Everything’s been all life and death. Of course this is the usual way of things, but I’ve never been so acutely dialed in to it as I have in the last year.
When the pandemic started it was the death of things as we knew them. Everything felt unsafe as things shut down and things were cancelled one after the other. I leaned real hard into the many signs of the coming spring around me to sustain me during that time of uncertainty. Buds on trees, bulbs peeking up out of the ground, and birds and squirrels darting about were my sustenance. That was in March.
The uncertainty and fear continued in April and May, as did the ever unfurling springtime season. Across the country my grandmother began to decline. At home, my dog declined as well. Although both of them were elderly, neither of these declines were expected. In June they died, 10 days apart. Because of the pandemic I wasn’t there to see my grandmother either before or after her death. Although I accept the reality of the situation, it will never be okay with me that I couldn’t be there. But, it was also an unexpected blessing because had I been there, I wouldn’t have been at home to facilitate my beloved dog’s transitions at the end of his life - and I will be forever grateful that I was able to be fully present with him in those last days.
Spring bloomed into sunny summer days and I learned of the death of a high school friend. Grief doesn’t care if it’s old news, grief washed over me when I heard of it although he’d already been gone for 3 years.
In a desperate attempt to cope with everything that threatened to overwhelm me last year, I threw myself into my work. As summer shifted into fall, my focus only intensified. My art practice has never been more constant or flourishing as a result. There’s so much life and vibrancy in it.
Winter’s mostly been dark and difficult. It’s marked the death of some relationships that aren’t what I thought they were. I’m reorienting my navigation and figuring out new ways to relate that are authentic and kind while also honoring myself and my needs.
Last week we received news that a former mentor of ours had died. It seemed extra sudden, as we’d only recently heard he was ill. He was an absolute light in the world and I’m struggling to accept that he’s no longer here. He was 65 - not nearly old enough to be gone already. More heartbreak to add to the pile.
I’ve thought a lot about the past year and wondered at how it could be the worst and the best all at the same time. There’s so many blessings and so much personal growth and also so much heart-rending loss, fear, and heartache. Death, loss, and the breaking of things (relationships, social and political norms) bring the rest of life into sharp focus. I’ve never loved nor appreciated my partner more. I’ve never felt such deep gratitude for a sunny February afternoon and given it so much appreciative and mindful attention. I’ve never felt so much hopeful expectation for my future - even as I still fear the unknown.
There’s so much from last year that I wish never happened, that I could somehow delete or undo, but I’m also amazed at how it’s shaped me and grateful for the ways I’ve learned and grown. It’s remarkable to me that (with time) I’m finding so many sprouts of life in the deaths of loved ones, relationships, and old ways of being.