It’s been the most days in between Grace Notes writing I’ve had since I began them five years ago.
I was working on what felt like one of the most important speeches of my life–so all writing focused on that, every day.
I spoke this past weekend at the memorial services for my first husband and father of my children.
I’m so glad I spent the contemplative time coming back to what I wanted to say at his service, almost daily, for over a week.
It came out good.
It really was the best speech (not that I’ve given a whole lot of them) I’ve ever done in my entire life.
And now, today, it’s been a month since this man died.
Death is an amazing contemplation and inquiry. We don’t know really what happens to consciousness or awareness of a person when they move through death. Often, we’ve been curious our entire lives about it.
We’ve known other people who move into this thing called death, but we’ll only experience it once ourselves, fully, in this lifetime. (And yes, there are a gazillion little deaths along the way in the form of change).
One of the first more profound self-inquiries I ever did using The Work was on my father’s death from cancer, which happened many years earlier in my life.
To sit and write down the concepts about his passing brought up all kinds of emotions and feelings, heartbreaking images, longing, wondering “what if” all over again.
Sometimes just writing the first step, our agonizing thoughts about this very painful situation involving death, feels too much to bear.
It’s worth it.
Death is the ultimate separation, it seems. Something in my mind defined it as permanent, loss, cut off, absence of love and connection, forever, dread, empty silence, gone-ness.
But can I absolutely know that’s true?
Am I sure about what death is?
No.
Who would I be without my story, my thoughts, my ideas, my fears, my worries, my definitions of death?
If you’ve suffered from the death or loss of someone in your life, doing The Work never means you don’t cry or feel the most massive heart breaking open, or forget about them, or stop missing them….
….but it can mean you stop feeling like a victim of this process called death.
It can mean, like it has unexpectedly for me, that you’re OK with not knowing what death really is, and that you notice all is well and this person who has died has brought you a most immense gift in both their living and their dying.
It can mean the feeling of true, deep love. Even joy.
Who would we be without the thought “they died”?
Full of the most beautiful appreciation for them imaginable, for their image in my mind, for the peace of this moment.
Much love,
Grace
P.S. I’m preparing behind the scenes for a wonderful new Year of Inquiry starting in September. An entire year of practicing The Work in a small group. This year, for those who are interested, there will be even more in-depth practice, sharing and training in facilitation for all those wanting to coach others in The Work. Enrollment begins August 21st: Learn more here.