Eva died today. Around 11am, I heard, though I was nearly to Traverse. Last night, "The Gooch" and I sat by her bed till about midnight listening, as labored breath moved in and out of her body. Tonight, as I visited her empty room, the little dog refused to leave. He sniffed around as though there was something there, and I cannot escape the feeling that maybe there was...
Yesterday, hours before, I stopped by to visit my friend Carrie, to help celebrate her birthday and share a gift. In the passing, albeit brief, she shared with me the story of her morning dream and how she had vividly recalled her birth and the joy her parents felt that day. She was the firstborn, the celebratory culmination of nine years of infertility. Until the 19th of November, one lucky year. Tears nestled in the corners of her eyes, as she recounted the story, the morning of her rebirth, as she realized how exited and open the universe of two--mother and father--were to adventure her birth, this new and glorious life.
For me, stories and lives overlap, layers of cells stacked deep. Archeology of souls, busy excavating the depths, and moments as they are quickly turned to midden. Rejoice for one life! Grieve at the passing of another. Same day. Coming, going, birthing, dying. All in this circle and the concerto drowns out the moaning, floods the hallways of doubt and debate. What we know is that we are here for now. Who cares why? We live to discover, maybe that is the why? In the meantime--celebrate!
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