Thank you for this Aaron. Just buried my precious mother last Wednesday. Was with her all the way to the ending of her body’s ability to survive any more. I felt her vital force waning little by little. It was my most precious honor to be there and stay present to the whole universe in that room. It was surprisingly gentle. She left so much empty space that was occupied by all the things about her that I understood FIRST. Her heartbeat, her voice, her eyes, her voice her hands. It felt impossible to look away. I have to remember and remind myself to surrender everyday to the feelings of the awkwardness in the space she left. To stay curious about what’s still here. To stay engaged with the changes.
Your writing woke me up again. Part of me just wants to stay under the soft pink blankie every day. To be a ghost. But there are still spaces to explore. I choose to live in all of them.
Thank you for this response, Trish. Wishing you so much peace in this time after your mom's passing. It sounds like you were with her in such a caring and meaningful way! "There are still places to explore. I choose to live in all of them." I love that
I am moved and enlightened by your profound words -- "to surrender everyday to the feelings of the awkwardness in the space she left." They is so much there. Wrapping you in comfort and peace.💔
Beautiful reflection, Aaron. The whole of my 30+ year meditation practice has been to train myself to turn toward— to see what is present, to stay, and not look away from what is difficult, boring, heartbreaking, etc., etc. This practice (I still haven’t mastered it.) has given me some incredibly meaningful moments I would have otherwise missed.
As my mother was in her final days a few months back, her soundtrack was Willie Nelson, Elvis Presley, Emmylou Harris, Simon & Garfunkel, and John Denver. It was a comfort to us both.
Aaron, thank you for this sacred meditation. Indeed, hospice nurses are our better angels -- as they minister with such gentle grace to the transitioning soul and those on the edge of loss. Your words fill me to overflowing with that bittersweet lava of love, sorrow, fear, and incredulity that churns and wells up from places inside your being you never knew were there -- as you witness a loved one passing. My father's death was gorgeous in such surprising ways -- watching him awake from his morphine haze to greet my mother's spirit perched in a high corner of his hospital. "I've missed you so, my love," he whispered. I did not look away then, and I was infinitely grateful. I did not experience the same peace when my son Elliot died. Surgeons lost him on the operating table as I waited and paced -- never witnessing his last breath. The doctors said, "You don't want to see him like that." They were right, but I had to. I had to say goodbye. Now, I look back, and I regret I did not spend more time. I just could not absorb the reality, and I guess I did not want to. Thank you for your profound wisdom this day. I think I write about grief now to face Elliot's final farewell -- as if I had stayed.
Thank you, Elaine. How touching and wise. Your actions, your reflection and writing, the way you lead others and walk with them in this work and in grief, is staying over and over again.
Your dad and I had the same taste in music (80s hair bands - Bon Jovi changed my life) and Moonlight Sonata is one of the few pieces I can play on the piano :)
Your voice, your reverence here reminded me of a book that comforted when my father passed. I think you’ll like it. Holding Space: On Loving, Dying, and Letting Go
I have been watching and not avoiding things coming to an end, one being a person's death. It's been though.
My career died the day after Christmas. Laid-off with disability. I spent 20 years watching high-rise office buildings as a security office / nanny to a 1/2 a city block. And now I struggle to find footing in a new career.With my broken body. Still unemployed trying to get aid in training for a different career.
My former fiance and best friend of + 25 years passed away a month and a half ago. I saw him the day before he passed. Offered his family that I would sit with him out of Love and care. I was there when he was given his final military honors. I will always love Darrell Orth for the rest of my days.
Then my relationship with my boyfriend has died. Just days after my friend's funereal. Fortunately he is well and going his own way. But the coming to an end of a relationship I wanted last and grow for as living would permit, has ended. It hurts terribly even a month and a half on. He wants to be single and move to Arizona to live in a tent, last time he said a van. Clearly my life isn't involved in his future. I can not stay in relationship with him against his will. it's the opposite of what I wanted. There is no honorable, respectful, ethical way it works. Observing the loss and letting the relationship have it's death is the best I can do.
None of these things can I pretend otherwise. I can not hide in depression, I can not hide in shopping nor collecting (I have and am wresting this too), I can not hide in eating or not eating, same with alcohol and other substances.
The only things I can do is keep on, know that these pains and passings are there. I do my best Buddhist-Taoist inspired version of seeing it, not feeding it, and gracefully moving with it. I have only just stepped on the path of enlightenment. I am far from a gracefully serene pool of calm.
I'm sorry. There are so many things one would prefer to look away from or to numb oneself too. Recognize at take in seems to be a better, less easy, way to move forward.
