April
2007
The Knowing Heart: The Beat Goes On2
Life has taken some unexpected, and rather painful, turns for our family in the past month.
On March 13, my almost 13-year old nephew died suddenly from a burst aneurism in his brain. My sister, my two nieces and my brother-in-law were surrounded by caring, love, friendship and support by so many people during that week.
As I leaned into my husband for the support I needed, and in turn supported my sister in her grief, I was caught in a challenging mix of emotions and thoughts.
In addition to my own grief at Cole's death, I was aware of how distant I felt from him and his family. I live far away from my sister and her family - both physically as well as emotionally - we are very different creatures and have very separate lifestyles. In the past there have been times when finding our love for each other has been hard amid the wildly different choices we've made for ourselves as adults.
But the love is there.
I was able to see how judgments of our differences fell away in the face of such an immense loss. I saw my sister as a mother who just lost her son. As a friend leaning into those she spends her days with: her circle of friends is more family-like and more immediate that anything I have myself, and nothing I could claim to be part of, and yet I was part of it, and looked to for comfort.
My own grief had its own color. The fragility of life. The impermanence and precariousness we live with every day, the light of a child gone.
My heart was - and still is - breaking for my sister. We are not wired to survive our children, and as her days continue, and she continues to get up each day, be there for her two girls and her husband, as well as herself, I see in her a strength that puts me in awe.
She told me that she feels support from people she doesn't even know. She feels hands at her back holding her up when she can't stand on her own, and knows there are prayers being sent to her and her family daily…hourly…every moment.
Life's rhythm continues. Even if we falter, stumble, fall down and skip some beats, eventually we find that rhythm again and we go on.
Coley had the rhythm of life in his bones. He was a talented drummer, even though he began drumming only six months ago. He walked to his own inner rhythm, as we all do, but chose to express that rhythm to the world in a way that got us all dancing and laughing with him. Even from a distance.
My sister and her husband chose to donate Cole's organs. Cole's lungs and kidneys were given to people waiting for a miracle in Washington state.. His heart was beating again in a 14-year old boy in California within a day.
It brings me comfort to know he lives on in other people…that his life has been a gift, not just to us that knew him but to others that didn't.
Cole's death has been the start of a series of events that have faced me with the reality of change and impermanence and the value of connection.
My marriage was somewhat unstable until the day before Cole's death, when we had a breakthrough in our understanding of each other. And Cole's death gave my husband, daughter and I the chance to pull together as a family in a crisis for the first time. As a stepfamily, this is really a huge thing for us.
Since then we continue to struggle, but we are struggling forward, and solidly - all three of us. I look at Sidra and the me that is Mama Bear wants everything to be alright, all the time. I cherish her even more in the shadow of the death of her cousin. I long to provide stability in an unstable world, and to reassure her when I am not assured myself.
And then another event: Last week my mother - in Saipan leading a training for work - broke her femur. There are further complications about her health, requiring me to travel to Saipan next week to accompany her on the 18-hour flight home.
My sister and I have been in closer contact in the last month than we have been in the last year, coming to the conclusion in our talks that we have to begin thinking about our mother's future and her care for when she cannot care for herself, and in that finding our bond that has wanted strengthening.
This is not going to be an easy series of discussions for any of us. But my sister in whatever way she can, and myself and our mother will hold each other up while we find this new rhythm together.
And on top of Cole's death, and daily family dynamics, it's a lot to handle at once.
But it's like parenting…it has to be done no matter how terrible we feel. No matter how overwhelmed, or how much we want to stay in a wishful place of wanting it all to be easier.
It's why not only does "it take a village to raise a child," but it also takes a village to live a life. We can't always do everything. We need support, an extra set of hands, a shoulder to cry on. Another brain to think with.
And we can't protect our children from life or death…and in fact it would be a disservice to them to do so.
We learn our limits and our strengths in the face of adversity. And we learn to ask for help when we need it. And we can't rob our children of those things. We can't rob ourselves of those things. And I stand bracing myself, or curl up, or walk forward singing, I am aware that I am learning about me, in a whole new way. I am learning about those I love. Those I judge, and those I fear.
I find my rhythm, honor it, and follow it. And the beat goes on.