Threads

This morning was a busy one for me. Early morning was in family court for one of my Guardian Ad Litem cases. I can't say much other than this case like many involves one of our deep societal problems and has a family on the precipice of pain and love It's only the beginning of this chapter of their story.

The hearing went over by 20 minutes and then I had to rush to the hospital for my mammogram. Mammograms are extremely difficult to schedule here in Vermont taking at least a year. The last time I had one of those was during Covid and after Jim died. It had been the first time I returned to the hospital since his chemo ended. That time it left me in tears and shaken for the rest of the day. This is almost five years later and though I felt some of those grief jolts, I've learned how to move through them.

On the drive home, I was thinking about the brokenness of the family and the broken parts of my life. I've been broken a few times: my first marriage, my parents' deaths, and Jim's cancer and death, then the entire four years afterward. Each year subtly shifting. I've shared this before but its worth sharing again, the Tonkins Theory of Grief, I have found, it is a true representation of how grief feels for me.  It is illustrated by grief always remaining the same size but that our life experiences growing us around it.

My drive home raised questions for me such as how will this family overcome their difficulties? How will their story play out? Likewise, about these difficult and disruptive times our nation is in right now, how will we work our way out of this ugly divisiveness? And then turning to myself, how will I and those I love make it through? I was struck on my way home about how some folks seem to have sad storylines, such as this family, such as myself, and then I realized so do so many other people I know. I thought what's the point if so many of us live with this sense of sorrow—and all lives end in decay and grief?

I was in that thought as I drove along the river on my way home when the beauty of Spring's opening violet purples, golds, and dark navy skies caused in me a sort of awe. I call it the awe of God. It occurred to me that life was really about that, recognizing the beauty of this world, of the awe that surrounds us if we are brave and open to it. This is the time of year that that beauty passes back and forth—from morning frosts to blooming spring flowers, to ice covered ponds to young children catching frogs in a pond, from empty nest boxes to blue birds house hunting while flying up and down, back and forth in infinity symbols.

I have no real religion and am unsure of an afterlife (though I sure as Hades hope to reunite with Jim, Mom, Dad, many others I've lost, and of course, all my pets).  I am deeply curious about other cultures and religions and their thoughts on this. For instance, did you know that the Greeks and Romans believed in an underworld where all humans went upon dying but it was gloomy, forlorn, and depressing. The dead were merely "shades" of their former selves. What a thing to look forward to! My understanding of Judaism which I've only recently been exploring after taking an amazing class on dreams through the local synagogue is probably flawed but I find it enchanting. They believe there is only this life yet they have a very strong belief in God. So you might think "why believe in that?". What they believe God provides is for the continuation of their humanity through the continuation of their children, their children's children, and their people. It's rather beautifully selfless.

My trip to Egypt this Spring gave me a deep understanding of ancient Egyptians' beliefs. They had many intriguing gods, similar and yet different from the Greek and Roman gods that would follow. It requires a full post in itself to dig into and I hope to but suffice it to say, they believed that the afterworld was the same as this one—if you could enter it. If you were a baker, you continued to bake, a brick layer, you continued to lay bricks, and most importantly if you were a pharaoh, though part God yourself, you were still required to advocate to the gods for the safety and prosperity of Egypt and its people. However, what I really learned in Egypt was beyond words—it was about light, and form, color and  language, and storytelling. Their tombs were a stunningly beautiful, physical home for those who were traversing from death to infinity. The instructions for that passage covering the walls and ceiling. After death, the dead existed in both spaces.

Almost as if they were a thread in one of their beautiful weavings, the dead flowed in and out of death and infinity influencing this world. In pondering as I was this morning on my drive, my thought was that the Infinite Universal is that thread. The thread of beauty and hope they even in our darkest moments, if we can be open to seeing life fully, our stories transform. That stabilizes me and makes my life not a sad story but a life that incorporates the richness of existence, of sorrow, joy, and love. Life is all about fully being engaged in the here and now, and when its seems most difficult, to breathe deeply the beauty that is here and just beyond our understanding.