See It. Feel It. Honor It.
From me to you. 🤍
I have done so many things other than sit down and write this week. In the back of my mind there has been this nudge… settle in, reflect, write, share. But the reality is I’ve been integrating and needing to process and move through before reflecting here, in my Letters from the Sea.
The pumpkin oat bread is baking in the oven. The sun is gleaming through the portholes and skylights as the dog days of summer rain down. The Gypsy is anchored in Corner Bay, across from Tenakee Inlet in northern Southeast Alaska. We’ve been here for over a week, occasionally crossing the inlet to visit the bathhouse and natural hot springs.
It’s a lovely place here, and Scott and I are enjoying the community and opportunities around us. The inlet is amazingly beautiful, the mountain ridges flowing gently like a beautiful tapestry. The head of Corner Bay changes with the tide, with brown bears, eagles and deer frequenting the low tide coastline.
The seasons are shifting, and it’s your season again.
September comes, and the door cracks open into the space of grief.
In just a few days it’s the “last time we hugged.” In a few weeks, your 69th heavenly birthday. And September leads into the month that you left, transitioned, and my life cracked open into a completely new paradigm.
Grief can do that.
Sudden loss can change us instantly.
We can constrict or we can expand when we experience loss. When our hearts break, the light can shine in through the cracks if we allow it.
Yesterday was the cry day.
The culmination day.
The day I’ve been easing into, but have been “too busy” to experience.
We’ve had company, and the last couple of days have been the first solitude I’ve experienced in awhile.
And there I was.
Alone in the silence of the boat.
Bluebird, dreamy, full day.
Calm seas.
Feeling so much.
Grieving what was. Feeling a loss, but unsure what from. Getting curious. Getting so low before finally cracking and surrendering into it.
Grief.
I think sometimes we want grief to have a reason. Something tangible we can hold onto and say, this is why I feel this way.
But grief isn’t always that simple.
Of course there is the grief of losing someone we love.
I miss you, Dad.
I miss the sweetness of the experiences I had with you when the kids were young. Those were some of the sweetest moments of my life. I loved watching you be a Grandpa. I miss you so much.
But there are other kinds of grief too.
The changing of seasons.
Children growing.
Friendships changing.
People we love changing.
Us changing.
The life we thought we would have.
The life we did have.
The person we were in another time and place.
This journey in this life is a dynamic one.
As humans, spiritual beings having a human experience, our souls must experience it all. Souls in motion, growing into the shifting, keeping a simple center and an open heart.
Open to receive, accept and allow the changes. The flow.
Gratitude and admiration for what was.
Acceptance for what is.
And tending to the love and lessons in between.
But sometimes I struggle to sit down and write.
Sometimes I struggle to sit down and feel.
There are so many distractions around. So much beauty. So many things I can do. Things I can create. Things I can work on. Places to move my body. Ways to fill the hours.
But eventually it seeps in.
The feeling.
The moment.
The sadness.
Grief.
Emotion with nowhere to go.
So I must honor it.
I must feel into this.
The longer it simmers, the more uncomfortable it becomes.
So let it out.
See it.
Feel it.
Honor it.
What is it trying to tell you?
What is it wanting you to explain, honor or understand?
How do you let people go who aren’t good for you anymore, in friendship or otherwise?
How do you let them go when they are already gone, but still holding space in your heart?
How do you honor the part of you that shared, received and loved, and is now in loss limbo?
Where do you turn?
How do you grieve?
How do you heal?
It is a constant evolution.
Change is the only constant.
Allow yourself to be seen.
It’s okay to step into the dark rooms of your heart.
Crack the door.
Let the light in.
Leave the door cracked while you sift around for awhile.
Look around.
Take it in.
Nothing.
Do anything.
Stand up.
Walk around barefoot.
Observe.
Accept.
Breathe.
Maybe healing isn’t always about figuring out what to do with what hurts.
Maybe we don’t have to know.
Maybe grief is simply love and loss moving through us. Changing shape. Asking for space.
There will be moments when we can move easily with the flow, and others when something catches. Something hurts. Something from long ago rises up and asks to be felt again.
September does that for me.
Life does that for me.
And perhaps that is part of this human experience too.
Not overcoming every uncomfortable emotion.
Not hurrying ourselves through the dark room.
Just being willing to enter it.
To sit there for awhile.
To let our eyes adjust.
To notice what is still there.
To honor what was.
To accept what is.
And when we’re ready, to crack the door a little wider and let the light back in.
See it.
Feel it.
Honor it.
Breathe.
And remember, you’re not alone on the journey. As we transition into September, and endings become a part of the season, it’s okay to Honor what Rises Within.
From me to you. 🤍