If you have ever watched any nature shows on PBS, you could easily recall scenes of wolves or big cats hunting their preys, or defending their territories. Sometimes they catch an antelope and the pups get fed. And they buy themselves another day. Others, they lose their pursuits, get hurt. Viewers get bewildered and worried. Is she going to make it? Who is going to hunt for her and the pups? How is she going to survive?
I have an image of me, an injured lioness, that was able to free myself from the death grip of a crocodile. Badly hurt, but not defeated. I limped to my den and slumped onto the dirt. Camouflaged and protected in my cave. There I rest and nurse my wound. Hopeful that one day I will be well enough to hunt antelopes and buffalos again.
In the den, I the lioness remain contemplative. Solitary. Quiet. Patient. Grateful. Grateful that the crocodile didn't snap my neck like a twig, although it easily could. Patient that I will spring again when my wound is healed, however long it may take.
The tsunami-like shockwaves from Eric's death are long gone, although the trauma lingers like the perpetual tides that brush the shores quietly. Still, everyday, the solitude and peace is sharply cut with trauma and grief, ever so briefly, yet deeply and vividly. Is this a tell tale sign that I have not yet reached peace?
Patience. There is the lioness in all of us.
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