Death – B…simply being…

April 15, 2022

Good Friday Thoughts

I stopped swimming a few months ago. I was exhausted.

It took a long time to pull myself away from the stuff I’d been skillfully avoiding most of my life.

As Easter and Passover approach, many of us will be gathering with family and friends. Some of us, for the first or the fiftieth time, will experience silent phones and empty chairs.

A few months ago, I realized no one ever talked about my mom after she died. No one spoke her name–ever. At the time I don’t think my young friends knew what to say and the adults around us didn’t want to make us sad.

That way of handling loss and grief became the model of how I dealt with loss the rest of my life–get over it–move on.

It wasn’t until Thanksgiving a couple of years ago I realized lighting a votive candle for those who were not with us made me feel as though they were there. After thinking about that practice, I began to understand those I’d lost over the years really were near. Their energy–their spirit–had always been with me.

My take away lesson from my thoughts today is this: talk about those who have passed on. It is healing to hear people mention your loved ones–it helps everyone realize they are not forgotten as well as open an avenue for sharing stories and memories.

A small little thing happened this week as Michael and I were in the garage. There’s been a moving box sitting against the wall since we moved in six years ago. This box is labeled “Viv’s bowl.” Vivian was my mom. I’m not sure what’s in that box but I am sure it will be in that corner for as long as we live here.

Get creative and find ways to commemorate your loved ones and share your stories this holiday weekend.

I am…

B…simply being.

Peace be with you, my friends.

December 11, 2020

Mr. Bud

“All his life he tried to be a good person. Many times, however, he failed. For after all, he was only human. He wasn’t a dog.” – Charles M Schulz (cartoonist, “Peanuts”)

For nearly 15 years Bud’s been beside me.

Actually, he was the ultimate diplomate. He shared his time between both Michael and me.

You never had to look far because he was beside one of us–always.

Until today.

I pretty much hate today.

Even though I know it was time to say good bye, I was grabbing at excuses.

Ask anyone, I am very very bad at good-byes.

I’d specifically asked Bud to give me a sign when he was ready. I knew he’d hang with us as long as we needed him to be here. I was holding on with all of my might, pulling out anything I could to extend his stay. Looking back, I think he’d been giving me subtle messages for some time. I had been very successful at finding a way to excuse each one.

Last night he declared himself LOUD and CLEAR. As I was getting his dinner ready he began to show signs of having a stroke.

Yup. I finally hear you, Mr. Bud.

Some important information to share with all my other dog guardians out there–if you think your dog is having some type of a vascular event, give them a baby aspirin. Maybe because I gave it to him on an empty stomach, he reacted very positively within a few minutes.

Ah–my unconvinced mind said–is this the fix? Can I hold on to him a little longer?

His eyes said very simply, no.

So…the puppy who raced around so fast in the house the only way for him to stop was to ram into the couch was telling me it was time. The puppy who could chew up dozens of pine cones and several remote controls was telling me it was time. The puppy who did not have time to take the stairs any other way but to jump from the highest point was telling me to listen. The dog who had been beside me since 2006 was ready.

He’d been tolerant of Pearl and her elderly synchronicities, befriended Gracie, trained Duffy, controlled Ruby, house trained both Abby and Eli was telling me his job was complete.

I was fortunate to be with him. Both my vet and his staff are so empathetic. I was looking into his eyes as he left this world heading up to play ball with all his friends in heaven. You all better be ready because the champion ball player has arrived.

As I sat in my car getting myself together for the drive home, the sun broke through the clouds and a strong beam of light came across my face for just a few seconds. It warmed my soul.

As always, The Bud was taking care of me and letting me know he had arrived.

I figured my sister, Beth, was there waiting for him because she had sent a sign as well when she got to heaven by way of a wonderful rainbow. Yes, Bethie told him that would definitely get my attention because she knew I was a little slow on the uptake sometimes.

Abby and Eli are very quiet. I showed them his collar and they smelled it and started looking everywhere for him. I think they now know he’s moved on but will be monitoring their fights just like always.

I am heartbroken but so thankful he is no longer suffering.

I love you and will miss you every single day.

I am…

B…simply being.

~Peace~

July 10, 2020

I’m Going to Miss You

“The sorrow we feel when we lose a loved one is the price we pay to have had them in our lives.”

― Rob Liano

P.J. I didn’t get to spend much time with you nor did I have the opportunity to know you well–but I know my soul knew your soul.

I guess I always thought there’d be more time.

As God keeps pointing out to me, His time frame is not always the same as mine. And as my dear Michael reminds me, what God wants God gets.

Damn I wasn’t ready.

I will miss you, Paul James Robbins, with all my heart.

I will miss watching you sit quietly and listen. There wasn’t much that got by you in our little Pleasant Valley Community.

I knew I always had a spot around your table and you would always listen–not just listen but really hear what I was saying and often what I didn’t say. You were the older brother I always asked for. Oh how I wish I’d found you sooner.

I will miss our early morning emails where we’d share morning coffee together because I knew you’d be up and probably already on your second or third cup.

I will miss those big ol’ hugs and the simple fact you always told me you loved me.

It’s Friday afternoon so I’m betting the boys are meeting up at Larry’s where they will be missing you as well. I picture you looking down with Rascal by your side as you watch over us all.

Mickey and I will be raising a glass to you here in Texas. I am honored to have had the chance to call you friend. I love you.

“People you love never die. That is what Omai had said, all those years ago. And he was right. They don’t die. Not completely. They live in your mind, the way they always lived inside you. You keep their light alive. If you remember them well enough, they can still guide you, like the shine of long-extinguished stars could guide ships in unfamiliar waters.”

― Matt Haig, How to Stop Time

I am…

B…simply being.

~Peace~

November 1, 2019

Lighting a Candle

It is a Jewish custom to light a memorial candle year after year on the anniversary of a loved one’s death. The candle burns for twenty-four hours and is a reminder of the life that was lost and the love that will never die. I recommend this ritual to all those who are searching for a lasting way to sanctify the memory of a loved one. ~Rabbi Naomi Levy

I’ve been at a loss for words this week, searching for some way to talk about the loss of yet another young life lost too soon.

As the days passed and memories streamed across my mind, I prayed for her family.

In reality, that’s all any of us can do.

When I read about the Jewish tradition of lighting a candle on the anniversary of the loss of a loved, I felt so much peace. For me, this seems like the perfect way to remember a loved one. As All Soul’s Day is tomorrow, I think the timing is perfect.

Maybe this tradition will give you peace as well?

A Memorial Prayer

I haven’t forgotten you, even though it’s been some time now since I’ve seen your face, touched your hand, heard your voice. You are with me all the time. I used to think you left me. I know better now. You come to me. Sometimes in fleeting moments I feel your presence close by. But I still miss you. And nothing, no person, no joy, no accomplishment, no distraction, not even God, can fill the gaping hole your absence has left in my life. But mixed together with all my sadness, there is a great joy for having known you. I want to thank you for the time we shared, for the love you gave, for the wisdom you spread. Thank you for the magnificent moments and for the ordinary ones too. There was beauty in our simplicity. Holiness in our unspectacular days. And I will carry the lessons you taught me always. Your life has ended, but your light can never be extinguished. It continues to shine upon me even on the darkest nights and illuminates my way. I light this candle in your honor and in your memory. May God bless you as you have blessed me with love, with grace, and with peace. Amen.

Levy, Naomi. Talking to God: Personal Prayers for Times of Joy, Sadness, Struggle, and Celebration (pp. 220-222). Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

I am…

B…simply being.

~Peace~

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