Life After Loss

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Futuristic

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A mega-sized senior living complex is under construction across the street from our condo community. It’s the third such complex on that street, since a Brighton Gardens and Sunrise Senior Residence are its next door neighbors. Those two buildings are very nice, large and spacious, with lovely cape cod style architecture. But this new place, Cedarbrook of Northville, puts them in the shade. It is HUMONGOUS. There are four massive two-story interconnected wings, sprawling out across what was once a golf course. The sign promises the entire “continuum of care,” with Private Cottages (up to 1400 square feet and attached garage), Independent Living, Assisted Living, and finally Memory Care. 

Our current neighbors are mostly 55 and older, with the majority within the 55-70 age bracket. My standing joke when construction at Cedarbrook first started last fall was that it would be a convenient place for all of us to simply move across the street when the time was right.

But in the last six months, I’ve begun to think it’s not that funny. Or far-fetched.

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Broken-Open Hearts

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“The most remarkable thing about broken hearts is that they are also open hearts. Broken hearts are soft and malleable. The locks protecting broken hearts have fallen to the floor - they are left unguarded. Broken hearts are easy to enter. Where the broken parts have fallen away, there is open space. Nothing is held too tightly anymore. My broken heart allows me to see the way other’s hearts are broken too. I am developing more compassion as others suffering becomes clear to me. No matter how hard and unpredictable this path is, I want to keep sitting here with Grief.”  Anna Hodges Oginsky, My New Friend, Grief, Reflections on Loss and Life

Hearts are one of my talismans. Like butterflies and birds and flowers, the heart symbolizes everlasting love and continued life, and has come to stand as a comforting sign of my mother’s spirit. The paragraph above from Anna Oginsky’s book (My New Friend, Grief) spoke volumes to me as I continue learning about living with loss and the reformation it’s creating in my life.

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New Pathways

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I spent ever day last week surrounded by Youth. As I do every summer, I worked at a musical theater camp where there were 30 young people between the ages of 10 and 18, as well as a few “older” young people (in their early thirties). This is one of my favorite musical activities, but at the start of the week I was a little concerned about my ability to keep up with all the energy they were sure to exude. 

However, I discovered something wonderful about energy: it’s contagious.

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The Upswing

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Do you know the feeling you get when you’ve been sick with the flu, achy and shivering with fever, and then, miraculously, the fever “breaks,” and your chills turn to a warm, sweaty flush?
You open your eyes and see clearly for the first time in days. You can take a deep breath without collapsing into a barrage of coughing. You crave cinnamon toast or hot chicken soup. You want a hot shower and some clean clothes. 

That’s how I feel today. After the past week of suffering (“I am not mourning, I am suffering,” wrote French philosopher Roland Barthe about his mother’s death), today I am peaceful, even a little bit hopeful that life may one day resume it’s luster. I’m getting familiar with the drill, this wild ride of grief. Today is a good day. 

Perhaps it was the catharsis of writing yesterday’s post. 

Maybe it was planting flowers last night, the physical exertion of digging holes and placing the tiny plants into the ground, settling them into the soil and cupping it firmly around them.

It could simply be the healing warmth of summer sun, or the vastness of blue sky that today looks promising instead of punishing. 

Whatever the reason, I accept today's gift of equilibrium with gratitude.