Emotional Heroes

This whole idea of death has become ever more curious to me. Not in any kind of macabre way. Rather, in the sense of how people respond when it happens. As if they expect everyone they love to live forever. Odd to me. But I'm not judging. It simply appears that people respond in all kinds of ways; and those who are in the public eye are expected to, somehow, respond differently. Again, odd to me. But perhaps this is the nature of a “public” that has not a clue that these icons are, in fact, mere mortals.

A few nights ago, whilst watching an NBA Playoff game, I was further mystified as I listened to the commentators attempt to wax poetic about one of the players going through “this difficult time”. It seems his sister had died and everyone was going on about his “heroics”; the fact that he chose to play the game rather than fly immediately to his home town to be with his family.

Now...before I go on, let me first say this: I am a giant sports fanatic. So I don't mean to undermine the valiant displays of these men and women in times of tragedy. It was just something that I noticed. And it spurred a whole chain reaction...and then... I noticed how the feathers that would have previously been ruffled (mine, that is)...were not.

Back to this chain of thought.

The comments brought to mind a game in which the remarkable Brett Favre (of NFL fame), played one of the best games of his NFL career. His father had died right before a crucial Playoff game. Everyone was going on and on about how he opted to play rather than attend the family rites. Some of those people were voicing their disagreement with his choice to play. I remember watching that game. I remember the talk of “heroics” and “dedication” and all the other clichés commentators like to use, as Brett played as if possessed. I also remember being profoundly touched by the words he spoke after he'd led his team to victory. (Not even going to try to quote all that. It was about the feeling, not the words.) I also remember thinking, “Well, SHIT. If I were in his shoes, I'd have done the same thing.” I didn't think of it as heroic. I thought it was his way of honoring his dad. And that's pretty much what he said when all those idiots kept asking him about “how did you play so well just a day after your father died?”.

I wanted to climb into the TV and punch somebody in the nose.

So, tonight, as I was listening to all that drama, I got to thinking about the rest of us. Those of us who are not in the public light who've experience the same thing with people we hold so dear. I heard my silent prayer of thanks (that I wasn't in the limelight when my darlings died) and in that moment had one of those sublime revelations.

I remembered the days and weeks and months following my own mother's death. How I displayed some twisted sense of gratitude (“I'm just happy she's not suffering anymore.”) and some semblance of stoicism (or so I thought) to the world. Deep inside, though, I was neither grateful nor stoic. I went on a decade-long rampage of rage and self-destruction that, literally, changed the course of my life. It took me years and years and years to understand the impact her passing had on me.

In the end, I did understand. I reached that serene place where I could see my mother's death from her perspective. I understood why she left. I stopped being angry at her and her god. At long last, I reached my own closure. Which was a huge blessing. Because...

Thirty years later, my elder sister, the woman who knew me better than I've ever known myself, checked out. I use that phrase intentionally. Because that is exactly what she did. It was thirty years later and I was thirty years wiser and, truth be told, I was grateful. I didn't want her to leave the planet. But I also didn't want her to stay. Hers was a brutal life. One she chose, but brutal all the same. Despite our geographic distance, we'd always remained close. And every time we spoke on the phone, I could hear the pain in her voice. I could hear her longing for death. Toward the end of her life, we spoke of this often. She used to say, “I don't understand why God won't let me come home.” At first, I would try to dissuade her. I'd tell her how much her presence on the Planet meant to me and her children and so many other people who loved her. I would plead for her to see herself well. Eventually, though, I realized that my pleas came from a very selfish place. I wanted her to stay because I needed her to stay. I couldn't fathom a world without her. She was my coach, my sage, my rock. How would I navigate my life without her? It crushed me every time I thought about it. But then something happened that changed my perspective.

I had sent her an email with an illustration I had drawn of three feathers floating. It was a doodle on a piece of scrap paper. Just something that came to me one day. Atop the drawing, I'd written “dance with your dreams”. Again, one of those things that came to me from that state of pure flow. As we chatted on the phone, me hearing the sadness in her voice, she sharing her yearning to “go home”, I thought I'd try to change the subject. So, I asked her about the drawing.

She told me how much she loved that drawing. She voiced her awe at how I was able to make them look as if she might be able to feel them when she touched the screen. I was humbled by her compliments, and thought perhaps I had affected some kind of swing in her own perspective. And then she said, “Livee, could you draw one for me?” “Of course!”, I said. I told her I'd get on it as soon as we hung up the phone. Then she said, “Instead of writing 'dance with your dreams', would you write 'Let me fly' instead?” Without hesitation I said, “Yes! I'll be happy to.”

