TGIF :: Holding Space for Grief & Gratitude

#68 || Allowing, while honoring the loss of a dear, dear friend

Aug 23, 2024

On Wednesday evening, our dear (Great) Aunt Judy passed away after a shockingly quick decline—just a handful of months after she lost her beloved of 60+ years, our Uncle Bill. She was a dear friend, yet much more than that. An anchor and lighthouse at once, the closest thing I’ve had to a mother-like figure throughout adulthood.

Just last week we’d had one of our usual calls, covering everything from my son’s college pursuits to her dog’s wellbeing… a dish she served at a recent gathering and the comfort of a good stuffed animal. I think she commented on how much I have going on, her way of saying: I see you. Maybe slow down a bit? It’s hard to believe how quickly she went from up and about—still driving her red mustang to a manicure and cooking meals for loved ones—to gone.

Wildflowers

Our lifelong connection was sparked when I was a toddler. We met at a summer gathering at our shared relatives’ summer home, “The Little Red House” in West Pennsylvania in the late 1970s. We just had a special bond from the start—something unexplainable.

We never lived less than 3,000 miles apart, but we managed to nurture a deep and special friendship that evolved and grew as we did with letters, calls, gift exchanges, and treasured visits.

She taught me about wildflowers, how to identify them, pick, and save them—during meandering strolls on country roads. Queen Ann’s Lace, she noted, was a special one—strong, yet delicate at once. Forty years later, as I chased our heritage on a solo journey through West Scotland, she was the one who brought my attention from history, castles, and big skies back to the wild nature around me, “Keep an eye out for the national flower, the thistle.”

Magic

It was at that very young age when she started to teach me about how to see messages and symbols in nature—bird breeds and pawprints—sparking early inklings of what I’d later embrace as a Spirit-informed path.

Over the decades, she sent me countless tattered black and white pictures, preserved letters and mementos, all with handwritten letters sharing the details of each. It is thanks to her that I know the stories that accompany names, addresses, marriages, and pursuits.

She told me tales of my grandparents and great-grandparents—and the matriarchal line that I’d later learn ran all the way back to the ruins of castles in Scotland—a regal lot cloaked in tales of might, humility, and grace.

She filled in blanks about my parents and her parents, helping me to understand our family, my childhood—and hers—in ways that sparked a deep compassion and understanding… Love.

She was the embodiment of strength and grace, capability and kindness, sensibility and levity, thoughtfulness and self-reliance—all somehow in all the right doses, at the right time, in the right place.

Our friendship feels like a work of art and love, assembled over the decades with countless hours on the phone, hundreds of letters… and overall being there for each other in ways we could have never imagined or scripted—in oh so many important and special moments.

And she somehow never missed a family member’s birthday or chance to send meaningful gifts and themed chocolates for a range of kid-friendly holidays, each and every year.

Special

As I shared with my sons through tears on Wednesday, she was somewhat of an adopted mother to me. In helping me understand both where I came from and how to move forward, she helped me make sense of things. I leaned into her guidance on right and wrong when I struggled to navigate on my own. She was there through early triumphs and disappointments, complicated career choices, the intensity of heartbreaks and heart openings, unexpected health hurdles, delicate home shifts, and my somewhat disruptive and definitely unexpected ClearLife path.

And though we were different, we always found our common ground. She attended and supported her church as I explored and participated in meditation and retreats. She enjoyed chardonnay and garden cocktail hours as I stuck with herbal tea and women’s’ circles. Above all else we reminded each other of what is most important while also sharing an appreciation for a few practicalities too—a good black jacket, meaningful jewelry, and a well-curated dinner party.

Enduring

I see and feel her everywhere. She is in the bird in the tree outside my window, the song playing in the background in the grocery store, and the butterfly ahead of me as I walk down the sidewalk.

And I hear her guidance, her voice as clear as it has been on the phone, our primary way of connecting across thousands of miles, for decades:

Never underestimate the power of dear friends. They will be there when the kids are gone, maybe partners too.
There is a right way when it comes to table manners, thank you notes, and whether your nails and hair are done. Period.
Not everything needs to be said.
When people show you who they are, trust them.
When you don’t know what to do, look for a sign.
When a loved one is in need, don’t ask, do.
Angels are everywhere, you just need to look for them.
The answer is already inside you.
Leave a mark, not a stain.
…. and, You are special.

Since

I buy and pick flowers. We light a candle. Then another. Hugs.

I take a moment to sense her here, and imagine what she’d say.

I trust she is well and envision her free—and happy, walking hand in hand with her Bill.

I am learning that we can stay connected in unexplainable ways. In fact, we will, we are.

And I am letting myself feel. What a blessing to feel. I can sense how different this is, I am, since losing my mom 13 years ago. I am letting it in and through.

Allowing

I am who I am because of our blessed connection. ClearLife exists in many ways because of Aunt Judy—at least the magic part, the listening to intuition part, the connection with Nature as a source of Spirit part… The “keep going” part.

So, I am allowing the feelings. I am reminding myself that a gift of ClearLife is rediscovering the intensity of the spectrum of the human experience. I’ve learned that dimmers keep us in the “messy middle” so when we get clear, we have greater access to pain—and profound joy. The key is to not resist. May we allow.

Present

Today I fully and deeply mourn and celebrate her and our rare and precious friendship. What a blessing.

I delight in seeing her, free from any pain and back together with her beloved Bill.

I feel the weight of loss heavy in my chest and the wetness in my eyes when I realize I won’t be able to call or visit her again. And it’s okay.

We’ve been close for decades despite thousands of miles between us. I can see now—so clearly—how she helped me prepare for what’s next with her trademark might and grace. Going forward, we get to apply all of that magical, intuitive, unexplainable connection to communicating in new ways. I am learning.

A bird. A sound. A flower. A memory. A breeze.

A mark you left, indeed, Judy.

Forever grateful. You live on. ❤️