On and on the rain will fall, like tears from a star, like tears from a star. On and on the rain will say, how fragile we are, how fragile we are…
“Fragile” by Sting
The sight was surprising to me! I looked up from the deck of our vacation beach-house rental to see my husband swimming in the ocean looking back at me smiling, gesturing me to follow his lead; darting up and down between waves splashing over his chest. “What are you doing?” I yelled. “Come back here!” I chanted while half nervously laughing. What was confusing is that he isn’t really a water lover, and yet, at mid-morning, he was one with the sea. Had he found the love of water, like me? For a moment I excitedly thought, “Would he want to stay on the beach, sunrise to moonrise, sharing secrets with the waves, singing with the gulls and listening to the mystical stories that the ancient water has to share too?” He’s more of a mountains and wilderness man and yet he kindly let me have final destination choice for this vacation.
But watching him in the ocean - something shifted in him and his child-like grin opened to an enormous smile with roaring laughter, as if there was a divine opening from deep within the earth’s core back to the tides pulling him in. Without hesitation, I, in my pajamas, ran down the steps, across the sand and into the ocean’s arms laughing and playing with him. People on the beach stared with their mouths open, some chuckling. It was as if every care and every tear left us. In actuality it was the tide’s offer of affection and nurturing, soothing our broken hearts, gently allowing fear and grief and deep, deep sadness to be absorbed by the rippling of the sea’s crest. The ocean’s arms cradled us and as we laughed, tears streamed down, then sobs erupted from the burning hole in our hearts and tight crevices of our throats that sometimes serves as a protective shield, fiercely defending our vulnerability from others.
You know how that is…when something from long ago or recent catches your breath after emerging from a hidden crevice in the memory of loss; sometimes bringing up fond memories with laughter or other times sudden panic from within. We all experience it in some way; we also all avoid it in some way, then one day we either bow to surrender or continue denial.
Later that night, the eve of our son’s 12th death anniversary (he died when he was 19 years old), we were the only two on the beach and we dug a hole in the sand where we placed an orange candle and lit it underneath the glow of the full moon.
Ancient. Spiritual. Love. Loss. Tragic. Joyful. It was the moon’s turn to cradle us. Our silence was drowned by the echo of the crashing waves and our spirits calmed by the new tilt of the earth’s axis. A reprieve from tragedy still echoed loss, but with a rising, hopeful, mesmerizing calm in the dark sky. And with each beat of my heart, a new gravitational pull of life emerged –allowing the moon to summon the ocean’s salty tears to become one with mine; allowing the last nightly call of the seagulls to remind me that where ache and loss meet; love remains.
After some time, we blew out the candle and walked back to the beach house. I turned back, folded my hands to the moon in gratitude and blew a kiss out into the ocean where we swam at night and sprinkled some of our boy’s ashes. “Be free,” I whispered, “I’ll see you again.”
I share this very personal, intimate and fragile story because in some way it is your story too. Loss appears so often in so many forms, yet here we are – holding back the words or tears or traumatic patterns held in our bodies time and time again.
And here we are – you and I and the ocean’s memory to sustain us like the safe womb of mother earth – giving us nourishment with arms open to cradle us, rock us to sleep, sing a lullaby like the wind shifting during the tide, leaving broken shells like our broken hearts, where the sandy beach kisses the water’s shore, giving us a choice as the blazing sun settles into the sky winking at the moon with the hope of a thankful respite…a cool, dark night filled with a haunting yet familiar glow…Must we choose between life and death?
A very beautiful soul shared the following poem with me this past week:
We shake with joy, we shake with grief.
What a time they have, these two
housed as they are in the same body.
“We Shake with Joy” by Mary Oliver
May love and peace nurture every fiber and soothe every loss, whether death or change: a child’s first day of kindergarten or exit to college, an older adult saying farewell to one too many friends, the lingering touch of a lost lover, a career, a disease, a flag at half mast, a move across county, a loved one’s passing, a sad childhood, daddy’s hands across mama’s empty belly. So much loss, yet somewhere the valley meets the mountaintop and seeds of hope grow, birthing flowers with smiles wide open like dimpled hydrangeas cheering, “Yes, there you are!”
Rise and fall
Stumble on your words
Choke on a sob – and smile
As heartening memories replace the monsters.
Let the waves move your stuck connective tissue
And the tides teach you to breathe
For even the tree in the forest relies on the sea for a drink.
Moving, Shifting, Turbulent, Aching, Transforming Grief
And joy.
Help befriend us
Help knit together our muscles, memories and cells
So even our mourning souls can rest.
“Sweet Lovely Vibrant Joy” by Amy Childers
Continued peace and goodwill always!
See the official video for “Fragile” by Sting below!