Friday, April 24, 2009

Abyss, Transitions, and Comfort

I'm skipping Morning Pages. Blogging instead. Connection better than writing into the abyss, even though I love my abyss.

Grandma died near noon yesterday. Mom died exactly at noon, and I have held that poetry in my mind since. I like that Grandma chose a beautiful day and quit her body at the sun's zenith. I'm comforted that she had asked to have her remains cremated, but am dreading the open casket viewing that precedes it. That tradition is macabre and disturbs me. Why do we make death rites about the flesh that is meaningless now?

I'm comforted that my aunt finds security in the Heaven of Grandma's husband and daughter coming to fetch her soul off to bliss. I'm comforted that my brother's atheism will help him frame this as a body that wore itself out at a commendable age and is happily no longer hurting. I'm happy that I'm able to wander between these ideas and take comfort in fire that transmutes flesh to sand like we see at the seashore.

I'm happy for chemicals and medicine used well, for morphine and Ativan that kept her death a quiet, sleepy dignity. For benzso-whatevers that helped my aunt sleep after the worries wouldn't leave her to stillness.

I'm happy for greif that has sweetness in it. Numbers high in the calendar of a life, long stretches of memories folded into intricate, delicate patterns on old skin. Completion and a blessed absence of the feeling that something was stolen. All her gifts were well used. Her love poured out liberally until her body emptied.


  1. A beautiful epilogue to a life well lived.

    All my love to you, sweet Souster. Give me a call and let me know details for upcoming happenings, please.

  2. Thinking of you, my dear and thanking you for sharing this little requiem for your grandmother.

    Maybe I was crying for you last night.

    Much love to you and your family.

  3. May her memory always be a blessing, my sweet sister-friend.


    (I was thinking of calling and chatting soon, let me know when a good time would be for you, if you're up for a chat.)

  4. Thank you ladies:) I feel very embraced by my soul sisters.

  5. Hey lady. I just read this. Its beautiful and I think you are handling it really well. I love and miss you. *hugs*

  6. This is such a deep and beautiful post. You painted an exquisite canvas here: the love of a girl for her grandma. Thinking of you prayerfully and tenderly.

    You asked about a knitted goddess...I'd love to knit you one, but it was difficult and I need a little space in between the first and the second. I have some other projects to complete right now, but you desire is etched in my memory!

    And Molly is beautiful. So, so beautiful. Her skin looks so delicate and transparent. You can just see life, drank in through those eyes and pulsing in those visible veins. Oh I could just squeeze her up.

    Love you, Heidi.


  7. I am so sorry to hear about your Grandma. I am glad that you can find things to be thankful about in a time of sorrow -- that's so important to getting through tough times, although it's ironic just how difficult that can be at times.

    You remembered her in such a beautiful way. It made me smile. Actually, you shared a little bit of her which made me smile today, so in a way, she is still around. Cool how that happens.

  8. I've spent many a moment wondering if it would be better to die on a good weather day (and miss part of it) or a crappy weather day (and not die on a nice day). I think your gram got it right.

  9. Oh, I'm so sorry to hear about this. Many loves to you and your family, honey.

  10. Comment moved from about section -hre
    Anonymous said...
    Your aunt IS comforted by the concept of family and friends taking your Gmaw into the fold. And so are a whole lot of other people, old and young farts alike. I don't think they are walking on streets of gold, but I do think they are aware of the peace and reassurance of each others presence. Just a comment..... love you.
    The Great Poom

    May 3, 2009 2:18 PM