27: A Year of Death

Facing the 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, again and again, returning in waves with new shock, more to process, more to carry, more to ache for, back to back, until it became 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 others times not. And 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, and of dreams, hopes, and beliefs in a life I wanted so dearly but is clear now 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 have 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. Internally, I did die. And I almost forced the physical manifestation of it too. But after being interrupted, I leaned on those closest, and they called me back home with their warmth, their company, their love, nurturance, and presence. Over 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 journey’s, 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 somehow.

Still, there’s only forward from here. Strange, how at a point in time, that never seemed to be an option, simply something that just was.

I couldn’t even take it day by day. I took it moment by moment, breath by breath.

To even have made it to my 28th year I’d say is a victory in and of itself. I did not see myself smiling, or even breathing for this day. I’m glad I held on.

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 an openness and surrender I’ve seemed to have become far too familiar with.

And though this new beginning is bittersweet, I’m at least glad it’s here nonetheless. There is so much in my life for that 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 for, 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 watched myself regain my glow and accomplish so much, I know I’ll be able to do it again. This time I’m not totally starting from scratch and I’m more supported than ever now 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 healing from this is the one who knows that all I have shared here is a glossed over understatement of something that broke me in ways that have changed me forever. It’s the one that will break when she remembers, the part of me that will still weep and scream when certain things come back to her from one simple word, a single sound, a sight that takes her back there. 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 many years until I’ve recovered from this. But I at least know now I can hold gratitude for the lessons that’ll 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.