Staying

I am willing to share from a vulnerable place things that most people do not say out loud or at least most people probably do not say to very many other people. My willingness to share this way might be stubbornness or rebelliousness, my way of pushing back and up against the cultural status quo that asks us to behave in ways that are less provocative. It is most certainly a way to invoke my own agency and walk with my pain, not let it own me. I will not be a victim to this enormous difficulty.  

Participating is much more powerful than having it all just happen to me. Truth-telling about my own experience is a matter of my own survival with the hope that I will come out the other side in a form that allows me live with this. I realize my way is not everyone’s way, and that what I do and say may create discomfort for those who read what I share. It is not my goal to make others feel uncomfortable nor is it my intention to hurt or scare anyone. But, I am unwilling to withhold the truth for the sake of others’ comfort. The byproducts of my personal experience are probably rippling out in all kinds of ways that I do not even know about, just as the byproducts of so many other lives profoundly impact my own both comfortably and uncomfortably. My willingness (willfulness, stubbornness, or rebelliousness) in the face of this pain is what I am banking on as my way through. 

I’ve been on the fence about an important choice I have to make. Actually, I’ve been on the fence about a few things including sharing this post. I have been waiting around in that middle ground, the in-between, until I know for sure with clarity. Even after knowing clearly what my decision would be, I have waited in the liminality a little longer until I was ready. Ready is a different place than clear. Ready requires energy and capacity to act on a decision. Now that I’ve made the decision, the decision I knew I was going to make eventually, and have the readiness for implementing the choice, I also need to honor my commitment to share what is true for me in my grieving experience. It keeps me accountable. 

I’ve decided to stay. I’ve decided to stay here on the planet and in this body and live this life fully. It was so tempting to want to hardly be here and join Edmond in someway, shape, or form in his realm. It still is tempting. It was such a comfort to believe I could, to possibly not have to feel the weight of the pain of being apart. It was a preoccupation to imagine and even try to leave my body behind for the ethereal world.

In this instance, I do not mean contemplating ending my life when I talk about staying or leaving. Staying or leaving is more about the way I choose to inhabit my physical body. Being all-in, present in my body more of the time especially when I am by myself has been really hard. The pain of being separate from Edmond is insurmountable sometimes. It is physically, emotionally, and spiritually painful. Leaving my body behind, partitioning a part of me off from the whole, in the way we do when we don’t want to feel things is the kind of leaving I mean.

It is my hope that I am not being reckless, although it is a risk to speak of things like leaving that rightly scare people who love us. It is not about suicide, although the feeling of wanting a part of us to die can become suicidal ideation or action. And, in all honesty, I’ve been there. I understand the painfulness of a part of us that needs to die so we can make room for what is being born in us. It can get rather confusing if we are not checking in with ourselves and our support systems. It can get really hard to see and hear the other parts of ourselves that desire life, love, and the beauty of being human when the painful part becomes the loudest voice inside. Usually, the loudest part is the part we neglect, separate out, and deny. So, I have been listening to that painful part often in order to ensure it is heard and tended, but not to the detriment of the rest of me.

The part of me that wants to be where Edmond resides is not bigger than the part that wants to be here with my children and loved ones and to do the purposeful work I am here to do. Deciding to stay, being here with all of me in this body, means I have to listen and work with the part of me that would rather not. For me, it is a choice to be fully present and stay here.  

I believe a lot of people have to make this decision, to stay. I know they do.

When we share roots with someone, a child, a partner, a best friend, a parent, and the loved one is uprooted from this planet, so are some of our roots. There’s just no way around it. That’s how love works, tangled and grown together. And so, there’s always the decision about putting some roots back in after they die or leave, or growing new roots entirely. Some of us make this decision consciously. Some of us don’t. I’m not sure which way is better or if it even matters, especially if you decide to stay. Some of us might just need to be more deliberate about it. I do. I need to get clear and commit to it, a prayer to myself and to the body that carries me through this life. 

Those who don’t stay hover over the earth, ghosts in their own bodies that don’t feel much anymore except for the longing to be with the one who’s not here. The hovering isn’t really being here. It’s a placeholder until we’re not here anymore. It’s not really existing either. To hardly be embodied does not serving others or ourselves or the purpose of our lives. And yet, leaving or staying is a decision; it is a choice.

But the truth is that bodies that aren’t rooted in the earth that birthed us don’t do very well. They get sick without the connection to place and people. They get frail and weak, and they welcome death sooner rather than later. The bodies of those who leave are vulnerable to forces that will drain them of their vitality. Forms detached from soulfulness lack luster and passion and purpose, and cannot fulfill the spaces and reasons and relationships that call them and require their participation.

Achingly deserted bodies can come back to life again when we find our feet on the ground. Planting ourselves in our lives and knowing where we stand, we feel our roots sink deep into the earth again. It is a renewal of our commitments, purpose, or reason for waking each day. It may start as a root hair, a trichrome, that attaches to a small, bite-sized commitment: I will prepare and eat a meal; I will make and keep a plan to meet a friend; I will write today. Whatever it is, it holds us here through action, purpose, and tangibles.

I have been coming back to life slowly. I did not and do not do it alone. I have the support of those around me helping me recognize what was out of balance. It was a painful reentry last week. My joints ached and pain ran the length of my spine. Two weeks of ocular migraines threatened the painful storm of the headache that finally woke me in the middle of the night. I slept on ice packs. I was wrung out the following day, and I was back home in my body. From this place, I can once again hold my ground. 

The staying requires grounding, physical actions, massage and meditation, breath work, baths, and bare feet in grass, and lots and lots of walking. The grieving feels deeper this way, more apart of my whole being. I even notice the sound of my crying is different. It is strange to witness what comes forth, to acknowledge what arises, allow it to escape my body through sound and tears from the deepest part of me, and then hear it like the world does.

My conversation with Edmond continues.

“I miss you. I’m staying here. I wish you were still here. I am choosing to be here, again, today, in my physical body fully. I miss you here with me. And, I’m choosing to stay here anyway. I don’t want to miss some of the things that are coming, some of the things I don’t even know yet, things I wish we could experience together. I miss you. I love you. Our connection is powerful and strong, and if I stay here in my physical body, I believe that connection will be more possible. I hope I will hear you more clearly, maybe feel you next to me with more presence. I hope that our realms will open to each other. I am staying, even though you had to go. I am staying because I must for so many reasons that you support. I miss you. I love you.”