Tethers into Tomorrow

Allowing the energy to shift, inviting it to shift and even planning for these change-ups are a way through the grief. If there are tasks, appointments, or plans, I have trail markers in my day. They are little lights inside this cave that I believe, even though I cannot see its end, is a tunnel. 

When it gets really unbearable, when the panic sets in or takes over, I find my place on the bathroom floor or in the bathtub of hot water and Epsom salts. I sip cool water, and find something I can touch to remind me of my human existence and my body that holds me. If I do all of the things I know to do, and I still feel the tingle in my limbs and the concentration of blood in my center line, I text or call a friend. I start a conversation. Even if it’s very late, I know I have begun an exchange that requires a response. It is a tether into tomorrow. 

In this life, I have lived so often in the in-between, and this loss really calls me to a new depth. It is the tethers to tomorrow, the conversations written or verbal, the duties and responsibilities, and loved ones still here that call me back to the world of the living.

Throwing a stone into the pond, rippling out a signal that will eventually make contact with another being is my hopeful connection to this world, a commitment and promise to myself to make it through this terrible wave of pain and panic. Being able to stay with myself, observe as I scramble to breathe and feel the ground beneath me is a strange and dreaded part of this loss. And, when it passes, I feel relaxed and oddly capable. Is getting through a panic attack something to add to my resume? Probably not, and still, I can come out the other side.

I have so many connections here: children, friends, family, and meaningful work. It feels as if I have built a life and sacred circle of support ahead of myself and for this moment. Without it, I certainly would fly away into the sky through the atmosphere and into deep space.

My interdependence is the texture of my existence. It is the grit between my toes as I stand on the dirt in the garden. It is the faithful breeze of confirmation that comes even during the hottest of days. My existence is tied to my children who call, show up, or come to me with open arms. When I feel the darkness of loss, they respond. We are in this together. There is no doing or place where I am not tethered to the life of another being. My entanglement is a powerful gravity. Our lives woven together are a raft at sea, and we are still buoyant.  

Entangled. What other way is there to love fully but to allow all of the threads of our love to weave into the other’s? Holding back nothing, tying our livelihood to each other is the point of being all in, jumping into the deep end together. No other creature holds back like humans. Trees’ roots run deep and wide, seeking water and community among the other root systems. Ants fall into line for the sake of the colony.   

There have been times when my tethers to this world felt overwhelming. Sometimes, I wonder if the many people and things I love the most in this life may have kept me from some imagined way out wish, wild want, or desired freedom of a life far different than the one I have created.

Five children, three businesses, a marriage, three dogs, chickens, a home, to name a few tethers, have prompted me to consider its opposite: something filled with risk and answering to no one. I have joked that in my next life, I want to come back as a bisexual, cliff-climber, bartender. I said this as a release in times of overwhelm to break down the moment of taking myself too seriously. Edmond, deciding about whether or not to be offended, used to look at me side-ways and ask me why I would say that to him. To which I responded, “So you can find me!”

And, ultimately, I have zero regrets. I love my life, the relationships I have built, the home and experiences—all of them. Well, I do not love losing Edmond. I don’t love that experience.

These tethers I have chosen are love lines.

I packed up Edmond’s office this week, the first of many difficult tasks ahead. A friend and former employee of the law firm showed up. He helped me make practical decisions, and he did heavy lifting literally and held space for heavy emotions. Another friend asked if she could help, and I said yes without hesitation. My ability to take the next step is dependent upon those willing to stand next to me, offer a hand to hold or to carry file boxes. 

Before I entered the office that morning to begin dismantling the place that held space for his career as an attorney, one of his tethers in this world, two male deer greeted me. Both were  handsome six-points with fuzzy velvet antlers that they will shed after the rut. We looked at each other in stillness for a several minutes. Two male deer in their prime holding their ground, pausing in their pursuit of food to decide about me. 

A day later, when the movers came to deliver the furniture to our home, I went out to open the garage doors for what wasn’t going in the house. There was a snake sunning himself there in the driveway. Snake = Transformation. Things are not subtle in my world, and so, I got a stick and encouraged him toward the woods where he would be safe from the tires of the moving truck.

I am allowing others to do for and with me things I would never have imagined. I am saying yes, please, come help me with fixing, cleaning, clearing, or lifting. Please, help me retrieve something from the attic, not because it is beyond my physical ability, but because loving presence makes a difference. Edmond always went up into the attic. Now, I go up to find the things to bring down. I am grateful beyond words for the one who reaches up the stairs to lower my finds to the floor.  

I am because we are.

The Zulu proverb of Ubuntu says that I am a person through other people. My humanity is tied to every other human. Humans, and all living beings for that matter, cannot exist in isolation. We are interconnected. What we do impacts others through the web of interdependence. We often do not consider this or know it until it is to our benefit or demise. 

People ask, “How are you?” And, then they suddenly shudder or contract, and begin to feel foolish for asking. We do not know what to say or do in tragic times. It is a cultural developmental gap. It is in this gap, though, that we have the possibility to feel into something else, a new connection, compassion. Actually, I invite the question and am grateful for it. I thank those who ask, and then I answer them honestly. My response is received, and that is the most beautiful part, the contact. Asking the question is another tether to this world. It is an entanglement between the inquirer and me. My wellbeing or heartache is of concern to their heart. Our hearts are interdependent, co-mingling, and co-caring. It is an opportunity for me to step more fully into my body, check-in, and not abandon myself, stay here, and be with an Other. 

Thank you so very much for asking. It is an important question with a million responses, and every ask holds me here. Thank you.