August blurbs

A couple of musings from August 16th, the anniversary that wasn't.

one

In 2012, I shattered, entire. As I built myself back over a summer, fall, and winter, I was never more open. The omens were everywhere, and that's when I learned the universe is tailored just for me, as it is for you. 

Relatives who had passed on came to visit me in animal form. The animals were everywhere. There were notes scrawled on the sidewalks, and the walls. I had visions of the child I would one day mother. I had dreams where I traveled from this plane, I saw heaven. 

Never again, have I experienced that kind of connection to the universe. Never again, have I been that earthed.

Maybe I didn't need it. Until now. "I could sure use an omen or two", I've been whispering to the cosmos. 

But I know it requires just as much effort on my part. 

I must not be cloudy. 

I must pay attention. 

I must know it when I see it. 

The visit from my ancestors yesterday was one. 

When you left me, I experienced a dream like those from five years ago. This time it was to be embraced by a real, and equal love. How different.

Today's omen came in the reminder that there are no coincidences, and time is magical.

A chance conversation with a stranger to give me all the right reminders, and to send me on my way...okay. 

two

What I would say to you today, if I could?

Today, I sat where we sat every year. I had to go to our spot, because where else would I go? Buried deep, or not so deep at all, was my hope to see you. To see you had taken the day off. To be here. 

"Your last name is Wride?" Surely someone would say. "How funny, there is a man here with that same last name!"

I wanted to write you. "Please, as someone who was so recently your wife, and love, give me a moment off the record. Please, if there is any part of you, I don't care how small, who doubts this...meet me tonight. If somewhere in there, past ego, past pride, you feel you don't want this, this emotional, financial, mental, devastation of us, meet me. Meet me in the lobby of our spot. 6 pm. The time we said our vows three years ago today. I'll be waiting for you with a glass of champagne. And if you choose not to, please don't use this against me. Please disregard this, as someone who was so recently your wife, and love."

In my minds eye, he he comes. He walks in, wearing his suit. He doesn't want our destruction. He wants to come home. "Yes," I say. But I approach delicately. I ask we just try for a day, or a weekend. It's so fragile. 

And that's where it stops. I can't see further. And I know I am not allowed to ask this of him, although this is my biggest wish. 

Come home, my heart says. Come home. 

*

*

*

Four.

I'm holding my newborn son in my arms, rocking him to sleep. I'm standing over his bassinet when I remember it's almost the 27th. I have to count it out on my fingers to really make sure that this will mark four whole years. Four suddenly seems like a lot. 

I try to imagine as best as I can, you as a baby. My grandmother holding you in her arms, rocking you to sleep exactly as I am doing now. I can't quite see it, but I know it happened. It's so hard to wrap my head around the fact we all start out this way. We've all been held in the arms of a parent, or by someone who loved us. 

I think about how you, Charles, lived in this very condo before my baby Charles did. You have the same residence. You have the same bedroom. You share the same name.

I remember the first time I came back here after you left. Everything exactly as you'd left it, and the air still smelling of you. My mom said I could take something, but I hardly dared to breathe let alone move a thing. I chose only the tiniest object, and the one that seemed most you. An itty-bitty baseball magnet off the fridge. 

I don't let myself linger in this memory too long.

I come back to the present, and think about how the baseball magnet then traveled with me, only to end up back on this fridge. How Charles ended up back in this place, and while he is not you, nor supposed to be, this all feels connected. Inevitable. Strangely whole. This circle of life. 

Into my head pops the Rumi quote, "Don't grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form." 

I get it. 

I leave my heart at that, and put my son to bed. 

Two years.

"What I want you to know, you, yes you, is that there was a time when the people who are not, were still in the world. Made of earth. And they were vibrant and alive. Life was localized and it was musical and smelled of cinnamon and spice. It was loud. A vibration of generations connected by our invisible dewdrop spiderweb. I was so conscious of it then. It was tangible. I could almost see it. I can hear it still. It echos in me." 

-Deena Marie, 2012


Two years ago today, almost down to the exact hour, my uncle chuck left earth.  I don't feel like posting pictures.  But I can't go without words on this day.

The first experience with this thing we call death.

If you could peek inside my head and heart you'd see why that was the moment.  From then on, nothing would ever be the same.  For me, for any of us.  I could never have imagined that that was the beginning.  The beginning of the shift.  The new normal. Nothing would remain the same.  My internal makeup would completely change.

