returning from afar: o, my stars
"Other days will come, and so many pure things will happen"
Art: Leonid Meteor Shower over Niagara Falls, Anonymous, 1892
Dear Friends,
It’s been almost a month since I wrote a letter here; I lost my stars, went into the open gap. Have you been there?
I saw gap stars, fell. Climbed star stairs. Sat. Stared. Struck open & broke, bright gasp.
I wasn’t able to find the words for what happened for a while. I’m grateful that I could sit silent, here, while I found them. What happened was we said goodbye to my sister, Margaret.
Four years ago, Margaret met an apex predator—triple negative breast cancer—and she fought it like a Bengal tiger, spitfire, tooth and claw. Nevertheless, it finally took her fire.
I was lucky to be with her for the last days. The house was full. Her bed was full. The nights were full. I stayed awake for 80 hours. We read her Blueberries for Sal. I could help her take the morphine, stroke her hair, wet her lips, close her eyelids for the last time, hug her husband. Four young people lost their mother. She left, into the Great Mystery. How does it happen? It happens to all of us, and yet is also unthinkable.
Being be(reave)d, bereft, is a kind of insanity.
From Middle English bireven, from Old English bereafian "to deprive of, take away by violence, seize, rob," from be- + reafian "rob, plunder," from Proto-Germanic *raubōjanan, from PIE *runp- "to break."
The English verb stems bring us bereavement alongside words like amazement, betterment, merriment, sentiment. They go together at the same table, eat the same meals. They are best intertwined.
With help, I forgave myself for all I hadn’t done perfectly for her and her physical body, at the end. She had a Good Life and a Good Death. Most everyone on this planet deserves a Good Life and a Good Death, don’t they?
This is the poem I want to share with you today. May it hold you as it holds me.
Sonnet XCIX
by Pablo Neruda
Other days will come,
the silence of plants and of planets
will be understood, and so many pure things will happen!
Violins will have the fragrance of the moon!
Maybe the bread will be like you:
it will have your voice, your wheat, and other things—
the lost horses of autumn
will speak with your voice.
And even if it’s not what you’d prefer, exactly,
love will fill huge barrels
like the ancient honey of the shepherds,
And there in the dust of my heart
(where so many plentiful things will be stored),
you will come and go among the melons.
Soneto XCIX de amor
Otros días vendrán, será entendido
el silencio de plantas y planetas
y cuántas cosas puras pasarán!
Tendrán olor a luna los violines!
El pan será tal vez como tú eres:
tendrá tu voz, tu condición de trigo,
y hablarán otras cosas con tu voz:
los caballos perdidos del Otoño.
Aunque no sea como está dispuesto
el amor llenará grandes barricas
como la antigua miel de los pastores,
y tú en el polvo de mi corazón
(en donde habrán inmensos almacenes)
irás y volverás entre sandías.
Thanks for journeying this Earth with me, on this beautiful sloshing blue globe, come what may. Let’s protect it with all our hearts. Drop a note in the comments, if you wish. Tell us of what you love most, of who you have lost, what you have found.
Abriel
I lost my father in 10 days when I was young, lost man. My entire world crashed around me. It has taken years to find myself and, although still in the process, I have discovered many, if not pure things, wonderful, restorative, and authentic things, things I doubt I would have found had my father lived. His death saved my life.
As I am too soon old, I have come to know I too will die. From recent deaths -- a mother-in-law, a friend, a dance instructor -- I've felt the terror of leaving my wife and kids on this world. But I am learning and trusting that my connection with them will somehow help us both, when the time comes.
Love this especially “ It happens to all of us, and yet is also unthinkable.”