What is the jumping point for this writing? Where do I begin? You are joining me mid-chapter. So perhaps I need to bring you up to date. On May 8, my husband Mike went in for a simple surgery. Two and a half hours and a thousand sorries later, they told me he was gone. That day has become my line in the sand, life before he passed away and then the everything after.
It has become a skin I had not expected to wear for many, many years.
As any who have experienced loss it is a rollercoaster of emotions. His fingerprints are everywhere. There are sudden flashes of memories and then glimpses into a future that no longer looks the same. But even as I sat huddled in his closet sobbing into his shirts, I knew that this experience would be a unique lens through which to see the world. From a raw and tender heart, I realize I am seeing things, feeling things in a way that I never have. From this place, cracked open, I am pulled to share this new journey. It flickers there, in the darkest corner, curiosity, and a desire to bring this often taboo topic out into the light. For in exploring death and loss, we truly begin to appreciate life and the sweet mysteries that reside there.
My body trembles, my breath quickens, my heart pounds. But the journey must go on, one step, one moment, one breath, one hug, one tear, one smile, at a time.
So my fellow travelers, I welcome you aboard. The flip has been switched on the tracks and we are headed to new lands. Though I don’t have a map to these new territories, my compass points are writing, walks by the sea, movement, and a community of angels I could never have imagined. I am oddly excited, even through puffy eyes, at this new world becoming.