Loss

“You are not lost. You continue in every hearty laugh, in every nice surprise, and every measuring moment of my life.”

Molly Fuima

I remember reading Anne Tyler’s Breathing Lessons, a very funny and very sad novel that takes place in the space of one day. Near the end of the novel, the main character Maggie Moran reminisces about all the things she’d lost – tangible such as a little red umbrella, and intangible, too. She imagined that all the lost things would be presented to you by St. Peter as you entered the Pearly Gates. So I started to think about what I would hope would be returned to me.

The little pinky ring that was my mother’s and she gave me when I was ten and the pair of pink clip-on earrings. The friendships broken and put aside – Jan Martin. Carol Diament. Maribeth and Frank. My family members, especially my grandfather and my mom. My dear friend Diane Dougherty. The incredible, bigger-than-life Fran Perrine-Wittkamp. My sister-in-law. The children I knew and taught riding to who left this earth too early – Ann Butera, Jenny Cushman, Keith Taylor, Jessica Pripstein.

My wonderful horses – Call Me Maude, Paco Pony, Thumper, and Big Mama. All my dogs – Winnie, Sheba, Abbey Road, Panda, Bear, Memphis, Mimi, Rhonda Girl. The beautiful dogwood tree in our backyard, the old apple tree loaded with fruit.

The crashing of the ocean waves and songs of screeching gulls, gurgling rivers, raspberry sunsets, wispy clouds in blue skies, croaking frogs, and the soft murmur of a mare to her newborn foal.

The feel of a pen in my hand, riding like a cloaked stranger across dry deserts, in search of rich oases. And finally, the flood of words that spill across the pages of my notebook, drenching them with memories.

Every moment where my heart was filled with joy – every rainbow, every early daffodil, the brush of sunshine on my face while I stood in the riding ring on warm/cool days in May, the twinkling light of fireflies, the feasting of hummingbirds on our canna lilies, the walks at Longwood Gardens with my husband.

There’s a passage in Breathing Lessons where the widow confides to Maggie:

“And then Linda’s kids started teasing the cat. They dressed the cat in their teddy bear pajamas and Linda didn’t even notice. She’s never kept them properly in line. Max and I used to bite our tongues not to point that out. Anytime they’d come we wouldn’t say a word but we’d just give each other this look across the room: just trade look, you know how you do? And all at once I had no one to trade looks with. It was the first time I’d understood that I’d truly lost him.”

The death of a loved one can be one of the most stressful times in our lives. I find comfort in everyday routines, writing in my journal, and sharing with you. Sue Kidd Monk said: To fashion an inner story of our pain carries us to the heart of it, which is where rebirth inevitably occurs.

I look forward to this spring and a rebirth of wonder.