In my search for healing, I've come across many things that have helped me. Because of my traumatic brain injury and other issues, I am very sensitive. Therefore I have chosen to use as many natural modalities as possible to support my recovery. One of the first areas I realized I was reactive to was scents. Room deodorizers, laundry soaps and fabric softeners, perfume and cologne, incense, and candles can cause me to react with sinus congestion and/or asthmatic flair up not to mention a very intense headache or nausea. To reduce this exposure, I use only borax or Dawn for stains in my laundry. I don't use fabric softener. I use my earthing sheet to remove any static electricity. I don't use most perfumes but have been known to use a very high quality, pure essential oil such as lavender or vanilla. The only candles I'll use are beeswax or palm wax with very light, natural scents. As for incense, I only use very, very pure ones and not often.
Light is another huge area of sensitivity for me. When I am in yellow or off white light, my eyes water, I may get a headache, or become extremely irritable and tense. I do my best to use very clean light. Revere light bulbs, natural sunlight unless it contains a lot of glare, or very minimal lighting suits me best. Fluorescent is by far the worst for me and I really can't tolerate it for long. I'm one of those people who hears the buzzing in them. Mega stores are not places I go to often.
Movement is another area of sensitivity. I am bothered by fast pictures, traffic, sounds, or movement of others. I can process things much better when things are slowed down. People don't need to speak excessively slowly but I do much better with little or no background nose or distractions.
Food is another gigantic area for me to handle. I do my best to avoid all conventional and most organic soy and corn, including high fructose corn syrup. I avoid processed food. I do my best to consume organic, non-genetically modified (non-gmo) foods. I will occasionally eat conventional wheat, sugar or flour but really keep it to a minimum. I don't eat dairy except for a rare occasion of butter. My diet is largely plant based.
I agree with David Wolfe, Daniel Vitalis, and many other whole food/raw food consumers that eating food as close to nature is important. I do take a few supplements but most of my nutrition comes from whole foods. I take raw cacao for magnesium and combine it with cinnamon along with some raw, unheated honey. I do use chaga, reishi and rhemannia herbs in teas. I take lion's mane mushroom capsules and gingko biloba for neurological support. I consume healthy fats to also help support my neurological system such as spirulina, coconut oil, krill or high quality fish oil, and COQ10.
When I was younger, I had chronic allergies and frequent colds. Because of my changes in diet, removing dairy specifically, I am rarely sick and my allergies at their worst can be dealt with by taking quercetin and/or nettles.
Even after years of black mold exposure, my system is healing. I particularly like non-gmo D-Ribose to help with energy. When my electrolytes are not up where they need to be, I turn to raw, unheated coconut water. It makes me feel better faster than anything else I've tried. I am not trying to be redundant in saying, raw and unheated. Sadly food labeling does allow for products to be labeled raw even though they have been heated. Heating does remove some degree of nutrition and when enzymes and phytonutritients are involved, heating doesn't allow for these precious nutrients to stay in tact.
I love the kirlian photography of foods that David Wolfe offers in his book Superfoods: The Food and Medicine of the Future. I can feel the difference in the types of foods I eat. I believe that spiritually we do receive energy from what we take into our bodies. If we eat or drink when we are angry, sad or fearful, we are not getting all that the food is capable of sharing with us. Eating like praying is sacred and I believe we need to consume our food with honor and gratitude.
My sensitivity is something I have needed to accept about myself. Some people have honored it and some have critiqued it. I am not one of those types who can handle anything anywhere. I need to honor myself and accept that I do need quiet, peace, reflection, gentleness, and kindness. Sometimes it's a challenge to be so sensitive in such an insensitive world, yet I have found that if I honor this gift than interestingly so do others.
References:
http://www.earthing.com
http://www.danielvitalis.com
http://www.davidwolfe.com/
Wolfe, D. (2009) Superfoods: The Food and Medicine of the Future Berkely, California: North Atlantic Books.
Tuesday, January 20, 2015
Monday, January 19, 2015
Unique journeys
I was reading a friend's blog this morning, http://luminousblue5.com/, where she was talking about her feelings of grief. One of the most striking parts of her sharing was on how isolated she felt with some of her deepest feelings. It's not that she's lonely or even physically isolated, she's actually quite connected. The isolation she meant was about how some experiences in life are very uniquely our own. No one else can quite comprehend how these events have forever changed us. I can relate to her process.
