It's okay.
Everything is okay.
Sometimes loss just seeps out of you. Like a sopping sponge. Tears streaming without any thought attached. Just an aching tie to a gut that says, I’m too full of these waters. I need your help, eyes. I need some tearful release.
And of course, the eyes oblige. It’s okay to cry, I tell myself. Myself, this enneagram 7, always looking for the positive side of things. Always telling everyone else, it’s okay.
These are the words I murmured to a hospice patient I sat vigil for on Friday. It’s okay. It was the third vigil I had in a week. All have passed. I know this because their names are no longer in the hospice portal. You know they’ve gone when their names drop off. I haven’t yet witnessed a last breath since becoming an end-of-life doula. But I’ve witnessed firsts. Including my precious granddaughter who will be 15 in two weeks. 15!
It’s okay. Everything will be okay.
I say this a lot. I say it because I truly believe it. I say this to my sister on the day before her double mastectomy. Today. I text the words to her boyfriend, who tells me how much life she has given him and aches for her, for what she has already grieved.
And I say them to myself during this time of rapid change, when a single positive charge can keep the lights on in me longer than I could think possible.
I ground myself. Grounding into that energy. Into that living spiritual field I know exists regardless if I believe in it or not.
This morning, I sit at my desk with my feet on the floor, preparing to send my sister distance Reiki during her operation. I have my playlist. Something that only came up on my feed this morning. And I’m grateful. I imagine her in the surgery–already knowing from experience the process, the preparation. We all can imagine it. We can all imagine being right there with the person we love. Opening to whatever they need filled.
I hold my breasts. I hold my sister in my heart. I whisper her name. I resist control. I resist telling God what I think He should do. I even resist saying my words.
I hold her.
I hold her.
My eyes release. They release their waters.
Just for today, I know everything will be okay.
Love,
Jackie
PS: And it is so.