Musings … thoughts …wanderings

On Loss… (3/17/23 Juliet Rose)

My grandfather's death less than six weeks after my birth marks the start of a lifetime of loss. Decades of longing for those no longer with me, searching for ghosts around every corner. Some, like my grandfather, I don't have any recollection of. Others, like my daughter, are so emblazoned into my memory, my being, it's like they are still here with me, vibrating on a different level. All have defined me. 

     My mother's passing when I was eleven years old, by a cancer which was a secret to me but not to her, taught me to learn to be alone. That even the most promised connection would fade from existence and only my feet were destined to carry me through this world. From that point forward, I left behind my trust in protection, in security, in the fairytale of comfort. Reality became my beacon, my driving force. I lived as if a bubble encased me, separating me from the rest of the moving pieces around me.

     When my daughter Kyla lost her short life to a tumor invading her brain, I lashed out at reality, finding my way back to a sort of spirituality. A need to believe there was something other than this rock and soil existence. A reason to carry on. To honor the delicate bond I was given with this soft and beautiful child. It ebbs and flows, sometimes doubt convincing me none of it matters. That there is only here, no there. In the end, my last breath will provide the answers and either way will set me free. 

     In between these monumental soul-changing losses, I have lost others, as well. Friends. Family.  Acquaintances, people connected with those I knew but didn't know directly. All of their deaths impacted me on some level. Whether through the realization life passes quickly and we never, never, never truly appreciate what we have been given, or through the quiet acceptance we cannot change things, no matter how hard we try. It all brings about reflection and humility. The power does not lie in trying to hold on to that which is continually slipping through our fingers. 

     So, we put our chins up after the first wave has passed and vow to do better. Time passes and maybe we do. A bit. Maybe we forget again until we hear about the next being who has left our shores. Each time, we change a little. Hopefully. We understand more and more we are all marching down the same road, to the same end. Some just get there sooner, but none can escape the inevitable. 

     The lucky ones are the ones who learn to slow their march and touch the flowers. Perhaps not slow in the overall span of time but in the moments they recognize between the beginning and the end. To breathe in the simplicity of the present and know even in the struggles there is light. Those ones understand loss and comprehend death, but more importantly, they know why they live. The gift they have been given to share with others. To relish within themselves. I strive to be one of them. I often lose my way. I rail at the injustices of this being human. I bemoan the unfairness of it all. 

     However, in the small increments of momentary silence, I remember those who have gone before me, some fearlessly, some clinging on to the last threads of flesh and blood. In this, I respect the coming and appreciate the journey we all share in the brief time we are here. 

Do or Die… (March 31, 2022 Juliet Rose)

Do or die. Three little words used almost tritely. As I watched my adult child Braelyn celebrate their birthday surrounded by friends and family, it reminded me of a time those words were literally a choice I had to make. When Braelyn was 2 1/2 months old, I lost my 4-year-old daughter Kyla to cancer. The days that followed the only thing that kept me breathing was that I was breastfeeding Braelyn and I couldn't leave her, so vulnerable and blissfully unaware of what was happening around her. I would lay in bed and will my heart to stop, while still knowing it had to keep going to protect her.

Two weeks after Kyla died, the gallbladder pain I had been ignoring for months came on full force, leaving me curled up on the floor writhing in pain and starting to pass out. I was rushed to the hospital and had emergency gallbladder removal surgery. In the ambulance on the way there, I started crying and told the EMTs about Kyla. They were worried, kind, and told me to hold on. But I didn't want to. I wanted to die.

After the surgery, I was wheeled into the recovery room still in the fog of anesthesia. I could feel myself slipping into an abyss, deeper and deeper. I liked the pull away from life... the draw away from the unbearable aching. I heard the nurse calling the doctor about me. My heart rate was dropping. I knew it because I didn't want to wake up. I wanted to give up. I could hear the concern in her voice. It was at that moment I thought of Braelyn and my older daughter Savannah.

What would they do without me? Who would protect them? Who would fight for them?

Do or die. I started pulling myself from the abyss. I could hear the nurse talking and her tone changed to one of relief. My heart rate started to increase. I knew I had to be here, no matter the pain I would face. With this choice, I also chose to live a life worth living. I opened and ran a youth center for underprivileged youth, teaching the arts and offering a safe place for wayward teens. I got involved with the local nursing home. I rescued animals. I fight for those who need a voice.

This life we have is a gift if we chose it. It will come with pain. Somedays will hurt so much it seems to impossible to go on. But there is someone out there who needs us to protect them, to fight for them. Do. Unending potential and responsibility which give life meaning. Just two letters but infinite power for change.