“We have only this moment, sparkling like a star in our hand – and melting like a snowflake.”
– Francis Bacon
Maybe it’s the silence from the snowy forest that surrounds us.
Or maybe it’s because of the house. There is, after all, something so elemental, so Swiss Family Robinson about living in a log home.
When I wake up in our loft, with totem-like log posts holding up a ceiling that looks like a large wooden tent above our heads, it reminds me of how much I used to love hanging out in tree forts.
Whatever it is, I feel grounded here. The quiet feels full and rich, like it has heart-expanding qualities.
Then again, I can’t be positive if it’s all as a result of living here…perhaps it’s just about getting older. I feel like so many of my former shimmering anxieties, that so often glinted and blinded me with their fractured light, have smoothed and morphed into something softer and more manageable.
Or maybe this is what it feels like when grief, with its near-constant lump in my throat, is no longer the dominating emotion?
I will never pretend that grief is something that goes away. I think it is something you learn to live with, it becomes part of you, integrated into one’s whole being, somewhat like my wonky knee or the pain in my elbow.
Still, there are days when the pain feels sharper. On those days when I feel inconsolable with the knowledge that I failed my sister, I spin straight into guilt. But I am learning to forgive myself for what I was not able to do, and to realize too, that I grew up with constant guilt and it is a comfortable and known place. But just because it’s learned behaviour, and too often my default setting, does not make it right or a healthy place to stay.
I know better now. It is no longer somewhere I need to linger. It serves no other purpose but to make me feel bad.
I remind myself that I long ago forgave Rhonda and that it seems fair to extend myself the same mercy.
And then there is Kathleen. Except for the hard times of her disease and dying, my memories of Kathleen are treasures. Stories that I can share with her children, beautiful jewels that I polish with each telling. I feel rich in the gifts I can give to each of them. But even treasures have weight and all of it must be carried.
And yet.
Maybe, just maybe, it really doesn’t matter why or how or what is contributing to why I feel like I do.
Maybe it’s just enough to feel that I’ve arrived in this time and at this place where I feel whole; a wholeness that includes the darkness along with the gleam of shining jewels.
I can give the wonders of nature all the credit, my increasing age, the lessening of grief, the excitement of new friends combined with the comfort of the tried and true old friends…or I can say it’s because of the snow and the log home…but in the end…does it really matter why or what?
Because I do know this.
I am overwhelmed with gratitude for my life, all of it. Everything. There is so much to notice. I promise to pay attention.
“The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough.”
~Rabindranath Tagore
“I grew up with constant guilt” is a reminder of my Roman Catholic faith. Yes it can be so ingrained. It is still with me and comes back when difficult circumstances arise. The guilt you felt for Rhonda was understandable, she was your sister, you grew up together, you shared the same memories but it was her, through her addictions, which created the gap between you two. You did your very best for her with the knowledge you had at the time. The letters you received from Kathleen are the reminders of her, re-reading them keep her memory alive. I am glad you kept them.
Be kind to yourself. Do not feel guilty. I wish you peace and love.
Love the photos as always.
Thank you for your feedback Catherine.
I find it really helps to hear words from outside of ourselves in order to truly hear the truth.
So, I’ll say it back to you: Please be kind to yourself. Do not feel guilty. I wish you peace and love.
Collectively we are always stronger so I’m adding this wish for you…to find strength and grace in all that life brings.
Beautiful and thoughtful. Sometimes, after death has transformed the relationship we have with the one who is no longer physical, it’s easier to forgive ourselves. I’m glad you’re letting go of old patterns that no longer serve. And I love hearing your Kathleen stories juxtaposed–so much life still, always there.
Thanks Bern. I love, “…after death has transformed the relationship with the one who is no longer physical…” What a perfect description. The relationship is always still there but has been transformed. So so true. I really am working hard at looking at my thought patterns and my default gravitation toward guilt. I realize it’s a habit and it can be changed. Awareness right?
And yes, the ongoing relationship with Kathleen is remarkable. Turns out she really was/is larger than life.
What a beautiful post, Colleen. I can feel the change in you — and love reading about how much you love your log cabin life. I love mine, too! There is something surreal about waking up in that loft — I get it! When I wake up and look out the window to the sun peeking over the top of the distant mountains, I can’t believe it’s real. I love, love this post and it made me feel calm, somehow. Keep loving it, girl! Life is good.
Blessings my fellow-log-cabin-dweller. I really think there’s something to being surrounded by so much that is ‘real’. It feels immediately simpler and basic (not that I could ever build something like this, but the structure is very rudimentary in its execution).
This morning it’s snowing again and the softness in the air feels quite perfect.
I love that we’re living complementary lives.
Thank you for your lovely comments. I like that it felt calming. That’s a good thing.
Let us keep calm and carry on…