This is me~This is who I have been since my son Adrian left. I have never been able or desired to view it in any other way than the horrible tragedy that it is and was. I wanted to remain in a state of misery as this was my way of proving my love for him. If I let go of the pain, I am letting go of one of the few connections that I have to him. I have struggled and battled with this for the past almost 17 years~it is only the past few months that I am finally able to view his leaving a bit differently. I want so desperately to be the alchemist~As the anniversary date approaches on November the 19th. I am going to make it a goal to continue to turn this tragedy into something that is going to honor my sweet little man and his loving memory and at the same time put a smile on the face of a child who is ill. I am going to continue my toy drive for a local Childrens hospital~I am going to honor and focus on his life and not his leaving. This has been weighing very heavy on my heart lately and so this could not have come at a better time. Thank you so much for sharing this with us! Much love and appreciation to you, Cynthia!
Debi – I know how hard you struggle. I always tell you what a champion you are, I know that your struggles are not in vain.
Big hug & much love to you,
Cynthia
Cynthia, this is the most beautiful essay on bereavement that I have ever read. I lost my beloved sister, Danielle, five years ago. We were extremely close and she was only 32. Though the raw pain has dimmed, I have not been the same since her death. The longer she's been gone, the more I want to talk to her again. I want to share things with her that I can only share with her. There's no one else that understood me like she did. I know she is still with me and around me, but I so want her to be in a physical body again. I want to hug her and tell her just how much I loved here (which she always knew anyway) and how much I have missed her. Thank you for writing this post, Cynthia.
Christine – Your comment sits squarely in my center. I am so sorry for your loss and longing. I completely understand what you mean about knowing she’s here and all is what it is, but still feeling the ache to touch, hear and hold. There is no answer for that. It just hurts. At some point, after sitting in the hurt a while, the next best thing arises . . . that’s the alchemy. It’s making the best of a bad situation.
It means so much to me that you’ve shared your heart. You remind me of a post I wrote years ago called The Secret Society of Soul-linked Sisters, here’s an excerpt:
“On the other side of loss, I’ve discovered a whole contingent of people, mainly women, who speak this language. It is as if there exists a club women join the instant we lose our innocence –the belief that we’re insulated from life’s harshest events. Only one who knows soul shadowing sadness can relate to us and through that pain we are linked. This bond of compassion tethers us together transcending age, socio-economic status, color and culture. Somehow women in this club are drawn together like magnets. Surrounded by her soul linked sisters a woman receives comfort and the reassurance that others have been where she is and have lived. She learns that, miraculously, we can create magnificent lives that could not be fully appreciated without the devastating event.”
Bless you, my sister,
Cynthia
The most poignant.I pause and reflect and redirect my thoughts.Thank you Cynthia.
Oh Cynthia, this is so good to read…i have long resonated with the idea that ‘Alchemy’ is the magic of turning negativity into positivity, and my role is one of Illuminating the Path for others to support their alchemical changes. i am no magician, but I feel my purpose is to act as the catalyst, bringing people together, providing a safe space for them to learn and grow and to show them the love and the light they so long to experience. my key emotion is one of ‘I see You’…its so important to be ‘seen’, to be visible in a world where it is so easy to become invisible. Many Blessings to you and your community during this difficult time. x
“Alchemy of Pain.” I love that concept. Thank you for that. I am sending love and light to you during this tragedy. <3
Love to the family and friends of the lady who died … and thank you for your insightful response to life showing up as it does! x
As I was reading this today I went to your blog. My intent was to post a comment. Once I reread what you wrote I had decided to comment and knew exactly what I wanted to write. Then as I scrolled down to read more, I had noticed that I had already commented on that last year. The funny part is that what I had written was almost exactly what I was going to write today. Then I reaized that I had so much more to add to it. I have learned and grown so much over the last year. I have learned to view the loss of my son in a whole different way~I have learned to grieve~I have learned that letting go does not mean forgetting. I do have to admit that I can not watch the news, read the newspaper or listen to stories about loss,especially the loss of children without feeling deeply saddened to the point that I take on that pain as though a strangers loss is my own. I am working very hard on this one because I am someone who wants to help everyone and I know that unless I take care of me I will not be in a position to help and take care of others. Thank you for posting this because it reminded me of how much I have grown over the last year. Much love!
My second son, Xavier, died just before birth on November 20, 2009. There is so much to say regarding how this has changed my life, but I will stick to agreeing with you about being an alchemist. I am grateful to have been such even though it was something I just did, I dint really think about it, it was just my reaction. I find myself saying and knowing that I have become a happier person because my son died. I think it sounds “wrong” to people who have never experienced loss and grief of this magnitude. But I am sure Xavier is proud of the impact his far too short life had upon mine. I have achieved a type of peace I never had before in my day to day. I realize better what is truly important because I have experienced a loss that burned everything else away. I am grateful for my son, for my loss of him, for how i am a better person than I ever was and that I continue to be better every day. Thank you for sharing your story <3 and for letting me share mine. I didn't know this when I decided to name him, but Xavier means 'savior', and for me, he has been just that.
What a beautiful testament and tribute Hilary. Two angels in service to each other and the world. Bless you.
What a beautiful testament and tribute Hilary. Two angels in service to each other and the world. Bless you.
<3