Please Take a Deep Breath

It has been said too many times that "things happen for a reason."  I don't completely agree with that statement.  I don't believe things have to happen for a reason.  Sometimes, shit just happens.  End of story.  Besides, the statement sounds too passive.    

I believe we have a choice to define and create a purpose for each event that happens.  I prefer "things happen for a purpose."  Being purposeful is being mindful. I believe in being mindful in everything I do.    

I deeply believe there is a purpose for my husband's dying as there is a purpose for his living.  His death has caused deep and profound impacts in me and my outlook in life; it gave me new clarity to my place in this world.  Our lives together over a decade, especially for the past two years, have been creating and preparing me for my tipping point.  I believe my tipping point is inching closely. 

"The meaning of death is that we were once alive," said my good friend Hallie.  To be alive!  Not just to have a breath, but to be alive.  

When I chatted with my dear friend Kevin this weekend, I tried to explain, albeit somewhat futilely, what fighting to triumph each day feels like, and what it means to me.  To keep repeating that I am still grieving sounds really, well, repetitive. But grief is well beyond sorrow.  It is engrained and engraved in the bones, in the core, in the whole being.  It takes up residence deeply in the lungs, impossible to extricate unless you do so mindfully, purposefully.  You need to breathe grief out. Long, slow, deep breath.  

Despite my intense grief, I feel big, I told Kevin.  I feel tall.  I am not fearless, but I am not fearful of anything.  Or anyone.

That height, that size, that bigness comes with a price tag.  It takes my mindful, purposeful extrication of grief from my core.  Every single day.  The process is incredibly unpleasant.  Tearful.  Achy.  And alone.  Alone because nobody else can extricate my grief but me.  Countless friends love me dearly, and have my back completely, but none can make this easier, better, less painful.  The only way to extricate grief healthily is to experience it purposefully, mindfully.  

"Things happen for a purpose."  

Eric's death has a purpose.  My unspeakable grief has a purpose.  My bigness has a purpose.  Our love, ever without bounds, has a purpose.  

I just let out a long, long deep breath.  

Winter road trip
Ashland, OR
Dec, 2011