Thank you for this Aaron. Just buried my precious mother last Wednesday. Was with her all the way to the ending of her body’s ability to survive any more. I felt her vital force waning little by little. It was my most precious honor to be there and stay present to the whole universe in that room. It was surprisingly gentle. She left so much empty space that was occupied by all the things about her that I understood FIRST. Her heartbeat, her voice, her eyes, her voice her hands. It felt impossible to look away. I have to remember and remind myself to surrender everyday to the feelings of the awkwardness in the space she left. To stay curious about what’s still here. To stay engaged with the changes.
Your writing woke me up again. Part of me just wants to stay under the soft pink blankie every day. To be a ghost. But there are still spaces to explore. I choose to live in all of them.
Thank you for this response, Trish. Wishing you so much peace in this time after your mom's passing. It sounds like you were with her in such a caring and meaningful way! "There are still places to explore. I choose to live in all of them." I love that
I am moved and enlightened by your profound words -- "to surrender everyday to the feelings of the awkwardness in the space she left." They is so much there. Wrapping you in comfort and peace.💔
Aaron, I always thought you had a great gift back when you were an intern in Austin. This just proves it.
Thank you, Steve! I hope you're doing well.
Beautiful reflection, Aaron. The whole of my 30+ year meditation practice has been to train myself to turn toward— to see what is present, to stay, and not look away from what is difficult, boring, heartbreaking, etc., etc. This practice (I still haven’t mastered it.) has given me some incredibly meaningful moments I would have otherwise missed.
As my mother was in her final days a few months back, her soundtrack was Willie Nelson, Elvis Presley, Emmylou Harris, Simon & Garfunkel, and John Denver. It was a comfort to us both.
🙏🏽❤️ An important sermon for all of us.
Thank you, James!
Aaron, thank you for this sacred meditation. Indeed, hospice nurses are our better angels -- as they minister with such gentle grace to the transitioning soul and those on the edge of loss. Your words fill me to overflowing with that bittersweet lava of love, sorrow, fear, and incredulity that churns and wells up from places inside your being you never knew were there -- as you witness a loved one passing. My father's death was gorgeous in such surprising ways -- watching him awake from his morphine haze to greet my mother's spirit perched in a high corner of his hospital. "I've missed you so, my love," he whispered. I did not look away then, and I was infinitely grateful. I did not experience the same peace when my son Elliot died. Surgeons lost him on the operating table as I waited and paced -- never witnessing his last breath. The doctors said, "You don't want to see him like that." They were right, but I had to. I had to say goodbye. Now, I look back, and I regret I did not spend more time. I just could not absorb the reality, and I guess I did not want to. Thank you for your profound wisdom this day. I think I write about grief now to face Elliot's final farewell -- as if I had stayed.
Thank you, Elaine. How touching and wise. Your actions, your reflection and writing, the way you lead others and walk with them in this work and in grief, is staying over and over again.
When my father was dying last June my mantra was “Be present, feel it all.”
I have no regrets.
Thank you for sharing.
Thank you, Georgie. That is a beautiful mantra.
Thank you. Beautiful writing.
Your dad and I had the same taste in music (80s hair bands - Bon Jovi changed my life) and Moonlight Sonata is one of the few pieces I can play on the piano :)
Thank you, Deanna!
Beautiful. Thank you.
Your voice, your reverence here reminded me of a book that comforted when my father passed. I think you’ll like it. Holding Space: On Loving, Dying, and Letting Go
by Amy Wright Glenn
I have been watching and not avoiding things coming to an end, one being a person's death. It's been though.
My career died the day after Christmas. Laid-off with disability. I spent 20 years watching high-rise office buildings as a security office / nanny to a 1/2 a city block. And now I struggle to find footing in a new career.With my broken body. Still unemployed trying to get aid in training for a different career.
My former fiance and best friend of + 25 years passed away a month and a half ago. I saw him the day before he passed. Offered his family that I would sit with him out of Love and care. I was there when he was given his final military honors. I will always love Darrell Orth for the rest of my days.
Then my relationship with my boyfriend has died. Just days after my friend's funereal. Fortunately he is well and going his own way. But the coming to an end of a relationship I wanted last and grow for as living would permit, has ended. It hurts terribly even a month and a half on. He wants to be single and move to Arizona to live in a tent, last time he said a van. Clearly my life isn't involved in his future. I can not stay in relationship with him against his will. it's the opposite of what I wanted. There is no honorable, respectful, ethical way it works. Observing the loss and letting the relationship have it's death is the best I can do.
None of these things can I pretend otherwise. I can not hide in depression, I can not hide in shopping nor collecting (I have and am wresting this too), I can not hide in eating or not eating, same with alcohol and other substances.
The only things I can do is keep on, know that these pains and passings are there. I do my best Buddhist-Taoist inspired version of seeing it, not feeding it, and gracefully moving with it. I have only just stepped on the path of enlightenment. I am far from a gracefully serene pool of calm.
I'm sorry. There are so many things one would prefer to look away from or to numb oneself too. Recognize at take in seems to be a better, less easy, way to move forward.
I don't know. I'm still figuring it out.