Like many people I have experienced many losses yet there is one that is uniquely my own. I've had many discussions with people about the difference between losing something you once had vs never having it at all. This can be true for money, love, success, fame, functionality, pain, connection, spirituality and a host of others. Most of us, being the mortals we are, believe at a very primitive level that our experience is the most intense and for us, certainly it is. We know that our pain and heartache trumps others at some of the deepest parts of our being. To me, there is no way to compare experiences. Each of us have had the gambit of experiences that we call life.
As I have referred to earlier posts, I am unique in many ways. My perceptions of things are very similar to some and quite different from others. One of my differences is that I did not go through life as a high functioning person and then have my life fall into shambles because of an event. My experiences have almost always been bittersweet with a great deal of struggle. I am blessed to be bright and intuitive. A large portion of my struggles are due to damage to my brain. Seeing limitations in blood flow in parts of my brain, reduce volume, and thinning of matter explained in black and white print does not begin to express what it's like to live my life.
To add to this when practitioners learn that there was not one single event that caused it but rather a series of events that added to the damage, they seem unsure what to do with it. When they learn that my impairments are a combination of genetic and early childhood violence, they seem so stunned they can't move. In the years I worked in the mental health community, I saw violence. Whether it was veterans returning from war, survivors of family violence, or accidents that forever changed lives, the effects of trauma were everywhere. Trauma can be used to describe physical or emotional experiences. Physical traumas the world seems to handle better. It's interesting to me that if we can identify and see an impairment, we suddenly seem to be different with someone. If a person has struggles but no outward expression of it, we seem somewhat lost.
Just because someone uses a cane, walker, crutch, or wheelchair does not make them more or less disabled. It just means their lives are different from those who don't. For the many of us who struggle with chronic pain, brain dysfunctions, diabetes, immune challenges, colitis, Chron's disease, HIV, Hepatitis, or the ongoing list of invisible disabilities, we work to find a balance of asking for what we need and appearing as normal as possible. The journey for many of us is to grieve silently and hope somewhere, somehow we will find a place for expression and processing.
Spirituality is my foundation. It doesn't mean it should be for everyone. What I'm saying is that each of us needs to find something to use as our footing for going on and meeting another day. I have been blessed to not have lots of people telling me they understand how I feel and what I should be doing. I'm sure that is not everyone else's experience.
When my friend was writing she was talking about a very personal loss which is something that has forever changed her life. Her views and values in some ways are quite different from my own. We share certain core beliefs but her path through life has been different. One of the things I admire about her is her courage. I don't mean fancy, bold, public courage necessarily. I refer rather to her quiet, persevering, commitment to love. She is determined to live her life from a place of love rather than fear. That is not to say she is fearless because she is very human and able to feel it as much if not more than many. I do my best to face life from a place of love as well.
It's not that I couldn't make the choice to lose myself into despair. I've been to that place and choose sometimes several times a day not to return there. Choosing to fuss but not stay in anger. Choosing to see the light rather than the darkness of the days is what I decided I needed to do. Two of my favorite guides in my life have been Maya Angelou and Les Brown. Neither had an easy life and yet they chose to learn and grow through their traumas. As I have looked over their lives, I see they, like my friend, have chosen to live in love over fear. That is not to say we don't all have opinions and fire that burns deep within us. It is a choice to look up or down in life. It is a lie to believe that if you are a good person all will go easily for you. Reverend Michael Bernard Beckwith, another one of my favorite people, talks about choice and how important believing that we are not victims of circumstance is.
I honor my path even though some days I deeply tire from it. I honor others' paths. None of us know what lies before us and yet at a very profound level we all have a choice. Do we honor ourselves in this moment? Do we realize how we respond is up to us and no one else? May all of you have the opportunity to see the possibilities in your unique journey.
Like many people I have experienced many losses yet there is one that is uniquely my own. I've had many discussions with people about the difference between losing something you once had vs never having it at all. This can be true for money, love, success, fame, functionality, pain, connection, spirituality and a host of others. Most of us, being the mortals we are, believe at a very primitive level that our experience is the most intense and for us, certainly it is. We know that our pain and heartache trumps others at some of the deepest parts of our being. To me, there is no way to compare experiences. Each of us have had the gambit of experiences that we call life.
As I have referred to earlier posts, I am unique in many ways. My perceptions of things are very similar to some and quite different from others. One of my differences is that I did not go through life as a high functioning person and then have my life fall into shambles because of an event. My experiences have almost always been bittersweet with a great deal of struggle. I am blessed to be bright and intuitive. A large portion of my struggles are due to damage to my brain. Seeing limitations in blood flow in parts of my brain, reduce volume, and thinning of matter explained in black and white print does not begin to express what it's like to live my life.
