I Love Her Still

Anālayo, a Buddhist monk, writes, “As long as the constant change inherent in life is not recognized, death is easily perceived as an abrupt end of all that has thus far been experienced as stable and lasting… it is not possible to live properly and fully unless the inevitability of death is accepted as an integral part of life.”

My previous post was on June 26. The days between then and now have been filled with my being present to what ended up being my friend’s death. Present with her. Present with those who love her and cared for her, including myself. She died Friday morning, just 24 hours after telling the doctor she wanted no more medical treatment but was choosing instead to be made comfortable and allowed to die in peace. We were preparing for her to come home with hospice care.

When people ask how I am, I say I am very sad, and I am glad she is no longer suffering, but mostly I am in awe. She is the first person I have touched after death. We were not yet at the hospital when we got the call she had died. I had spoken with that same nurse a little over an hour earlier. When I got to the hospital and entered the room with the purple door card I could not not touch her. Some will understand….

A dear friend who is no stranger to loss shared this from To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings by John O’Donohue:

May you know that absence is alive with hidden presence,
that nothing is ever lost or forgotten.
May the absences in your life grow full of eternal echo.
May you sense around you the secret Elsewhere,
where the presences that have left you dwell.
May you be generous in your embrace of loss.
May the sore well of grief turn into a seamless flow of presence.
May your compassion reach out to the ones we never hear from.
May you have the courage to speak for the excluded ones.
May you become the gracious and passionate subject of your own life.
May you not disrespect your mystery through brittle words or false belonging.
May you be embraced by God in whom dawn and twilight are one.
May your longing inhabit it’s dreams within the Great Belonging.

It is mysterious why her death has affected me differently than any other. Yes, ours was a relationship which spanned over 27 years. I was present for her joys and sorrows over almost three decades. And, yes, we were both winter (Florida) and summer (Michigan) friends. Perhaps it is because I was so present with her that her absence is so alive with hidden presence.

I saw this on Facebook a couple of days before she died, and shared it with our Grief Journey Group.

I can’t say I loved you. I just can’t

Because it makes it sound as if my love is past tense. Gone, finished, ended.

And that is so far from the truth.

My love is not in the past. It will never be gone.

I love you now. Still.

You didn’t take all this love away with you. It stays. It lingers.

Some days it jumps up and hits me in the face just to remind me that it is still here. Still persevering.

Some days it nudges me. Challenges me to keep going. Daring me to find the strength to get through the day.

But mostly, it just resonates inside of me with everything I do. With every step forward and every glance back. Every close of my eyes. Every breath.

My love is not dependent on you being here.

There is nowhere far enough,
and nothing permanent enough
to stop me from loving you.

So I will not say I loved you.

Because I love you.

Still.

~ Becky Hemsley Poetry

I will not say I loved her. I love her still.