Thoughts of death had crossed my mind, when I careened slowly along the winding highway flanking the cliffs of the Big Sur. Many Our Fathers and Hail Marys have been recited along this road, especially during thick, foggy nights, rainy and windy days, or when noisy motorcyclists criss-cross around me in fearless hurried attempts to reach their destinations, which always seem to be the next viewpoint, a few miles away.
If God wanted to take me, I held comfort that prayers would carry me into the depths of the massive blue-green Pacific among the dolphins, whales and sea lions. Prayers would unite me with the Beloved as I disappeared into the abyss of deep Blue Ocean that sparkles like jewels beneath the noon day sun and glitters like diamonds beneath a full moon on a clear night.
Not that I wished for this at all, for I still want to live long enough to witness my son's emergence into full adulthood, with hopes that he'll marry and have children-- my grandchildren. Besides, I'm still needed by many, including my aging parents, friends, and the peace and justice organizations that I volunteer for. During these wary times, I've asked our God to spare me just a bit longer.
Twenty-three years earlier, this was not true. Back then I was lost in abysmal grief, the only thing keeping me alive was the presence of my child, who was 15 months old when his father died. How would he survive without the love and nurturing of his father? In addition, my depression further clouded the guidance and kindness of my parents and friends, which all fell into the background. There were mornings that I struggled to open my eyes, and my body felt so weighed down, except for the nagging voice that pushed me out of bed, “Just take that step, that one little step. Come on, you can do it.” And I did.
Family and friends, in their attempts to make me feel better made comments like “You know, that's just how it is in life.” Or, “You'll get over it. Give it time.” But we never forget and we really never get over it. Not entirely. Even when we think that we are finally over it, grief returns unexpectedly. Grief lingers, always. The length between the visits extends, even years, but grief always returns.
In sadness there is no room for loneliness. In loneliness we are forced to confront demons of the heart. And it is exactly in this vulnerable emptiness where alcohol and addictions numb the hurt and prolong the healing.
Addictions to relationships, addictions to neurotic activities, and addictions to superficial solutions merely pile on until the layers are so thick that only another tragedy will force the wound to reopen and bleed out tyrannical liquid. Never have the credit card companies been so full my contributions to their interests, not to mention Lake Tahoe ski resorts and Hawaii vacations. Despite living five blocks from the ocean, I still needed to go away, to another ocean hundreds of miles away because the one that I knew so well was just too suffocating, filled with memories of my destitution. Why could I not see?
The most symptomatic evidence of my poorly healed wound was how it affected my relationships. I remember my mother one day after lunch, at her kitchen table when she and I were reminiscing about Nader, when I finally admitted that my wound had also extended to the whole family. I apologized to her about those times when I had screamed, “Why can't you all understand? I'm in pain.” I had failed to see how my whole family had also suffered, not only because Nader had died, but because of having to see me suffer. My mother, her eyes downcast, quietly smiled.
When did I finally allow light to penetrate this dark? When did the screaming anguish stop? When did the healing begin?
In honesty, I could not even account when and where. It just unfolded and became absent as I allowed my sorrow to be overcome through my work with the elderly and poor, when older friends took me under their wing, when friends became the silent companions, without words-just presence, when in the company of my cousin's children, during large family gatherings, when friends made me laugh, watching my son grow into adulthood, and lastly, when my aloneness transformed to solitude.
It was in solitude when my thoughts were free to merge with what my soul longed to express on paper or discover in the images of life during daily encounters. Grief no longer became constant, but less frequent. It sometimes came in loudly, but grew to be content in dormancy, only to return when provoked.
Solitude became my sanctuary and stability. My peace arrived in moments in the garden, in redwood cathedrals, in the ocean, and meditative walks with birdsongs in the forest. Through silence and solitude, the Divine role of all things emerged. In this awakening, I began to see the Divine in everything, in the people who made me laugh, in the thrill of being able to help my community, even in silent companionship, which spoke the loudest.
Despite the physical absence of his father, my son grew up knowing that he was loved by the father he never knew. Memories remained alive through stories that are carried forward by those who remain. In death there is life.
Needless to say, now while driving along the Big Sur coast highway; my thoughts have taken a radical shift. Waking from the darkness creates a higher intensity in living in the present, which can only be described as earthly suffering that has been transformed to heaven on earth. The journey was a long and tortuous one. But if we have to journey, may we always find strength, hope, and faith that in the end, we can and will survive.
Oh solitude of comfort!
How much I long for thee!
How much I fight for your existence!
Oh stay close and never abandon me!