To add to this when practitioners learn that there was not one single event that caused it but rather a series of events that added to the damage, they seem unsure what to do with it. When they learn that my impairments are a combination of genetic and early childhood violence, they seem so stunned they can't move. In the years I worked in the mental health community, I saw violence. Whether it was veterans returning from war, survivors of family violence, or accidents that forever changed lives, the effects of trauma were everywhere. Trauma can be used to describe physical or emotional experiences. Physical traumas the world seems to handle better. It's interesting to me that if we can identify and see an impairment, we suddenly seem to be different with someone. If a person has struggles but no outward expression of it, we seem somewhat lost.
Just because someone uses a cane, walker, crutch, or wheelchair does not make them more or less disabled. It just means their lives are different from those who don't. For the many of us who struggle with chronic pain, brain dysfunctions, diabetes, immune challenges, colitis, Chron's disease, HIV, Hepatitis, or the ongoing list of invisible disabilities, we work to find a balance of asking for what we need and appearing as normal as possible. The journey for many of us is to grieve silently and hope somewhere, somehow we will find a place for expression and processing.
Spirituality is my foundation. It doesn't mean it should be for everyone. What I'm saying is that each of us needs to find something to use as our footing for going on and meeting another day. I have been blessed to not have lots of people telling me they understand how I feel and what I should be doing. I'm sure that is not everyone else's experience.
When my friend was writing she was talking about a very personal loss which is something that has forever changed her life. Her views and values in some ways are quite different from my own. We share certain core beliefs but her path through life has been different. One of the things I admire about her is her courage. I don't mean fancy, bold, public courage necessarily. I refer rather to her quiet, persevering, commitment to love. She is determined to live her life from a place of love rather than fear. That is not to say she is fearless because she is very human and able to feel it as much if not more than many. I do my best to face life from a place of love as well.
It's not that I couldn't make the choice to lose myself into despair. I've been to that place and choose sometimes several times a day not to return there. Choosing to fuss but not stay in anger. Choosing to see the light rather than the darkness of the days is what I decided I needed to do. Two of my favorite guides in my life have been Maya Angelou and Les Brown. Neither had an easy life and yet they chose to learn and grow through their traumas. As I have looked over their lives, I see they, like my friend, have chosen to live in love over fear. That is not to say we don't all have opinions and fire that burns deep within us. It is a choice to look up or down in life. It is a lie to believe that if you are a good person all will go easily for you. Reverend Michael Bernard Beckwith, another one of my favorite people, talks about choice and how important believing that we are not victims of circumstance is.
I honor my path even though some days I deeply tire from it. I honor others' paths. None of us know what lies before us and yet at a very profound level we all have a choice. Do we honor ourselves in this moment? Do we realize how we respond is up to us and no one else? May all of you have the opportunity to see the possibilities in your unique journey.
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
I miss them so
Lately I have been reminded of several losses in my life. Rather than dwell on the deep sadness I feel, I would like to honor these special people in my life. First are my grandparents, Ben and Bess. My paternal grandparents were Slavic immigrants who came to the United States via Ellis Island. Bess was a woman who was deeply passionate about her children and her husband. If she loved you, you could do no wrong. If she didn't, truly, you could do nothing right. One of her best pieces of advice to her daughters was: "Love no man with all of your heart. Save some for yourself." Quite enlightened words for someone who emigrated when she was only twelve years old.
My grandfather loved music, poetry, and nature's beauty. He even named his youngest daughter Blossom in honor of the beautiful apple blossoms in the Spring in the Northeast. He also emigrated when he was quite young. Like my grandmother, he too worked in the sewing factories like many other immigrants of their time. Eventually they turned to farming, raising a family, and doing their best to live a spiritual but non-religious life. To them religion was rigid and unyielding whereas spirituality enriched their awareness and meaning of life.
I learned about leukemia and what it was during my first grade year in school. My best friend missed many days of class and yet when she was there, she was gentle and kind. I knew she was sick but I had no idea that she was to leave this earth so soon. In looking back I can understand why she and I got along. She seemed like the only one who seemed to not judge or critique my traumatic brain injury challenges. We both had our good days and bad. When I heard from a fellow student and then our teacher that my friend had died, I felt like the world was cruel. How could I lose my friend? Where did she go? Why could I not see her ever again? In the years that have passed, I have thought of her often. I feel blessed to have known her and am grateful for her friendship.
