Finding Still Waters

image by Ale Vidal

For the first time since she left, the waters inside me are still. I haven’t had much time alone, but today has been quiet, and mine.

Over the past several days, I awake to a flood of love. Calls and messages and offerings of poems, healing oils, and meals. Hugs that linger while I wail, flowers on my doorstep, and check-ins to remind “I’m here”. I cannot fathom moving forward without this blanket around me. Or at least I’m glad that I don’t have to.

I find myself inhaling deeper now. Sometimes just to feel the depth of air in my lungs or the blood pumping through my veins. Or at night I pull Romeo into bed with me, to feel his life-force beating next to mine. These are my little grieving rituals, to remind myself that I’m alive.

Death is changing me similarly to the way creating new life did. Which is to say, it’s introduced a new catalyst to grow. It’s asking me to expand again, even more - so I don’t shrivel up or stay. It’s asking me to awake, to lean deeper into my life, to live it fully and more wholly alive. To remember why I’m here in my precious time on earth, however long it will be. To hone in on my purpose and the meaning behind whatever I do, and to cherish it all along the way.

The last words my mother spoke to me, were “Go. Go Liz, go!” My phone alarm kept going off, but it was so hard to leave. She knew I was late to my event. There she was in a hospital bed, but she wanted me to carry on. “Go. Go Liz, go”, she said with a warm smile across her face. I hugged her deep and hard, thanking her for loving me enough to encourage me to go.

I will go on, mama. I will carry on into the beautiful life you helped me build. And I will find new ways to bring you with me, to show you all I see along the way.

I carry your heart, mom.
(I carry it in my heart)