What’s Next?
In each other’s pocket’s is what we’d say. I think it’s an Australian saying for folks who spend a lot of time together and are very close. Twin flames. Attached at the hip. We worked and played together for the ten years we had. We were independent separate beings who were intertwined in the loveliest of ways.
Now the pockets are secret pockets. Pockets of grief. Today , only 68 days since John died, I am feeling the aching missing of him more than ever. The grief is unexpected; a momentary tsunami of aching raw wanting. Wanting to see him, to touch and smell him. I always cut his hair and tousled it while wet most mornings. We fixed each others maté gourds at night, filled them with hot water in the morning, handing it almost ceremoniously to each other, heralding the start of another day together. Always so glad to see each other, we were early birds together, delighting in the dawn chorus of light and sound and another new day of becoming.
Some of these pockets of grief are tinged with amnesia. Recently I thought, “This would be a good time to call John. He’s probably done studying”. Then the ground falls out from under me and I collapse into what is. Emerging I find the thread of living with what is. Gratitude for my health, loving friends and family and for all I have helps me weave a day that has equanimity, joy and light heartedness. Somedays. Not today. Today is just a sad, I want John back day.
Sometimes I do feel John with me. Though presently always summoned by my longing to sense that he is. Having had three profound visits from my Dad after he died, I know the possibility. I invoke patience daily. Well meaning friends point out that he is in the trees and air and me…sorry, I want to curl up in his lap.
So what is next? Healing. Doing what I say I will do, and as such being very careful about what I say I will do. Creating rhythms that hold me and open and close each day. My morning Maté, lovingly holding the gourd John gave me when we first met. A fifteen minute Qi Gong practice. Long walks. Writing. Connecting with friends and family. Working in the garden where I am staying.
As I navigate this time of learning to accept something I never wanted, there are gifts along the way. I see my friends in a new light. Maybe I hold them all just a little more dear. My relationship with my children, grown and forging their own lives, is highlighted. I haven’t spent much more than 3–4 months as an adult, without a relationship. And though you might jump to the conclusion that I either don’t like or am uncomfortable being alone, neither feels true for me. What feels true is that I am a relational being. The people in my life are my Gurus. Intimacy is my soul food. I am a highly contactful being. Touch is like air and water for me.
Many people my age have homes that they have been in for decades. John and I rented our homes, staying in one place only a couple of years. Wherever we were together was home for us. That’s a very big part of what’s next for me…where’s home? Two locations hold dear friends and deep community. One of those is also home to my youngest daughter and three grandchildren…that’s a strong tug although the cost of living is so high there. Am I ready to have my main focus on being a grandma? Another location holds connection to creative and meaningful work but not as much community. My oldest daughter and her partner live somewhere I could afford a lovely home, but have no community. Not that I think I need to decide soon. I do have a fantasy that settling down somewhere would help to sooth my aching wanting of John to be by my side
In this very moment, in the perfection of a 75 degree clear blue sky day I am grateful for all I have. And I still can’t cry hard enough to release all the grief, regrets and the daily realisation that no matter what I do, I can’t change this one.