My paternal aunt Syl was Blossom's sister. Syl was an independent, opinionated, passionate soul who did her best to live her life deeply from her heart. She would often advocate for her patients despite the doctors' disapproval. During her nursing career, she went from conventional medical care to work using chelation to help patients detox and strengthen their systems. My aunt loved nature and deeply honored her family and was the glue that kept many of us connected. I remember the last day I saw her. She was in a hospital bed, dying of bone cancer. Despite her pain, she still reached out to me when I spoke to her. Even though she never opened her eyes that day, the warmth of her touch has stayed with me over twenty years later.
During my community college days, I met a gentleman who worked in the audio visual department. After an evening's performance of California Suite, he and I both attended the cast party. We had talked on occasions prior to that night and were friendly. That night he complimented me on the job I did in the play and asked me to dance. At the end of the night he walked me to my car and gently kissed me goodnight. This would be the last night I would see him. After the party, he went home and took his life. He was a very kind and pleasant man with a delightful sense of humor. On the outside, no one knew his pain. I remember walking past his office wondering how this man could be so alive and then so quickly gone from this earth. I felt a deep emptiness as I passed that department for months. Things would be forever changed without him.
The death of my father came at the end of a two week visit back East. My mother had called one night and told me that she couldn't handle him this night. She had been his primary care giver during the last eighteen months of his life while he had advanced Alzheimer's disease. This night she called for an ambulance to help get him up off of the floor and it was to be the beginning of the end. After a trip to the emergency room by ambulance, admission to the local hospital, he was discharged into hospice care over an hour from my parents' home. I remember the last time she and I saw him. We had already explained to his doctor that we didn't want him to suffer and that he should be made as comfortable as possible. The last day as he lay in bed unconscious, my mother and I said our goodbyes. It was not emotional or sappy, just as he would have wanted. That night we received the phone call that he had passed. During his funeral, I spoke and then I presented the honor guard. The military members who numbered more than our family at the service came out, did a twenty one gun salute, folded and then presented my father's military flag to my mother. It was during their brilliant performance that I sobbed. Perhaps it was for the amazing ritual I saw, maybe for the tears in my mother's eyes, or just maybe it was because the strongest man I ever knew was now being laid to rest. I cried like I never had before that day or after. To lose my father, who certainly was not flawless yet was my hero none the less, was an experience that has changed me forever.
I have lost other friends and family and numerous beloved animals which I may write about another day. This day is about honoring these very special people who touched my life and have moved on. Sometimes I miss them so much. Some days it's hard to remember details I swore I would never forget. Perhaps in understanding more of my own challenges, I feel it necessary to look at loss in a whole new way. Grief, like love, is ever changing and perhaps expanding. I have lost a lot of those I considered my closest family. My identity was wrapped into those people, schools, and moments. As I move along my journey to healing, I will treasure all that these wonderful people gave me and helped me to become.
My grandfather loved music, poetry, and nature's beauty. He even named his youngest daughter Blossom in honor of the beautiful apple blossoms in the Spring in the Northeast. He also emigrated when he was quite young. Like my grandmother, he too worked in the sewing factories like many other immigrants of their time. Eventually they turned to farming, raising a family, and doing their best to live a spiritual but non-religious life. To them religion was rigid and unyielding whereas spirituality enriched their awareness and meaning of life.
I learned about leukemia and what it was during my first grade year in school. My best friend missed many days of class and yet when she was there, she was gentle and kind. I knew she was sick but I had no idea that she was to leave this earth so soon. In looking back I can understand why she and I got along. She seemed like the only one who seemed to not judge or critique my traumatic brain injury challenges. We both had our good days and bad. When I heard from a fellow student and then our teacher that my friend had died, I felt like the world was cruel. How could I lose my friend? Where did she go? Why could I not see her ever again? In the years that have passed, I have thought of her often. I feel blessed to have known her and am grateful for her friendship.
My paternal aunt Syl was Blossom's sister. Syl was an independent, opinionated, passionate soul who did her best to live her life deeply from her heart. She would often advocate for her patients despite the doctors' disapproval. During her nursing career, she went from conventional medical care to work using chelation to help patients detox and strengthen their systems. My aunt loved nature and deeply honored her family and was the glue that kept many of us connected. I remember the last day I saw her. She was in a hospital bed, dying of bone cancer. Despite her pain, she still reached out to me when I spoke to her. Even though she never opened her eyes that day, the warmth of her touch has stayed with me over twenty years later.