We said our goodbyes and hung up the phone. It took about a minute and a half for me to realize what she was asking me for. When I did, I began to sob uncontrollably. It was in that moment I realized that she was asking me for permission to go. She wanted to know that I could let her go. She needed me to say that I'd be okay when she left. She was, as always, concerned with my well-being. It was her last attempt at asking me to see it from her point of view.

I cried my way to clarity. I felt the tug of her enormous love. I knew what she wanted and I could no longer allow my own selfish needs to cloud my feelings. I loved her too much to put myself first. It was more than cathartic. It was another life-changer.

I drew those feathers for her, just as she'd asked. And I wrote the words, “Let me fly...”. I mailed it the very next day and waited to hear back from her. A week later, I did get a phone call. At five in the morning. The moment I saw who it was (my younger sister) I instantly knew that Cricket was gone. I picked up the phone and listened to the silence on the other end. I said, “Is she gone?” My sister whispered, “Yes. She died last night.”

I wish I could tell you it made me happy to know she no longer suffered. I wish I could say that I was happy for her. Sadly, I cannot. I was too sad for myself to feel the joy she must have felt when her god answered her prayers. But I can tell you this...I knew, deep in my gut, that my illustration was her permission slip. I knew she'd gotten it, and smiled that giant smile of hers, and left the planet knowing that I'd be okay. I learned later that she died only two days after she'd gotten it. Two days. That was the moment I felt the joy she so dearly wanted me to feel.

Now, here it is, two years later, and my perspective has expanded even more. I can listen to the annoying commentators without wanting to punch them in the face. I can honor the men and women who play anyway, despite the sadness and pain and onslaught of emotions. I honor them because they choose to honor their paths, likely the result of those very moms and dads and siblings who urged them on. I understand what it takes to carry on, despite the ocean of emotions that can drown a person who might not have that kind of constitution. The kind that can compartmentalize the emotions until the work is done. It must be unspeakably difficult to do. And, in a way, it is heroic.

I tell you all this now because I did, finally, realize my own growth. How my perspective has changed over these thirty years. How, even though I have lost others who meant more than the world to me, I can still see, even early on, that it's not going to kill me. Nor does it need to put me on a path to self-destruction. I can honor them...and my own Self. Life goes on. Until it doesn't. It's just the way things work. There isn't any need to get swallowed up by the sorrow or rage or unfairness. Life is as fair as it is finite. If you want to live it, you must come to some sort of agreement with those terms.

Or...

You can let death eat you up from the inside, like an emotional cancer. You can let it destroy years, even decades of your own life. You can push away all those still on the Planet and slip into a crushing, debilitating, emotional coma. The point is, it doesn't have to be that way.

As usual... it is a choice. And that choice is yours.

5.7.17

© Camille Olivia Strate

Cricket LaStrada ~ An Angel Among Us

She was named Linda. But somewhere along the way, she became Cricket. As in Jiminy. As in Pinocchio's conscience. That's who she was. From very early in her life, she was the person everyone went to for guidance, and encouragement, and love. Lots and lots of love. The woman was fierce in her beliefs. And they were all grounded in heart. No one was ever more committed to making life better for those around her. She worked diligently and tenaciously for the Gay community, for the rights of AIDS victims, for teen-aged gay/lesbian suicide prevention, for abused women and children, for people with disabilities (which she called "gifts"), and for her family. ALL of her family.

Cricket and her wife adopted SEVEN children, four of whom came in one package. Sisters who were in foster care. They didn't want those girls to be split up. So...they adopted all of 'em. Their son, Thunder, was also in foster care. Then there was Ari, who came to them as a result of a familial situation that needed them. Daniel, their autistic son, had been with them from the beginning. In all, SEVEN little Beings who needed them. Can you even imagine????

For me, she was Big Sister, Protector, Coach, Sage. She hunted down the bullies who picked on me and put the fear of god in them. "You will NOT mess with my little sister." She made me feel safe, all through my school years, and beyond. It was in the sixth grade that she took the job of softball coach for the summer park league. She took her job quite seriously, and turned me into an MVP several years in a row. She taught me to "take ONE SECOND", plant my feet, and THROW. She taught me that my size didn't matter. That it was all about heart, and focus, and commitment. She was tireless. And she made every one of us believe that we COULD be better. Every day.

When I was thirteen, she taught me my first guitar chords. She LOVED music. She loved to sing and play and she made sure that all the kids had an instrument. From tambourines to tom-toms, everyone got to make  music. Her love of music was the driving force behind me, for more years than I can count. She called me a "star"...and she meant it. She never once doubted that I was "better than good enough". She  made me believe I could. Every day.

