Two Years To The Day

I'll never forget that phone call, where I was, what I was doing.  I can see it in my mind's eye.  What we all feared was inevitable if something didn't change.  What could we do?  Almost nothing.

A few months ago over lunch, a friend spoke these words, "there was nothing you could have done to change a thing".  As tears spilled over and streaked my face, I was fully aware of what she was saying.  It was out of my control. The choice to use was hers, is mine.

It comes at the most unexpected times.  Today, on the date anniversary, I've been "fine".  Last week, it crept in like a dark cloud, overshadowing every detail of my day.  I felt it, thick, all encompassing, pressing into my heart.  I didn't know at the time what it was.  As I sat and asked the Spirit what was happening, I heard it, Grief.

When I shared with a friend at work she said "grief from an out of order death is different".  Disordered, meaning I should have passed before she did, it was out of the regular order of things.  I have processed other types of loss, including my Dad's passing but I have never experienced anything similar to the dark shadows of this type of grief.

For many years I buried all the "bad" emotions, kept silent, pushed them down trying to avoid feeling the pain.  Or I kept busy, going fast, filling my days with activities to distract, always having something playing in my ears, avoiding the quiet so I wouldn't have to feel.  Of course, I wasn't aware at the time.  My yoga practices have provided a new way, a better way.  A way that doesn't cause my body to hold the toxic energy of loss, disappointment, regret, or any other emotion that could settle into my body and cause dis-ease.  Sitting with the emotion, acknowledging it's presence, greeting it even, and releasing it is my process now.  This requires intention, making space to feel and a time of quiet.  Sitting still and allowing the pain to rise to the surface so it can be released.  This process is simple but never easy.  I resist the pain, avoid the quiet.  In the end, it always produces the most glorious reward.  A pouring out, usually through the ducts in my eyes.  And then resignation.  It is what it is.  No judgment, no commentary, no what if's.

Today, I honor the memory of Chasity Dawn Shingleton.  It goes without saying we miss her presence in our family and wonder how and why the beast that is addiction stole her away.  It was a slow fade, one we bore witness to and had no idea how to enter.  We did the best we could.  That's really the point, isn't it?  We're all just doing the best we can.