February 4, 2014
The low hanging clouds blocked out the sunrise, causing the gray bark on the trees to shine. I am at a crossroads in grief. Three weeks ago today I witnessed my grandmother’s passing. This coming Saturday is the 17th anniversary of my brother’s death by suicide. His death will be old enough to consider what tux to wear to prom, and the excitement of slipping a corsage on his dates hand. His death is old enough to contemplate graduations and what the future will feel like. I wonder what his death will graduate from or to?
The low hanging clouds press into that grief, creating a heaviness that feels oppressive. Yet, as I sit on my mat today, I contemplate the present. It is not the day of my grandmother’s passing. It is not Saturday February 8, 1997, when my soul leapt from my body when I heard the words – he’s gone. It is not even this coming Saturday when my mind will be a flood of memories of what was coupled with the somber dance of what is. Today is Tuesday February 4th. I have a choice in what I see as I honor all that I feel. I can see the clouds above my head as oppressive, or I can see them as a stairway to the stars.
As I feel the breath circulating in and out of my lungs like a slow moving river, I listen to the cars that swish along the road below me and smile, wondering what stories I’ll tell when I climb that staircase.