All the firsts....

The firsts.

I got through the first year since Gary died.

The first year of living after loss, after the world shifted. Everything strange. Strained. Unfamiliar. There are a million decisions that once were shared. They presented in a new way. My way. No longer Our way. Honestly: some of that is freeing. (that was a surprise). The tiny daily compromises were freed up. AND there was nothing automatic. Nothing predicatable. Nothing that seemed NORMAL. EVERYTHING was hard. NOTHING was routine. It is exhausting. It is human. It is deeply personal. AND so universal.

Some of the changes were anticipated, talked about, planned for: "next year I won't be here to help stack the wood, be with you during the holidays, do the taxes". How grateful I am that those things were seen. Acknowledged. Stated. Grieved together. Prepared for.

Gary sent me flowers with a hand written note for Thanksgiving, Christmas, my birthday, Mother's day, our anniversary. He knew those days would be tender. Amazing that he arranged it all before he died at the local florist. The first year of Firsts- he has been so with me.

How grateful am I that we created a morning routine: coffee in bed to share something good, something tricky, something you want me to know, a memory looking back. This. This sweet simple routine that came to me in some Instagram post of bedtime routines for children, became the transforming tether of living and grieving and processing the full spectrum of our relationship over the years, of making sense of a disease progressing, a death surrendered to without fear, with curiosity, with a willingness to be honest, real, realistic and loving through it all. Making peace with our imperfections. Forgiving. Remembering. Laughter. Tears.

Doing all this BEFORE death, set up a different template for grief AFTER.

There has been acceptance for what IS. No regrets. A sense of death being an journey of LOVE. The last months, weeks, days, the labor of death, witnessing the "birth" into the next realm, the time caring for his body, and the weird watery time after has been some of the Holiest of moments. It is an offering of love. Life and death so deeply intertwined. The transition to the Other Side, the Land of the Ancestors, the New Place that is Light is so similar to the holiness of births I have had the privieldge of being part of.

The year anniversary has been made meaningful with simple rituals: a candle burning on the mantle, journal/writing to him, ashes spread with family/friends (of course he designated his favorite spots), golf pals gathering together, a bike ride followed by bagels and shared stories. The rituals are bridges from what WAS to what IS: shared love and loss, memories, stories, meaningful moments. All of us holding the tenderness of loving a man who loved well, lived fully, and brought laughter and connection. To do this with others is powerful. It is a thread that weaves us together. Perhaps those threads weave back to those on the Other Side offering love and continued connection.

The Irish stories are full of life, love and death. They open my heart to seeing those who have passed over as among us, just a veiled space away.

He comes to me in heart stones, in butterflies, Eagles. He comes to me in my conversations with the children/grandchildren. He comes to me on morning bike rides when I think about what is good, tricky, something I want to tell him, a memory shared.

All the firsts are now part of this new fabric of life that is different. Changed. Beautiful. Tender. REAL.

More than anything, this year of firsts has taught me: be REAL. Honest. Allow the feelings. Be open with those who know and love me. Be open to the kindness of family/friends. Be open to the Mystery working through a changed heart- opening me up to something new.

Grief changes us.

May it soften the edges.

May it hold the tender heart with a gentleness that allows tears to flow.

May it float along that river of Unknown into a kindness for the uncertainty.

May it reveal another part of the prism, the mutifaceted heart that is greater than we know.

May it connect us to all who know life and death-the most human, inevitable thing we will all experience.

May we find a new rhythm with this new aspect of love.

xo Martha