27: A Year of Death

Facing Darkness

27 was a year of death. It was probably one of the most excruciating years of my life…

And isn’t that the magic number? The 27 club? To think I might’ve actually been part of it...

This past year, I experienced grief in ways I never knew possible. It took on new forms, returning in waves with new shock, more to process, more to carry, more to ache for, back to back, until becoming an endless road I’d given up hope in seeing an end to. Even now, its tides still reach me, but they no longer drag me under.

In this past year alone, I came face to face with death more than a handful of times; metaphorically and literally. Sometimes by my own will, and other times not. I don’t mean this as literary dramatization. No. It was dark. Truly dark…

Though in the realm of spirit and psyche, death worked like it always does: demanding a dying so profound, I was forced to be born again.

Merciless Transformation

This year was merciless. Death went on for so long because I fought so hard to stay alive in all that was meant to die. It killed the deepest parts of me that have lived in my body longer than my own memory.

This one required release on every level. I lost everything. I let go of the living, people I’d never thought I’d lose, versions of self, community, my home, my son, life as I knew it, dreams, hopes, and beliefs in a life I wanted so dearly but clearly was never meant to be.

In this constant state of surrender -holding on, letting go, cycling through hope and despair, versions of myself I never knew (some I wanted gone) and others I’ve found yet again- have finally settled into this strange space. It’s as though all of that was the turning of pages. The action of it. The climax with its crescendos and disarray. And now the pages slow. They finally steady, landing with ease, more sense, more clarity as they reach their end.

The book is different now. Another sequel. Another beginning. And what an ending that was…

Breathing Again

Breathing is easier now. I no longer wish to bleed.

The ocean of my tears is but a memory I’m sure I’ll never know again. After a heart breaks to such a degree and survives, there’s little left that could shatter it the same way again. And that is that.

I have learned the depths of my love, the depths of my darkness, my anguish, and strength. What kept me standing, walking, breathing, eating…was not will alone, but the gentle care of those who sat with me through the endless night. I was dying, and quite literally so. Food had become this foreign thing my body could no longer accept.

Internally, I did die. And I almost forced the physical manifestation of it multiple times. But after the last time, I leaned on those closest, and they called me back home with their warmth, their company, their love, nurturance, and presence. In time, I eventually found my way back.

I will never forget them.

I’m now relieved to say, it’s finally over. And this story closed all on its own too.

Almost perfectly so, as if to say: “You must enter this 28th year anew.” And I have.

Entering Anew

My life is completely different now. I’ve changed too. Somehow it’s all transformed for the better, no matter how uncomfortable the process has been and sometimes continues to be. There’s so much to be grateful for.

Though life doesn’t stop, of course. This beginning brings with it new challenges, new faces, new experiences, new journeys, and new endings. Though with the growth I’ve experienced in this past year, something tells me it’ll never…ever, be like it was again. I’ve learned too much now to ever endure something like that once more. And I can’t. I simply don’t want to. But if I have no choice, at least I’ll know I’ll survive again somehow.

Still, there’s only forward from here. It’s strange how at a point in time, that never appeared as an option, simply something that just was.

I couldn’t take it day by day. I took it moment by moment, breath by breath. I hated waking. To be unconscious was a sacred gift I offered myself through accepting sleep at any moment. Sheer necessity drove my actions. Eventually, joy began to emerge in small ways.

To have made it to my 28th year I’d say is a victory. I did not see myself smiling again, or even breathing for this day. It’s odd to even admit that I’m glad I held on. I was so determined, almost reaching a point of complete nihilism. But throughout it all, I fought the closing of my heart. I made sure to feel it all until eventually there would be nothing left to grieve.

The pain isn’t entirely gone, but it’s bearable now. Grief visits me quickly when she does. Enters and leaves with grace as I allow her to pass through me with the messages she carries. Each time, granting me a new wisdom.

And though this new beginning is bittersweet, I’m glad it’s here nonetheless. There is so much in my life I can fall on my knees in gratitude for, just as much as there’s a quiet ache for all that’s been lost and that for which I still yearn, but know in time I will fully release.

May this next year be one of rebuilding.

Seeing as I’ve built myself up before from absolutely nothing, and have watched myself regain my light and accomplish so much. I know I can do it again. I’m doing it now as we speak.

This time, I’m not starting entirely from scratch, and I’m more supported than ever too. What will become of me, and my life, in the next few years I’m sure will astound me. Everything will be different. And I know it’ll be for the best.

The Ongoing Truth

The last part of me still healing from this past year, is the one who knows that all I’ve shared here is a glossed over understatement of something that broke and changed me forever. It’s the one that will crumble when she remembers, the part of me that will still weep and scream when certain memories return from a simple word, a single sound, a sight that takes her back. Though she’ll never break the way she did before, the sorrow and rage will still pay their visits to be released over the course of time.

It’ll be years until I’ve truly recovered. But I at least know now, I can hold gratitude for the lessons that continue unfolding and expanding.

As my eyes continue to clarify, and my heart open once more, truth will settle along with the dust, and revelations will follow as they always do.

And by the end of it all, I’ll be free…with new wings, and this time, truly ready to receive.