My heart is aching. My Grandmother-Friend, Joanne, passed away this weekend.
I find myself crying off and on, throughout the day. Grief has always been this way with me, washing over me in waves. Her death, resounds in my heart, reverberates somewhere between flesh and soul, though I find myself still standing. My foundations have not crumbled at their core. I find myself crying more in wonder and awe at her life, at the breadth and width and depth of this human experience. What a Woman. What a Life she lived.
Well over a year ago, Joanne gave me some of her writing. A most precious gift. I spent the day yesterday at Dia de Los Muertos, my favorite cafe in Oakland, reading over what she had shared with me. It felt appropriate and honoring to do so there among las calaveras, La Muerte, y las flores, with the rain falling steadily outside.
The aching is deep. And though there are searing moments, even deeper is my gratitude for having known her.
As we head into Winter, I am reminded that Death is a part of Life, and a necessary part of the Cycle. I find myself looking forward to the dying to come in the next few months. The discerning, the sorting, the leaving, the taking, the giving of Life to that which I long to see grow, and the giving of Death to that which no longer serves anyone.
I have a feeling that this Winter will be hard. Hard and wet and cold and soggy.
But I'm not afraid. I look forward to it's challenges and the transformation to come.
