Loss
by Sally Van Vleck
It's taken me all summer to gather the energy to write this article, although bits and pieces of it were written in my head over the summer. I'm writing about losses. The past year has been one of personal loss for me.
First, we lost our dear old dog, Jasmine in November. Many friends and inn guests mourned with us. Grips, our best buddy, came with us to the vet's office for her fatal shot. She was all eager and waggy as the tumor hadn't yet sealed off her bladder. That almost made it worse--her joyful enthusiasm to go see the vet&emdash;but it was unconscionable to wait until she was suffering just so we could be with her a little longer. We brought her body home, trudged out through the snow to bury her by the North peace pole at the Inn, where some of our dear friend, Moksha's, ashes lie. Later on, my grandson, Anders, and I decorated her grave with clam shells, sticks, leaves and stones. It was healing for both of us.
Then, my Mom died in March. She really wanted to die, and my Dad had been waiting for her for 25 years (!), so I thought it wouldn't be too hard&emdash;but I was wrong. Our family is close and she'd been the mainstay, so her death left a big void. She was a constant bookworm, passionate feminist, outspoken and judgmental critic--people loved her most for her blunt honesty and willingness to speak up.
In her last days, as I watched her die, I had the urge to climb into her crib-like bed and just hold her. Something held me back&emdash;a shyness or uncertainty over whether she would like it, or if it would heighten her humiliation and embarrassment at being weak. So, I resisted. Even the night she died, I wanted to hold her, but I sensed that she just didn't want that level of intimacy, which didn't come easy for her.
A few months after she died, in an intense period of my grieving process, I dreamed that I was there in the hospital bed with my Mom, holding her at last. The bumpers and sides of the bed were up so it was like being in a big adult-sized crib. It was so real. She didn't say anything, but she looked into my eyes with the most compassionate, loving, forgiving look on her face. What a gift.
My 3rd loss came on June 11, when the woods next to our property was destroyed to make a road. These were the woods I'd walked for 22 years--many times alone, many times with Bob, often with friends. This is where I escaped for personal spiritual renewal and connecting with Nature. The night before the scheduled destruction, we invited friends out for a ritual to honor all the species who lived there. We formed a circle, shedding our tears, letting them fall and mingle in a bowl of water and then released it, and our sorrows, into the lake. We walked through the damp, misty woods, saying good-bye to the trees as we adorned them with black strips of material.
Listening to the chain saws and bulldozers on that first day, I felt the meaning of the word "heartbroken" on a whole new level. After 20 some years of working to protect the environment, the destruction had come to our own backyard. To try to let go of my sadness, I would say to myself (and still do), "Why should we be immune to the destruction of the planet?" and, "Compared to people living next to a toxic waste dump, or incinerator, or on top of a landfill, we still have it pretty darn good." So, I am cherishing the woods that remain and learning to carry this loss, as I am the others.
What helped the most in dealing with all three losses was the love of friends and family. With Jasmine, it was all the comfort we received, and all the others who grieved with us. It was Grips, dropping everything to help us witness her end. It was Anders helping to decorate her grave.
With my Mom, what got me through was the outpouring of love and remembrances from her friends and mine, through cards and in person at her two memorial services. And, of course, sharing love and memories with my sisters, brother and my daughters.
For the loss of the woods, comfort came from the ritual on the eve of the destruction. Standing in a circle with our friends, feeling the collective strength from that little group helped me bear the pain.
So, I thought I was Queen of the Losses, with three fresh ones under my belt. Until September 11, that is. Now, we are witnessing losses on a scale that is difficult to grasp. The sudden, violent and horrifying death of thousands of innocent people and the destruction of spectacular landmark buildings viewed over and over again via TV by millions of people has spread grief and sadness around the world. Those who lost loved ones, of course, have suffered most. We are all grieving with them. Giving whatever assistance we can to the victims' families, as well as reaching out to help each other carry our loads in our own communities during this difficult time is essential to help us all heal. Being there for a friend, or reaching out to someone we don't know who is suffering deeply is what is needed, rather than focusing on retribution and revenge.
Needless to say, this is a terrible tragedy. It is also an opportunity for each of us to examine our lives, to re-evaluate what is essential and important in our existence, and to discern how each of us can each help to transform this tragedy into a time of coming together for a common cause--eliminating violence and hate by spreading love and compassion.