Thursday, 31 December 2015

The journey of a hero

A whole year has passed again and came to a full circle; and tomorrow the same old year will start, same in a new way again.

I never really believed in New Years but I have to admit there is something about it, about a new start with all that banging and bright lights around, something that forces you to wake up in the middle of a long winter night, wake up and steer your life in a brand new direction, or keep the course and keep on walking.

Today I felt a deep urge to write again. I wish it came from a place of joy and happiness but this time it comes with a long and heavy veil of deep sadness. 

The story, however, always comes to a full circle, and it starts and ends in love. In fact, love is there all along, never ending. Everything there is, is made of love. And I try to never forget that, no matter how it appears to be on the outside.

I met the love of my life, I got married, we bought the house that became our home and planted the roses to grow with us for the years to come. We danced naked, we cried, we laughed through those tears, we cook, we walk in the moonlight, swam with the seals, hold each other in sorrow, pain and anger and we fall asleep together. 
And we do all that with love and passion, with the force, full of life and intensity.

Our love taught me how much human beings crave connection and unity on this heroic journey through life. 
That's what we remember from the Home and that's what makes us feel safe here as well.

And then I experienced incredibly painful loss. I lost our first baby just eight weeks after we found out. I know we didn't lose the soul that comes to our lives but I lost the connection, the promise of home that came with it. My body healed, my heart grows stronger but still feels that pain. And in that pain I forgot I can't do it on my own.

The journey of a hero is never a lonely journey. For two months I hardly ever mentioned my sadness and grief because I desperately wanted to forget and resume the "normal" state. Yet whatever I did, every now and then, the pain made itself present, made sure I would not forget it is there. And I don't have to tell you that pain hurts more when you try to ignore it.

My soul was, my heart were crying for the loss and I ignored them as much as I could, the fear and frustration creeped in and I learned what it means to scream in anger. And yes, I even hated myself and my body for a moment. I felt sorry for myself, I cried, I pretended, shouted and again hated myself for not being able to heal and cope fast enough. 
And day after day I was losing the fight, getting weaker and more tired and didn't recognize myself in the mirror. I knew I couldn't win the fight...alone!

I wish I knew at least one person who has been through the same, I wish someone would tell me that it hurts for such a long time. I wish I didn't have to punish myself for feeling the connection that was there for those eight weeks.
I wish I didn't pretend and felt safe enough to grief openly as long as I needed. I could have avoided the confusion I created within and around me. 

My friend once told me that if we were meant to go through it all alone, we all would be given a separate planet to live on! Surely the space is big enough to provide that!
But no, we squeeze in here, having to learn to go through it together. Because even though separated by our bodies, we all crave the connection, remembering the Home of oneness. 

My husband has the most loving eyes I have ever seen and when I look at him in silence, my own start filling with tears of gratitude...if I keep ignoring the pain that is in my life now, if I withdraw and separate, how much connection do I offer and leave? What if, what if he craves the same after all?!
I can't go through it on my own anymore and I know love is still there even though it's hard to see from time to time. And I have those eyes, his arms and whole wide world to hold on to in my grief. I forgot I never needed to get back to normal, I never needed myself back because I was never lost, just sad.

The day I went to the hospital, few moments before, I was laying on the floor in our bathroom in excruciating pain saying to myself and baby that I release him now, that it can go if he has to.
The day I came back from the hospital, the same day when people remember their deceased loved ones, I stopped to light a candle and all I could say at that moment, the only words that came out were "Thank you!".

And now I am grateful again looking into my husband's eyes and feeling the smile on my face. All is made of love, and it always has been!

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