LBmuskoka
Today I write for tomorrow I grieve
Posted on: 03/20/2009 17:01
Tomorrow I will go to the funeral of a mother and daughter. I will be one of many mourning a tragedy in our community.
The daughter, so young, so full of youthful aspirations, will always remain an enigma. I will never know who she would have become, but through her mother I witnessed the belief that she was, would always be, a shining light. I can envision what that young woman could have been. The loss is great.
The mother was a tremendous force in our community. She advocated on behalf of women every where, and Muskoka girls and women particularly. This year, she was spearheading a program that would do the same for boys and men. Her advocacy was exposing the potential in everyone. The loss is great.
She encouraged anyone that crossed her path to find and fulfill their dream, including my own. Our intersection was recent and yet in a brief time she became a powerful influence, such was - is! - the power of her personality. My loss is great.
Unaware of her passion, I shared something I had written and ever since she would counsel, cajole and frankly nag me to write. She had far more confidence in me than I. Hell, she had more confidence than anyone I have ever met and was a force impossible to argue with but still I would whimper “Write about what?” “Write what makes you feel alive” was the answer - no, the command!
So I am compelled to write about her because she sparked a life of dreams; driven to somehow capture that remarkable life force and hold onto it. But how can her death inspire feelings of life?
All week I have been only able to see images of the end; her end, her daughter’s, the family’s, the community, the organization. All that beautiful, powerful, life, gone; lost beneath the surface.
I have no tears. I can not speak what I feel. I can not say the words. Those around me, particularly those who have never been influenced by this woman, can not understand the frayed emotions. I dare not share with those who have been affected because to do so may break the thread that each of us grasps, unraveling us completely.
So I avoid. Find distractions, mindless distractions, work distractions, home distractions. To what end? I am just distractively exhausted.
It is an exercise in futility. It doesn’t lessen the pain. Oh, the tears and emotions are checked, tucked under the blanket of the mundane but the keen edge of loss keeps poking holes in the fabric; sleepless nights, loss of appetite, dour humour, until the blanket is shredded and no comfort is found there. I become angry at the distractions and life. Hardly a fitting tribute to the memory of a woman intensely focused on potential, dreams and hope.
So I focus. I begin to write. Finally I cry.
I weep first for the loss of a woman who touched so many including, trivially, me. Then for the child whose embrace was short but ever lasting. The tears don’t stop but flow with all the possibilities offered, received, lost but hopefully found again. I mourn the words never spoken, the gratitude felt but not expressed. I succumb to the sudden, horrific, reminder that the perfect moment to say those words of thanks, appreciation, affection, will never come again, not just with her but with all who left their mark, even briefly, on my heart and the tears fall hardest at the realization that the perfect time was every time we met.
Through the tears I finally grasp what she was telling me. That words released, spoken, written, are like the crumbs dropped by Gretel. They are the tiny scraps of our selves marking our journey, signifying “I was here”, “She was here”, “They were here”.
This is life in all its pain, agony, joy, love. There is no death in life. Each of us exists in the hearts and minds of others. To be born again and again in the potential we pass on, even unwittingly, to another. To be a spark that lights a fire: To be fuel for the eternal flame of life and all her possibilities.
Tomorrow I will go to the funeral of a mother and daughter. I will join with many others and mourn their tragic loss.
But tomorrow I will focus on the power of possibility,
because today I finally wept
and wrote.
Comments
LBmuskoka
Posted on: 03/20/2009 17:04
I share this with all of you, in the hope that after reading it, you take the time to let those who touch you deeply know. Don't be afraid to let someone know how important they are. Don't wait for the perfect moment.
It is the best legacy any of us can leave.
SG
Posted on: 03/20/2009 17:50
Thank you, LB... I avoided because it is far too raw... and you are correct... there are no words.....
crazyheart
Posted on: 03/20/2009 18:19
I can't speak.
lastpointe
Posted on: 03/20/2009 18:28
such a tragic loss for the family and community.