During my community college days, I met a gentleman who worked in the audio visual department. After an evening's performance of California Suite, he and I both attended the cast party. We had talked on occasions prior to that night and were friendly. That night he complimented me on the job I did in the play and asked me to dance. At the end of the night he walked me to my car and gently kissed me goodnight. This would be the last night I would see him. After the party, he went home and took his life. He was a very kind and pleasant man with a delightful sense of humor. On the outside, no one knew his pain. I remember walking past his office wondering how this man could be so alive and then so quickly gone from this earth. I felt a deep emptiness as I passed that department for months. Things would be forever changed without him.
The death of my father came at the end of a two week visit back East. My mother had called one night and told me that she couldn't handle him this night. She had been his primary care giver during the last eighteen months of his life while he had advanced Alzheimer's disease. This night she called for an ambulance to help get him up off of the floor and it was to be the beginning of the end. After a trip to the emergency room by ambulance, admission to the local hospital, he was discharged into hospice care over an hour from my parents' home. I remember the last time she and I saw him. We had already explained to his doctor that we didn't want him to suffer and that he should be made as comfortable as possible. The last day as he lay in bed unconscious, my mother and I said our goodbyes. It was not emotional or sappy, just as he would have wanted. That night we received the phone call that he had passed. During his funeral, I spoke and then I presented the honor guard. The military members who numbered more than our family at the service came out, did a twenty one gun salute, folded and then presented my father's military flag to my mother. It was during their brilliant performance that I sobbed. Perhaps it was for the amazing ritual I saw, maybe for the tears in my mother's eyes, or just maybe it was because the strongest man I ever knew was now being laid to rest. I cried like I never had before that day or after. To lose my father, who certainly was not flawless yet was my hero none the less, was an experience that has changed me forever.
I have lost other friends and family and numerous beloved animals which I may write about another day. This day is about honoring these very special people who touched my life and have moved on. Sometimes I miss them so much. Some days it's hard to remember details I swore I would never forget. Perhaps in understanding more of my own challenges, I feel it necessary to look at loss in a whole new way. Grief, like love, is ever changing and perhaps expanding. I have lost a lot of those I considered my closest family. My identity was wrapped into those people, schools, and moments. As I move along my journey to healing, I will treasure all that these wonderful people gave me and helped me to become.
Friday, January 9, 2015
Quality of Life
The term "quality of life" means different things to different people. For me, it's shifted through the years. Being raised in the country, my family and I saw life as a cycle. We watched aging beings, both human and animal, live and die and we honored this process. There were occasions when we questioned what was happening and wondered why suffering happened in so many lives. As I got older, I realized that people have frequently been put in situations where life and death decisions need to be made. Having animals euthanized is never an easy decision, and as a dear friend of mine once said: "Putting an animal to sleep is not easy, nor should it be." However, in my belief system there does come a time, with some, where suffering needs to end with a helping hand.
In the human world, hospice has been a tremendous opportunity for cultures to process their grief and transitions. Funerals have never been a ritual that feels right to me. Memorials on the other hand seem to make sense to me and help with the processing of such deep emotions. After a year and half of enduring Alzheimer's disease, my father was unable to stay at home and have my mother be his primary caregiver. When he was in the hospice unit those last few days, I remember the compassion of his doctor. The man honored my father when he spoke of his military service in World War II and the years he was a merchant marine. The doctor has also served as a merchant seaman. He told my mother and me that he could make my father comfortable with morphine even though it would shorten his life. My dad was 91 and his organs were tired and shutting down. We immediately and without a doubt told the doctor to make him comfortable. My mother and I said our goodbyes to a body whose spirit was leaving and that night, my father left this world. The kindness shown to my parents and me by this doctor and his staff was something that deeply touched me. To them, peace and comfort were guiding principles in quality of life.
One of my paternal aunts was dying in a hospital of bone cancer in the early 1990's. She recognized my voice and could reach out for me even though she never opened her eyes. The last day I saw her alive, she was in pain. The hospital's rules forbid giving her enough medication to make her comfortable. Hospice was not an option she was given. I remember leaving her room, walking into the hallway and sobbing into a friend's arms. It hurt me that someone who spent decades being a nurse to comfort the suffering was not able to find peace in her dying days. I choose to believe that death gave her the comfort she sought.