I've been thinking a lot about that, and while I've mentioned it here plenty of times since then, how do I try to explain what that means? My internal makeup would completely change.

I wrote this blurb the other day,

"Ever since, I worry my eyes can't see.
Won't focus, will stop seeing, have blurred.

I worry my breath is running out, has become too shallow, 
no longer supports me.

I feel myself flicker and worry I keep trying to transcend.  
Involuntarily, my consciousness slips in and out and I have no control.

I wonder if in fact I don't exist."

I thought my soul was going to jump right out of my body.  I felt like I could barely contain it.  "Here we go", I'd think to myself as the feeling would come on.  I could be anywhere.  Driving in the morning.  Sitting in front of the computer.  Getting ready to meet a friend for coffee.  I could barely focus.  I realized how serious it could be the day I rear ended a car coming off of the freeway for no reason.  I knew I was slowing down, I knew there was a car in front of me.  I simply didn't see it.  I kept leaving myself.

And my dreams.  If only you could have seen my dreams.  I've seen the brightest lights as I'm falling asleep.  "Here we go," I'd think to myself.  "Transcending again." I've seen visions. I've seen heaven.

I've felt my heart race to the point of panic and my brain go fuzzy.  My body kept betraying.  Now I realize it has a name.  You can call it anxiety, you can call it PTSD. I call it the new normal.  And it's getting better.  Patience.  Time.  I am feeling less connected to the physicality and other worldly-ness of two years ago.  

I no longer worry I don't exist, have died, will slip off the earth and into the blue before it's time.

I'm here.  I'm meat and bones and thoughts and feelings.  I am temporarily tangible. How lucky.

Two years later.

What was your journey, my family? Where are you now? Are you who you want to be? Did you find your truth? Are the last two years still teaching you? Are you still learning? Have you expanded? Are you where you wanted to end up? If not, go get it.  Run. Look how long, and short the two years were.  Waste not.  There are no rules now! There is no fear now! There is only love, only this moment.  What a gift.

Heal.  Heal now.  I will if you will.


Deena Marie

One Year. May 27th.

One year ago yesterday I went to work.  I called them ahead of time to give them a heads up I might need to leave, should I get a call from my mom.  If I got the call, the call, I would know it was serious.  Serious enough to go.  A couple hours in I thought I was in the clear.  Then the phone rang.

I remember what I was wearing.  A black tank top, black blazer, black tights, black flat slip on shoes and a stretchy pink skirt.  I had a gold owl necklace and my long red hair was in curls, parted down the middle.

What was unusual was the winter parka.  My biggest and warmest, and needed this May 26th.  I ran to my car, or tried.  The weather made it hard.  The wind.  The gloom.  Was it raining? And the slipping.  Slipping all down a sidewalk the length of one long city block.  Berries had fallen off the trees overhead and it was so slippery.  I shuffled and slipped and surprisingly didn't fall the whole way to the parking garage.

I think the sun was out at times during my drive on the freeway.  I kept talking to him, out loud even, telling him to hang on.

What I remember most is the sound of his breathing.  Labored and loud and unlike anything I'd ever heard.  I remember the circle of family around his bed.  It was strong and safe and sacred unlike anything I'd ever felt.  The wind was getting louder.  The universe was howling and orchestrating for our story.  It was crying for us.  It was taking him.

"Seven Spanish Angels" was played over and over.  I don't know if I will ever listen to that song again.  When my family began to tell him to "Go to God" I don't know if it was the fact they were releasing him, or the thought of not knowing what was meant by talk of this God that bothered me more.

I slept, the wind screamed, and the circle around him was the eye of the storm.  I've never felt so solid as in that space and so aware of the elements out of control around us.  We would not budge.

I went home.  I woke up in peace the morning of May 27th, in sunshine, the earth had stopped spinning wildly and it was silent.  Purple pajama pants.  A flannel shirt.  My hair was still long, still in curls.  I was on my way back.  Back to the same, I was sure.  But this time it was different.  I would never go back to the same.  What had been was no more, and just like that, it was over.

I'm stopping here for now, as I've exhausted this story for one year.  One year today.  I don't know what I expected to feel, what I should feel, or even how I feel.  I am here, you are here, he is not.  It feels like yesterday.  It feels like this morning.  Yet a lifetime passed me, taught me, broke me, and healed me in this year.  The year of firsts.

The year of firsts is now complete.

Maybe that's all there is to say today.