Stories about life, love, death, and what comes after.
I was huddled in the corner of the room crying, a blanket over my head. Brenda was next to me in an ER bed, crying from pain. In the midst of chaos and sorrow, a shiny sign from my dead husband. And only hours later, we were laughing so hard the nurses shushed us. “All our darkness will turn to light.” It’s true.
I saw Mike standing completely still at the edge of the cliff, looking out over the rim at the surrounding landscape and I went to him. He was wide-eyed. He looked stunned. Alarmed, I asked, “What happened to you?” And I will never forget what he said, my rational-minded though deeply spiritual husband: “I don’t know but when I got to the top of the cliff, something swept me to my knees. I was overwhelmed with the presence of God and I knew that I had been here before, that I had lived here once.”
In my pre-meditation reading (30 minutes for my SAD lamp to work its magic), I’ve been slowly rereading Roland Merullo’s “Lunch with Buddha.” I’ve been reading it for this passage, which comes at the end. (ALL of the Buddha books are fantastic. If you can’t stomach books on spirituality, these are novels, beautifully written, chock … Continue reading no regrets
Can the death of our loved ones bring gifts? Yes. Though I’d never have dreamed it eleven years ago, my husband’s last breath has led to joy.
I can’t breathe. She’s not perfusing. Three words can mark the end of one life and the beginning of another, unwanted one. What do we do with that?
We really are okay even when we don’t feel it. Grief doesn’t mean we’re broken or damaged. We can be healed AND sad, whole, shining, AND feeling alone. A little boy’s eyes reminded me of just how connected we always are, no matter how we may be feeling.
The ancient mystics knew the truth about death: crushing grief can lead us to healing, to alignment with what our souls already know. And then “we wake up laughing…”
Twenty nine years ago, the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, a young man I loved was found dead in a ditch in north Tulsa, shot three times in the back of the head.
Eight years ago I prayed to get out of this living hell so I could be with Mike again. Today, in the same Mike-free world, I'm prone to ending texts and emails with "I love this life!" We are here, our loved ones are Here, and it's all the same. There is nothing to fear. The heartbeat of Love is eternal.
“I was running around town this morning when I heard a siren and saw an ambulance with lights swirling in my rear view mirror. I pulled over to allow it passage and as I watched it speeding down Harvard, I burst into tears.”
An Unexpected Mystic 