In the off chance it will help you

Dear ones,

I need to say what I did. In the off chance it will help you. In the off chance it will connect with your heart. In the off chance it will be another tendril of caring for each other. Because that’s really all I know to do now - keep showing up for each other. Give each other recipes for mending.

I lit a candle. I brought together my little statues of Kali and Buddha and the pewter dog that looks like my childhood dog Amy. The photos of my kids and ancestors were all around. I called in loved ones who were past — Phyllis, Michael, Nevil, Jo/e. I told them all what had happened. My voice speaking into the night the events of Tuesday made it both more real and more awful. It moved from surreal to real. To be the bearer of horrors holds its own pain, its own way of burning the story into your heart.

And then I read their names. Each one. And something about them that a family member had shared - honor roll, loved softball, helped with baby sister. Because I don’t cry - fucking anti-depressants that help keep me here and yet maintain that protective coating a bit too much sometimes - I just sat there in the silence that proceeded, dumbfounded at what we have become. Please, I said to those who have already passed, look over them, help them continue their journey. Please, I said to all still here, help us to do better.

It’s just what I did. Just a half hour of my still beating life. It was my way of trying to untangle the unfathomable and find a way through. You’ll have your own recipe. Listen intuitively to what you need right now. Not wine or TV but something else, something that lives in a murkier, older space. Give yourself permission to go there. We all need to spend much more time there in order to be remain here.

Love to you, dear ones. So much love.