Well, I just picked up Nani’s ashes yesterday afternoon. I thought I was ready to be present for that, but I couldn’t help but avoid eye contact as I picked up the package at the vet and patiently waited to retreat back to my car to release surfacing emotions.
I’ve always wanted a guru. Someone so much wiser than I to educate and direct me on how to navigate this world with an open heart. I always pictured an old, Indian man like the sages from the Himalayas. However, it was shortly after Nani’s diagnosis that I received the wisest of all gurus: grief.
It was only four short weeks ago that I was sitting across from the oncologist as he explained to me how aggressive Nani’s lymphoma was. He spoke open heartedly and truthfully about what he’s seen with others in the same condition, and said she had about 6-12 months to live. I couldn’t believe it… but at the same time I felt this strong, almost peaceful shift. I knew this was the falling apart and I was ready to face it with as much courage, grace, and presence as I could conjure.
We think that the point is to pass the test or overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don’t really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together again and fall apart again. It’s just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy.
Pema Chödrön
The above quote encompasses my whole experience. I’ve been steadily hosting a daily spiritual practice for about six years, and part of me knew, as I received the diagnosis, that this practice has been preparing me slowly for this moment (and probably more moments like this to come). I was heart broken (and still am) but I didn’t give into an inner dialogue that convinced me I was the victim and that there was a problem that needed fixing. I instead felt a deep, inner truth that my presence was needed now more than ever before; and I breathed life into that presence as I sat there alone in the oncologist’s examination room, waiting patiently for Nani’s return after a procedure to relieve fluid from around her lungs.
I knew, as I sat there waiting, that Nani wasn’t being ripped from my grasp and that I wasn’t being spited by God. My hands were not going to be burned from holding tightly to the rope that was keeping her physical form here with me. She was dying… and I had to accept that this was her personal journey and it was time for her to transition onward to the next life experience, blissful state of nirvana, or wherever her beautiful soul wanted to travel to. I could no longer keep her here in this physical realm, and it was my duty to make sure her passing was filled with hope, grace, comfort, and unconditional love.
It was my dharma to look at her with loving eyes that she so deserved and was used to seeing, despite my crippling fears of letting her go. Fear when I realized she could no longer walk or jump, as her body became so weak with just mere skin and bones. Fear when I noticed that she could no longer eat or drink as she was focused solely on breathing. Fear when she couldn’t control her bowels and had to go right where she slept. I was terrified to watch her fall apart, but I knew that was what I was being called to do and that she deserved the entirety of my love more in these moments than ever before.
So, I loved her as fully as I could despite my many fears. I went for long walks when I needed to release tension and even longer showers when I needed to cry. She needed the house to be filled with positive energy, so I kept reminding myself that there would be a time to mourn and that wasn’t right now. I repeated this phrase like a mantra and it helped me remain selfless and aware of each present moment. After a good yin yoga session, meditation, Ganesha chant, or long hot shower… I made sure to return to her with a smile, positive outlook, and tender voice.
Two weeks ago from today we went to the vet because she hadn’t eaten in a week and could hardly breathe. I felt how there was nothing left to her when I picked her up to bring her to the car. The vet offered to do one final procedure to relieve the fluid from around her lungs, but the fluid would come back in a couple days just how it did before. The vet said it could buy us some more time and get her through the weekend. She had suffered enough and I knew the procedure would take a toll on her; and if I were her, I wouldn’t want to spend my last days on an operating table. It was time to say goodbye.
I finally understand all those things I’ve been reading in books over the years. I understand that things come together and fall apart. That I never owned Nani or anyone else I love so dearly, and that we are so lucky to be traveling together side by side, even if it’s only for a short while. I understand that Nani is not just her body, but a spirit, who is free from the limitations of this world. I understand what it means to truly hold space for yourself and others during challenging transitions, and that you can pray and call upon deities, angels, and spirits for support whenever you need. I understand that someone else’s journey may have an affect on you, but that it is not about you. I understand that true, unconditional love is to love without conditions or expectations. Sometimes someone we love may push our boundaries or make us feel uncomfortable, and the work is to move past blame and toward acceptance.
Grief is still present and teaching me to let my heart break without fear of what pours in. The heart is an amazing organ, energetic center, and spiritual guide. It can handle all the pain in the universe despite what the mind believes. The most powerful thing about staying present with your grief is the presence you will feel in everything you do and in all conversation. At least for me, nothing was harder than being present with a loved one falling apart, so now I feel myself being present with others in ease and full compassion. For the first time, I can comfortably look around the room at all my students gazing back at me and not feel fear. For the first time, I feel comfortable being so vulnerable, which has been a beautiful gift to experience.
In the past week I have loved to look upon others with compassion and hold space for them knowing that we’re all walking around carrying some form of grief or longing. I thank Nani for being the hero in this story: she did the hard work of passing away which granted me a new outlook and more embodied life. I feel more present for the one’s I hold close to my heart, with a fierce dedication to value our time together over work.
I will love Nani always and look forward to her visits between flying around the cosmos and soaking up the summer sun.
If any of this resonates, I’d love to hear from you in the comments. Thank you for reading. Many blessings. Namaste