I'm writing about this topic because today was the day my husband and I decided to yet again address the quality of life of one of our animals. This time it is a young cat whose neurological issues are impairing her quality of life. As we keep her comfortable, waiting to see if there is a change, we somehow deeply know that the time for her to transition on is sooner than later. This has been a pattern for us over the last year. August brought us saying goodbye to our just shy of 13 year old Bouvier des Flandres dog. April had us saying goodbye to our first Bouvier, sister to the one in August, and our big beautiful black and white kitty. It has been a huge set of transitions and even now the concept of quality of life is no clearer in our minds and hearts.
My husband and I are both spiritual people and for me I deeply believe death is just part of our cycle of life. My husband is still shifting through the old messages of death and suffering. As I reflect on life and death and quality of life, I think of my own mortality. My life has been a lot of things and suffering has been a part of it. I don't enjoy the suffering part. I do my best to honor it. As Les Brown says: "This has not come to stay. It has come to pass." Lots of events, moments, losses, and joys have come and passed to some extent. I am forever changed by the occurrences in my life and for the most part I would say broadened and deepened by them.
It is not without sadness that I face my mortality and that of others. It is with perseverance and strong spiritual faith that I face what is to come. I am grateful for the connection I've had with those who have crossed on.
Maya Angelou was a great influence in my life and her transition deeply saddened me. I know her spirit and legacy will shine on and I am grateful for the gifts she brought and shared in this world. It's easy to get lost in what was and how things used to be. For me and the many transitions in my life, I am humbled and somehow empowered. Truly, this has not come to stay but rather it has come to pass.
In the human world, hospice has been a tremendous opportunity for cultures to process their grief and transitions. Funerals have never been a ritual that feels right to me. Memorials on the other hand seem to make sense to me and help with the processing of such deep emotions. After a year and half of enduring Alzheimer's disease, my father was unable to stay at home and have my mother be his primary caregiver. When he was in the hospice unit those last few days, I remember the compassion of his doctor. The man honored my father when he spoke of his military service in World War II and the years he was a merchant marine. The doctor has also served as a merchant seaman. He told my mother and me that he could make my father comfortable with morphine even though it would shorten his life. My dad was 91 and his organs were tired and shutting down. We immediately and without a doubt told the doctor to make him comfortable. My mother and I said our goodbyes to a body whose spirit was leaving and that night, my father left this world. The kindness shown to my parents and me by this doctor and his staff was something that deeply touched me. To them, peace and comfort were guiding principles in quality of life.
One of my paternal aunts was dying in a hospital of bone cancer in the early 1990's. She recognized my voice and could reach out for me even though she never opened her eyes. The last day I saw her alive, she was in pain. The hospital's rules forbid giving her enough medication to make her comfortable. Hospice was not an option she was given. I remember leaving her room, walking into the hallway and sobbing into a friend's arms. It hurt me that someone who spent decades being a nurse to comfort the suffering was not able to find peace in her dying days. I choose to believe that death gave her the comfort she sought.
I'm writing about this topic because today was the day my husband and I decided to yet again address the quality of life of one of our animals. This time it is a young cat whose neurological issues are impairing her quality of life. As we keep her comfortable, waiting to see if there is a change, we somehow deeply know that the time for her to transition on is sooner than later. This has been a pattern for us over the last year. August brought us saying goodbye to our just shy of 13 year old Bouvier des Flandres dog. April had us saying goodbye to our first Bouvier, sister to the one in August, and our big beautiful black and white kitty. It has been a huge set of transitions and even now the concept of quality of life is no clearer in our minds and hearts.
My husband and I are both spiritual people and for me I deeply believe death is just part of our cycle of life. My husband is still shifting through the old messages of death and suffering. As I reflect on life and death and quality of life, I think of my own mortality. My life has been a lot of things and suffering has been a part of it. I don't enjoy the suffering part. I do my best to honor it. As Les Brown says: "This has not come to stay. It has come to pass." Lots of events, moments, losses, and joys have come and passed to some extent. I am forever changed by the occurrences in my life and for the most part I would say broadened and deepened by them.
It is not without sadness that I face my mortality and that of others. It is with perseverance and strong spiritual faith that I face what is to come. I am grateful for the connection I've had with those who have crossed on.
Maya Angelou was a great influence in my life and her transition deeply saddened me. I know her spirit and legacy will shine on and I am grateful for the gifts she brought and shared in this world. It's easy to get lost in what was and how things used to be. For me and the many transitions in my life, I am humbled and somehow empowered. Truly, this has not come to stay but rather it has come to pass.
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