I am watching my son grieve the loss of his partner, Bill. I am stunned by the grace by which he faces this grief. He meets it daily as he takes on tasks completely new to him: calling people to break the news, helping to give away his partner’s belongings, choosing a few special items to keep himself. And those acute moments where he turns to tell Bill something–only to remember that he is gone. I clearly remember my mother going through that after my father’s fatal heart attack.
I cannot relieve my son’s pain. I can only love him unconditionally, and listen with care when he needs to talk. Or wail. Or have moments of anger that Bill didn’t attend to the clear symptoms that something was amiss.
Here we are in this raw, tender vessel called life–one big living, dying, birthing, exploding wonder. Awareness, seemingly playing out in this field called manifestation, yet never taking form, or changing form, at all.
© Amrita Skye Blaine, 2013
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