Thin line
I can't believe she is gone.
THINK. A human being can disappear in a blink of an eye. The unthinkable becomes reality. A random conversation can become the last. A few loose ends will remain loose, forever.
A line can be so thin between extreme life experiences.
A Saturday in August. I sleep the longest I can recall in years. Yes, I went to bed very late, enjoying wonderful company of many people I have not seen in months or even years. I took my time and read my book. Got to breakfast at 1pm at seafront cafe. Was told this does not qualify as breakfast. Never mind, a first meal let's say. Moved into shade on a sunbed, drank strong and sweet Greek coffee, and continued reading. Dipped into the sea. No urgency, no pressure. Listened to some uplifting pop music for a change while driving on a winding, coastal road. Met my friends for a tasty dinner. Continued into an evening of conversations, memories, and smiles.
A Sunday. I wake up to some concerning news from a thousand miles away. A few phone calls. I find flights and train connections. Drive back to Athens on a busy motorway. Try to remain calm, listen to a slow-paced audiobook, have some more coffee. Try to read but this becomes harder. Wait at the gate and board the plane to Poland.
My Mother passed away when the aircraft was taxing to take off.
FEEL. There is no shortcut to grief. Neither is it linear. It comes and goes. Overwhelming at times, and distant at others. No matter how well one understands the scenarios and probabilities, there is no such state as full preparedness.
I am sad. But I am also re-living some positive moments from the last few months. Looking at the photos together, many of them still in black and white, some well out of focus. Remembering family holiday trips. Recalling childhood friends and Poland in the 1990's.
I find solace in writing a goodbye letter. Many things I wanted, could or should have said, but didn't. The ashes of it are now buried with her. It feels quite calming, after all. It hurt to put in on paper, though.
I find comfort in considering my Mom's legacy. My Dad, who loved her unconditionally until her last breath. Two sons who are doing well in life: with loving families, self-confidence, curiosity of the world and own opinions. Family and friends that came to say their goodbyes.
She had such an ear for listening to stories of others.
DO. Life is different now. Routines help disperse the looming sadness. Work, back to school, incoming travel planning or extracurricular activities mobilize me to action. Accepting that the road through healing is winded and hilly, is a necessary first step.
Kindness of others is soothing. I received an overwhelming amount of emotional support, for which I am very grateful. Thank you, sincerely.
We all write our eulogies, a day at a time. We make mistakes, struggle to balance reactions, see the world through our own lenses. But we can also be caring, curious, open, and non-judgmental. Embrace human flaws and love, unconditionally.
A line is thin, and we sometimes have less power to change our reality than we would have wanted. But if we keep giving it our best shot, one day at a time, eventually we would fill up with pride and calmness. And that memory is eternal.
