Reflections after death

There is such Mystery.

To be present during a death, my husband's death has a ripple effect unexpected.

There is peace.

Sadness?

Of course.

And surprisingly.

Peace.

Maybe the peace comes as a result of intentional preparation. There was nothing left unsaid. All was clear. Acceptance. Forgiveness when needed. Love. Honoring with respect that death is a normal process. Like birth, our bodies/beings know how to do it.

It is an honor, a privilege to witness the powerful Force of transformation- entering the world, exiting the world. Similar. To Be Present. Hearing Holiness whispering.

Maybe the peace comes from the death being simple: in our bed. Lights low. Quiet music. Family. Dogs nearby.

Maybe the peace comes because of the meaningful rituals after death that honored the moment of the soul departing. Honoring the holding vessel for the soul no longer there. Thanking the body that worked so well. That loved so well. That serves no more.

Maybe the peace comes because there is deep knowing that life goes on. A sense that he continues with me in another realm, separated by a thin veil. I so feel his presence when I find frequent heart stones, see the Red Tailed Hawks overhead, see the butterflies touch down on the late summer flowers. I am so grateful that the love seeped into the imperfections of ourselves, of our long marriage, of our differences that sometimes seemed so disconnecting.

Maybe the peace comes. Not because of anything we have done. Maybe it is there as a continual offering. A Provision to us whenever we have the heart to ask of it, the eyes to see the abundant gentle moments of love always nearby. Can we enter into the quiet? Can we clear out the loud critical negative noise coming at us from so many sources?

Yes. Yes dear one. You CAN. It may come in tiny snippets. And sometimes it comes in the pauses between things. Often it bubbles up in unexpected ways.

Maybe its true that after peeling away the layers of barriers (within ourselves surely, and between us as habits learned) that within us, within us all, even when we don't know it or see it, there is a gem so precious. A multifaceted nugget of our complicated selves that hold simple Light. A beauty beyond. A love that Is. And is connected to All.

Maybe that inner place where our deep selves connect to the Mystery of the Holy is the part of us that urges us on to REVEALING that authentic self. Daring to be courageous. Knowing, really KNOWING that our souls longing is the messages from the body to live with Wholeness.

I don't know how to live this new life as The Widow.

Some of you may already have this experience walking in your day to day.

I only know that the calling from my belly to do this next part, this new journey is asking me to do it: honestly. Authentically. Listening, really listening. Allowing the waves of wild emotions to have space. Surrendering to the moments of fluid timelessness that is SO similar to the fog of postpartum. Just like after birth, this time after death seems to have an important voice in keeping life simple.

Perhaps one of the greatest gifts of this time:

I am learning that transitions, the tender transitions after birth, after death, after ANY new change in our lives need NURTURING.

Nurturing from Nature (the Universe, God, your words here).

Nurturing from people supporting the hard/courageous/messy Truth Telling and emotions.

And Nurturing from within.

For me, the nurturing from within happens through the Quiet. (Yes, also through eating well, exercising, fresh air.)

Mostly though. For me: it is in the quiet moments of meditation where that Inner Knowing somehow mysteriously connects to the Holiness that is weaving into everything.

It draws me into Connection.

It softens resistance into surrender.

It reveals the magic moments of life and the thinly veiled space intertwining.

I didn't have a clue that this is what would come forward after Gary died.

I thought it would only be suffering.

What a surprise this life/death journey is.

How grateful I am.

Always learning aren't we?

With such love,

Martha