Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I read John Lewis' message to be delivered after his death, and it touched me.  I especially like the line that "democracy is an act".  I'd already been contemplating whether it is better to leave a message for when you die.  My daughter did not, and though I understand her reasons, and those of both my parents who did not because they were younger than I am now, I feel that my brother's note left on his desk, though it didn't answer a lot of questions, truly comforted me as I organized his estate, packed up some of his things to take with me, and faced his suicide. 
I understand that we cannot say everything and cover every base in a note, but for me words have always had power and comforted.  Now had my brother said harsh things undoubtedly I would feel differently, but his message was one of love and no blame.  There was no anger or regret.  He just wanted me to know he loved me. 
I know my children and grandchildren know I love them by my ACTS, and I tell them, but I really want to leave them each a message as well.  Tackling it will be hard.  Choosing the words must be my greatest act of right speech.  But I want to try.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I sent 100  postcards yesterday morning to remind women to vote.  I'm not trying to persuade women to vote a particular way, only to have their voices heard.  Women could change this country around, but only if they care enough to exercise the right women before have died and suffered to give them.  I know it's hard for women to have the luxury to read up on issues and be informed when they do the vast majority of the the work and childcare in the home whether they work outside the home or not.  I'm especially hoping grandmas like myself decide to participate fully in this election and speak up for their children and grandchildren.  I plan to send a lot more reminders before November, and I do it in the name of my granddaughter.  Let us have a chance to govern.  We can't do any worse than the men have.  I personally believe we can do better.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Today I read in Apple news on my phone that National Parks are being trashed and abused.  It seems that hordes of new visitors to these places have no experience of respect and gentle treatment of the parks, and abuse the privilege of being there.  Parks like Rocky Mountain, the Grand Canyon and others are littered with human waste and food.   Native American reservations adjacent to these parks are trying to control entrance, as their populations are so vulnerable to viruses, and many have been hit by Covid 19 extremely disproportionately to their population numbers.  Fragile vegetation is being trampled and trails abused by all terrain vehicles.  People in masks are being ridiculed and bullied by these people.
When we were at our cabin, which is situated in a National Forest, my friend and I were ridiculed by a cabin owner who called our masks "diapers".  Four times he used the term.  He was contemptuous of us though our masks protected him more than us.  Was he angry because we were female?  He kept saying his daughter was a lazy bum and bragged that his wife was thirty years younger than he.  We were stunned.  We were on a path minding our own business, and he walked out of the back of his cabin to target us.  We're both five feet tall, so I guess he thought he could "handle" us.  We were both disturbed and never went on that path again. 
No respect for the earth upon which we live seems to be a theme for the moment.  I'm praying we realize our interconnectedness and stewardship of nature, which supports and benefits us in so many ways.  I hope this craziness ceases.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I've been at our cabin for three weeks with dear friends next door.  I didn't see them much but it was enough and comforting.  We had our younger son, his wife and child for week, then the last week our younger daughter and two grandsons, with her husband coming up both weekends.  The kids are a great tonic, delightful and distracting, and they exhausted me in a good way.  I woke up at six am to help and fell into bed at ten pm.  Last evening, as we were saying goodbye to our friends renting the cabin next door, me right beside my friend at the picnic table, a pine cone fell and hit her forehead, the bridge of her nose and her left arm.  We were shocked, and she had bleeding at all three sites, and then we discovered her eyeglass lens had been knocked out.  It fell between the deck floorboards to the underside of the cabin, and her partner and my son-in-law searched with flashlights until it was found.  The cone could have killed my friend, as it came from the great height of a sugar pine tree, and I was confronted with the randomness and strangeness of it all.  My first thought was it must have been meant for me, because I feel felled by grief.  Then I was stunned because my friend could have been seriously hurt or died.  I called her a couple of hours later to see how she was doing, while we were driving home, and she was fine, but it could have been me, my daughter, husband, five month old grandson, three and a half year old grandson, or my friend's partner.  Right after the lens was found, the sky erupted with thunder and rain.  We all rushed to cover beds and suitcases on both decks, then it stopped, as if a message had been sent:  treasure the moment and the ones you love, for life is fleeting and arbitrary.  

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I noticed this morning that seeing a photo of my daughter who died is so painful that I have to push through the urge not to look.  I feel confused, because in the photos she is alive, and it's reassuring, but when I think of her gone, I cannot comprehend this fact.  I have the image of her dead in my mind, but I have forty nine years of her lively, vivacious force imprinted fully as well.  When I was listening to Anam Thubten's dharma talk today, and he talked about not rejecting strong, disturbing emotions, tears came to my eyes.  I am grieving, and resisting grieving, because I feel my daughter as alive.  This is a blessing and yet disturbing.  I am suffering, but also consoled.  My heart is full of her, but darkened.  The loss is too great to accept.  I protest.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I've just spent a long time talking to my childhood friend about traveling, the state of our minds, and our kids.  We always end up laughing at our silliness, but reveling in it as well.  I've known her since we were eight years old.  We immediately became best friends when she moved to the town where I then lived, and we've kept council ever since.  We are both tribal gals, caring for our kids and grandkids, and other people's kids as well.  She was a teacher for the gifted in elementary school, and I taught elementary, high school and college kids.  We love children.  I cannot remember a time when I didn't think of having children, even as a child myself, and I am sure she'd say the same.  We really enjoy children.  I used to think I wanted seven children, because my parents had friends who had seven boys, lived on a farm, and seemed to be so happy.  Helping my older cousin out with her four kids solidified my love of kids, and four seemed the perfect number.  Ironically, she lost a son at 21 and I've now lost my daughter.  So when I talk to her on the phone, I know she knows just what I'm feeling.  I count my blessings for having had four children for so many years.  And now I have rich memories as well.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

My husband and I discussed this morning how not having a memorial service for our daughter, because of the Covid, has affected us.  My husband really misses the ritual, but I am relieved it has to be put off for a while.  For me, I can feel myself hanging by a thread, unable to make all the plans and decisions the service will require, where as he misses it as a participant, but without responsibilities.  I'm the rock, and the matriarch.  I know how to do these things, but the thought of the responsibility floors me.  I don't believe in closure, and certainly the grief for my daughter will wax and wane, but be a permanent feature of my life until I die.  Such a wound does not heal completely, though time will help.  One thing the many losses I have faced in my life has taught me is they are always with me, and at moments, alive and vivid, as if we are beyond life and death.  Right now, seeing a photo of my daughter, reading a sympathy card, just a passing glimpse of memory stabs me.  I have so many photos, paintings and mementos around me that are from her, and I looked at old photos of when she was pregnant yesterday, and her young, joyous smile made me happy and devastated at the same time.  I expect this.  This grief I know.  But a memorial service will not make any difference to me.  I will do it for all her friends and family, so that we may honor her.  But it will not take the sting away.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

It's our younger son's birthday today, and we visited him and our grandson for a while.  It's great to see him so happy and with his own family.  Not everyone wants that, but he did and now he has it.  He's had a lot on his plate being trustee of our granddaughter's trust now that his sister has died, and he and his wife would be guardians for their niece if something happened to her father, so he's been busy with trust work and settling the estate.  And at a time when we are all devastated with grief.  They are going up to the family cabin in a couple of days, and we will meet them up there next week.  Hopefully, being among the pines and firs and oaks will soothe us all.  We are tree people.  We've spent a lot of our lives walking amidst them, like old friends.  Their longevity and reach to the sky remind us we are a part of a larger organism:  the earth.