Two years ago today

Two years ago today, my 38 year old sister suffered the massive brain hemorrhage which is the official cause of her death. She went to the emergency room complaining of a Very Bad Headache. It was one of more than 20 visits to that hospital in the previous year, and thinking it was just more of the agony related to pancreatitis-induced malnutrition, they sent her home with a prescription for Tylenol #3. A few hours later she was back at the hospital, this time, in a coma. On the morning of January 8th, she was declared brain dead. At the time of her death she weighed 80#, down 100# from two years previous. Photos of her that New Years Eve show an ethereal pixie. She glowed, as if the barrier that held her life-force within her had thinned considerably. Egg-shell thin. She knew she was dying. She'd been on hospice care for months. She'd already said her goodbyes, and asked everyone to let her go. "I'm so tired," she said at Thanksgiving. "I'm ready to go be with Mom."

Today, I can write this without sobbing uncontrollably. The tears are there, yes, hovering under my eyelids, threatening to spill, but they break the surface tension one at a time, these tears, rolling slowly down my cheeks. I miss her. God how I miss her. But I'm not angry any more, just terribly sad. I thought we'd grow old together, me and her, be two weird old ladies together, laughing until we needed to pee, helping each other down the steps, chastising our other sister's grandchildren and great-grandchildren for being, well, children.

I suppose we'll still grow old together, in my mind. But for now she is still young, glowing with that terrible beauty I've only seen in those near death, smiling her little girl smile, and giggling.

Miss you, sis.

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And so it begins anew

Conversations with My Beloved. Hours spent on the phone. Understandings achieved. Retrospective awareness of the necessity of separation and the unnecessary pain we perpetuated out of our grief. The ending of our relationship was as real a loss as the death of a loved one. We'd spent 7 years together and who we were was lost as well so there was a struggle to form independent identities. And my weirdnesses, some of which were caused by 4 deaths within 18 months of our break-up, and some of which was a matter of him becoming conscious of things that had always been so but unquestioned while we were together. Like mind-reading and emotional connections over distances. My calling and leaving weird messages like "I have a feeling that something intense is going on with you -- are you ok?" When he was indeed going through something intense. The scientist in him could not find a rational explanation as to "why" and he was spooked by the implications. Relief that each is doing well, thriving, in fact. Wanting to meet up soon to exchange hugs.  So much delight. I look forward to getting to know each other again, after nearly a decade.

I used to feel like an outsider in the world and in my own life because I experienced the world so differently from so many people. I saw things people didn't see, smelled things people couldn't smell, sensed things people thought I shouldn't feel. It is the curse of having a sensory array that has a broader spectrum than most people -- like someone whose eyes can discern a broader spectrum of wave-lengths and sees colors that do not exist for others. Like hearing the earth singing at dawn. The one-eyed man in the land of the blind, I nearly stoned myself to death, wishing I was deaf and blind and dumb.

I was saved by my inner mystic, who defied my inner scientist to prove that the evidence of my own experiences were false. I met extraordinary people. Went into therapy. Studied agnostic Buddhism and quantum physics and human sexuality and psychology and philosophy. Meditated. Broadened my experiences of Polyamory. Learned to trust my intuitions, my perceptions, my sensitivities. Discovered the SENG site. Completed the Landmark Curriculum for Living.  Found soul-satisfying intimacy through Love Tribe and the sacred through tantra and ecstatic dance. Made peace with my fears, my past, the voice in my head, death, uncertainty, and suffering.  Most of all, suffering. And fell in-love :) Yes, that was the best part of my transformation -- falling in love with someone who is amazing in his own way as I am in mine.

And into this stumbles my ex. My beloved. It seems he arrived here, at my blog, via a chain of coincidences that seem almost contrived. As if there is something at work in his life, guiding him here. He mentions to me things that have happened recently and asks if they aren't weird and is confounded to hear that it is part of my daily life, my reality, and that it is my understanding that it is part of everyone's -- it's just they aren't open to it so they don't notice it.

I understand why he has been drawn back into my life. It seems he is ready to accept the pain of opening to his own considerable gifts, a transformational experience I am deeply familiar with. I am reminded of something Anais Nin once said,  “And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” The question I have for myself is "why have I drawn him into my life?" And the answer probably lies with my inner child, who felt abandoned by her mother and her soul-mate. I was inconsolable for years, and while I developed the tools and skills to heal myself,  my understanding is still incomplete. There are stories to be heard, blindspots to be revealed, and possibilities to be created. I feel certain of it.
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Visitations

I thought I was reconciled to my sister's death. It has been 14 months now, and I thought I'd accepted it, as I accepted Grandfather's death a few months ago. I thought I was at peace. Until I woke up sobbing this morning.

I had a heartbreaking dream. At the end of it, Tammy said, "I don't want you or Terri to come see me anymore," and then walked away from me. She was so slender and frail she was nearly transparent in the sunlight. I said, "Please Tammy, lets talk about this." She kept walking, her blonde hair a halo of light. "Why won't you talk about it?" I followed her and she went around a car, putting it between us. "There is nothing left to say," she said. In my dream, her words hit me like a blow to the chest. "How can you say that?" I cried out to her. "We're so young! We can't spend the rest of our lives not talking." I saw her moving on the other side of the car. She bent down to look at me through a window and I did the same. When she spoke, the world cracked, throwing me into wakefulness and tears. "There is nothing left to say. I'm dead."

I sobbed in the shower. Huge, body-wracking sobs. I don't know that I've ever cried like that before, though I'd seen it. She cried like that when we finally got to Hawaii to bury Mom. I miss her so much. Every day. Where Grandfather was, there is a place of peace and acceptance. But where Tammy was, there is emptiness, sadness. I try to remember good things, happy things. I remember the summers spent so near where I am living now: playing in the redwoods, swinging in hammocks, legs dangling high up in the plum trees eating not-quite-ripe fruit until we were sick. I try to fill that empty space with beauty, but its often sucked away like water in sand, leaving me aching.

My lover held me as I cried. Said it was ok when I apologized for alarming him. I told him I missed Tammy so much and he kissed me and said, "You tried so hard... You did everything you could... She chose to go."

Yes, she chose to go. I know. Her life became nothing but pain and shadows and she let go. She became the angel my niece talks about all the time, the Auntie who took her on magic carpet rides and keeps her company when her mommy is 3000 miles away. I have Tammy's ashes in a box with a teddybear that smells like Grandmother for company. But that is what remained of her body. Where is her spirit? WHERE IS MY SISTER?

I'm pretty sanguine about the Big Unanswerables. Most of the time it is enough just to be able to frame the questions and recognize which ones can be answered empirically and which ones cannot. And most of the time, I let the Unanswerables go and focus on what can be solved. I thought I'd let this one go, but my subconscious served it up to me once again. I guess that is part of the grieving process. I just hope it doesn't clobber me so hard next time ;)