Ready to Go

     My thoughts are a jumbled mess this week, consumed with the passing of a friend who is leaving this world far too soon and not a darn thing anyone can do about it. Like so many things I've been reflecting on, this is another of those  moments where God reminds that we aren't in charge and release is the best possible hope you have of coping (and the sooner the better). Still, it's a lesson I don't relish, but one with a recurring theme, so here I am reflecting on it once again.

     It was a year ago that Dawn got a cancer diagnosis. One of the healthiest people I know (physically, mentally and above all, spiritually) she's lived a mindful and meaningful life of service to others, caring for strangers, walking her faith. She has a husband who adores her and she him...A family she cherishes deeply and friends like you wouldn't believe...A beautiful woman inside and out, living a beautiful life, she lived to serve...literally looking for people to help and doing all she could, with joy and bliss and gusto...Caring for others was her trademark and her passion. 

     Almost a year to the day hospice is called. Visits would soon be dwindling, but Dawn in her ever-present way was open to saying her goodbyes and answering any questions--being as present as a person can be...One thing I'll say for cancer...it can certainly re-prioritize things as time becomes limited...and meaningful takes front and center where it was all along for Dawn. Whatever we once thought important takes back burner status once the clock starts ticking...Suddenly, time spent Being beats the busy "Doing" stuff hands down.

     In my last visit with Dawn, I entered the room with a casual "How we feeling?" Her answer, struck me like a thunderbolt and resonates in me still...

     "I am ready." she said. "I am ready to go."

     It wasn't said in pity. It wasn't said for effect. It was a simple statement of fact. She meant it literally. She was at peace with what was coming (long before now)...had spent her last few weeks in the sanctuary of her own bedroom thinking through her will, her belongings, her funeral, her everything...And now, like planning for some overseas vacation, she is in a word, "ready". 

     And what do you say to a person in this state? All I could think was "Whoa! Wonder what that feels like...?"

     I can think of no greater state than that of "ready." On my drive home I dug deep, trying to find any semblance of the feeling she had just described ...Me? I am never ready to go ANYWHERE...Be it traveling or leaving my house for groceries, I stumble with transitions, going into as well as out of scenarios, (as is evidenced by my perpetual tardiness). It's always well-intended. It's always "just one more dog hug or one more little task" ... Once I get to where I'm going, I adjust to "fully present" fairly quickly, but there's always been this lag time between "where I am" and "where I'm going" or "preparing to leave" vs "actual leaving" ...

     In the case of Dawn, she IS ready...But then again, she's always been ready. In the final moments we are allowed to share by way of physical, worldly communications, it wasn't the words, but the "feel" of that moment that was my take-away gift of a memory...There was this peace about her...this perfect calm emitting from her...For weeks we've all been asking "What can I DO? How can I help?" But in this single moment of clarity for once, my BEING there outweighed any desire to DO something for her, after all, what can you do for a person who's ready? The more I pondered it, the more I think that's the whole point of life. Perhaps she just cracked the code and now gets the prize of going home--no more suffering. You win!...I don't know. What I do know is that just as she's been ready to give, ready to do...most of all Dawn has always been ready to BE, and as a result, she is now peacefully ready to go...(And I can think of no sweeter spot on earth than to be fully present with that notion.) 

     To think that right down to her last breath, Dawn faces life in a state of "readiness" brings great peace to me in an otherwise selfishly sad time. There have been plenty of tears, and I anticipate more...(And my heart aches to fathom the sadness of the husband she leaves behind and her beautiful close knit family.) But I will forever cherish the gift she gave me in knowing my friend is ready. 

     It's not easy for any of us saying goodbye, but as her Hospice nurse pointed out, "This isn't about us. This is Dawn's journey...Dawn's day." And with that, the comfort of knowing she's at peace, is the greatest comfort any of us could hope for in this moment. I personally believe it's the comfort that will ultimately lead her home.

     Sweet travels to you my friend...Thank you for the depths you have added to this journey both in your living and now in your dying...

     Here's to your own new day a-Dawning...

     I'll see you in the stars.

     

There Will Soon Come a Time...

There will soon come a time
...in my own final hours

When perhaps I'm unable
to get to my flowers

And when this time comes for me
Give me this image

A point locked in time,
of my own life's sweet vintage

To live my days fully
 By eve, no regrets

Tender moments like these
May I never forget...


I am sufficiently convinced that life is for the most part, taken for granted, used up mindlessly in day to day activity and needless worry.

More and more I am discovering that it is in these (what I call) raw zones...(i.e. points in time where helplessness forces a being state more than a doing state...When people I love face things I can't fix, where things I have planned go a 180 opposite...) in these moments, I am learning, if I but release, and the sooner the better) the very vibration and essence of what I do next, brings a gift.  For some reason, these raw moments open a portal to a new level of meaning, and feeling and "real" to my life ...and how I invest that, gets placed in my long term memory bank for to sustain me in future times of need.

While none of us ask for pain or loss, the fact that certain things are so penetratingly sad, it pierces the flow of our tick-tock thinking, stopping us in our tracks, knocking us to our knees, slapping us in the face. Ironic there'd be a gift in that, but something about forced to snap out of our everyday, take-it-for-granted surface thinking, brings a new level of consciousness...even if for the moment. Maybe life forcing us to let go of the notion that we're in charge...Who can say?

As yet another I love faces bitter news, I come to my garden alone.

All I can feel ...
All I can hear...
is "Capture your snapshot, Evins...This is one of those moments."

Once again, the day's events had opened the portal...I returned from an exhausting day of doctor's visits and poor prognoses of people I care about. Feeling more helpless than usual, I head straight for my garden to find my newly planted lavender babies had taken their first quantum leaps of growth, having been transplanted a few short days before...(Quantum leaps being relative at this stage...2 inches is a lot when you're a seedling.)

Rosey follows me out and in an instant she stops, lies down as if curling around the little plant, then cuts her eyes looking up at me as if to say "Don't worry, Mom, it will be ok. "  (Here is Rosey, all 130 pounds of her, lying next to this sprig of a plant, with the same protective instinct that TJ and Hiccapups have for protecting newborn baby goats.)

Moments like these--simple, silent moments like these, pack a powerful punch anymore these days.  I think I shall remember this moment forever. (And that's a good thing.) Little grainy by way of cell phone, but crystal clear in my heart...

Lovin'my Rosey...Lovin' my Lavender...Lovin' this Moment