My thoughts will be with you
Pinga
Posted on: 03/20/2009 18:40
So sorry, lb
Thanks for sharing your writing.
It sounds like she was a great gift to many.
LBmuskoka
Posted on: 03/20/2009 19:40
Thank you all. You are gifts, all of you. I am so grateful to this place and people.
And StevieG, a special appreciation for all that you have shared and the willingness to continue to do so. There is a gaping hole in our community but I know there are many who will continue the hard work to fill it in again. She wouldn't want it any other way.
Beloved
Posted on: 03/20/2009 20:24
Greetings!
Thinking of you, and you community, at this very sad and difficult time and extending sincere sympathy in your loss.
Hope, peace, joy, love . . .
Arminius
Posted on: 03/21/2009 06:08
I share this with all of you, in the hope that after reading it, you take the time to let those who touch you deeply know. Don't be afraid to let someone know how important they are. Don't wait for the perfect moment.
It is the best legacy any of us can leave.
I am sorry for your loss, LB. My sympathies are with you.
According to a friend of ours, a long time palliative care nurse, there are five things that dying people are most concerned about:
1. I love you.
2. Do you love me?
3. I forgive you.
4. Will you forgive me?
5. I wish I would have done things differently.
As you said, we should not wait until death or the perfect moment, but do it now.
happy atheist
Posted on: 03/21/2009 07:21
People tend to rush around, always busy doing something. With that we tend to forget (or perhaps on purpose) that life is fragile and can end in a moment. While it is not healthy to dwell on this, it is important to appreciate our connection to our friends and family - in fact any fellow human we come in contact with.
The tragedy in Muskoka saddened me very much - such a loss of an amazing women and her young daughter. My sympathies go to her husband and the rest of her family.
LBmuskoka
Posted on: 03/21/2009 14:42
And today we celebrated their lives.
It was a remarkable service, full of music, love, even laughter. An absolute perfect witnessing of the life of a woman who lived large and laughed loud and the little girl who touched everyone she met.
bygraceiam
Posted on: 03/21/2009 18:43
Hello LB.......God bless you....
It is so difficult when things like this happen....I pray and have prayed for the family and friends involved.....
One things God has taught me over the years is to Say I Love You...and I do ...to all of those whom God has put into my life ...I Love You and God Bless You...
When I leave this world I want to be full of Love, Joy and Faith...I agree dont wait till tomorrow tell others in your life how you feel ..we dont know what tomorrow will bring ....we may eat breakfast here and lunch in heaven ...just like mom and her baby.....
IJL:bg
graeme
Posted on: 03/21/2009 21:56
It must have been over twenty years ago. I sitting with my daughters in a small town restaurant. And elderly man and his wife sat at a nearby table. I recognized him right away. He was Mr. Doak, my grade nine teacher.
He was one of those magical people. Of all the teachers we ever had, we remember Mr. Doak. He was the one we all wanted to be, not for any special characteristic but because he was what a person should be -understanding, wise, confident, lightly humorous.... Whenever old students met, they would mention Mr. Doak.
I felt I had to tell him. I got up, walked to his table, started to speak - but suddenly I was a tongue tied fourteen year old again, and all my good intentions were lost.
I went home, angry with myself. Since I owed a column to a magazine, I wrote about my terrible regret at a lost opportunity.
A week after the article appeared, I had a call from a magazine for retired teachers. Could they print it? Of course. I later learned that he did see it, with his family, just a day or so before he died. It was a thank you for all he meant to so many of us kids.
By all means we should say thank you. It's not so much for the other person. They would do it, anyway. It's for us - so that they know we loved them for all they did, so that we know we told them we love them.
graeme
Pilgrims Progress
Posted on: 03/22/2009 06:35
graeme,
Thanks for your story. After reading it, I know there's someone from my distant past I need to thank.