When I moved away, she was my constant supporter. She encouraged me to follow my dreams and ignore the naysayers. She was there for me, through every disaster, every trial, every misstep. She did not judge. She simply loved and tried to teach me how to love without condition. Her words, for all these years of my life, still echo. At precisely the right moment, they'll float up from my memory banks and guide me to my truth. She was, without question, an angel among us.

Cricket left the planet a few days ago. Her arduous journey has now come to an end. She left us with a giant hole in our world, a gap that will never be filled. But she also left us with her kindness, and her wisdom, and her enormous capacity to love. She did the best she knew how, and she did it with every fiber of her Being. She may have left the Planet, but she is not gone. She is here, all around me, whispering and giggling and urging me on.

She was my first hero.

She is my Sister.

Ti amo, Sorella Mia.

Volare con gli angeli.
{fly with the angels}

When Death Is A Gift

We all know...that death is a part of life. Nobody likes it. Everybody thinks they understand it. But mostly, we do our best to avoid the subject altogether. We don't like to think about it. Or talk about it. Or face it when it comes time to face it. But, we all know...that death is a part of life.

Now, given that this blog is about Joy, about choosing Joy, one might wonder why in the world I'd be talking about death. Please...bear with me. Although there seems not to be anything joyful about it, there are times when death is welcome. Times when losing someone, so to speak, brings relief. To be sure, there is also sorrow. But when someone you love is in such deep and unyielding pain, suffering every moment of every day, for months on end, sometimes we pray for them to go. Sometimes we know that even though it means not having them on the Planet, we'd rather be without them than watch them suffer. When death comes, in times like this, we'll often feel, not only relief, but joy. Joy for this loved one to have cast aside the burdens of the body and soar. Whether one believes in a "heaven" or not, still there must be some other realm where we live on. Because if we are what scientists claim, if we are "energy", we know, too, that energy never dies. Energy may take different forms. It may be diffused or scattered or moved. But energy does not die. Ever.

With this in mind, no matter what a person's religious or spiritual beliefs, if one has any semblance of intuition, then one would know, somewhere deep in themselves, that death is really not. It is simply a transition. A transcendence. A variation of what we call "life". And knowing this somehow makes the whole death process just a little more bearable. Even when we know that there will be no more touching of hands or hugging of necks or kissing of cheeks, there is no thing that can stop the love that lives on. Because love, like energy, does not "die". Instead, it seems to deepen. To become even more treasured. And, if we're really mindful, death can also urge us to be more loving and appreciative of those who are still here, on this magnificent Planet, for us to touch. And hug. And kiss. Death, in some ways, is as much a gift as Life.

But still...it hurts.

So for today, I pray that those of you who have or are right now dealing with the passing of someone you love dearly, I pray you will remember that even amidst the pain of that loss, there is a gift. Your journey, being without their physical presence, does not need to destroy you. Walk that path, trusting that you will soon reach a peaceful spot on your own chosen path, where you will, once again, feel their presence. You will hear their voice and feel the love even more deeply than, perhaps, you did before they left. When you reach that place, sit yourself down and allow your spirit to luxuriate in the love that never dies.

Then....do your happy dance.

Forever? No thanks.

When all is said and done, the whole death thing is as illusory as life. Consider that we start as a smear of fluid. Really. That's it. A little egg and a little sperm hook up inside the warm, wet womb and before you know it, a baby begins to form. From fluid. The miracle of this biological phenomenon is not being undermined here. Personally, I think it's utterly astonishing. But the fact remains that human life begins as a smear of fluid. The moment that human comes forth into the world, it begins its journey back round the circle...life, death, life, death. There can be no life without the death part. Just how it goes. So why do we make such a big deal about it? What is it about dying that terrifies us so?

Maybe we just haven't yet evolved enough to realize that there is no death. Not really. I mean...how could there be? Are we not Energy in the form of flesh? Are we not ENERGY? Even if you know nothing about physics, you must know that energy cannot be destroyed. Transformed, yes. Destroyed, no. Energy just cannot be killed. So...again...why do we fear this thing we call death?

In the course of the many teachings I have explored, I came upon a certain group of teachers who are quite fond of making fun of death. They use the word “croak” instead. They tease and poke and make light of what they call “your death experience”. Because they know that there is no such thing. They know that Source Energy is Source Energy and it cannot die. We are extensions of that Energy. So then...we cannot die. We leave these mostly-water vessels and move back into that Whole, but we do not die. Hard to fathom?

Maybe.

But when news arrives that someone is “dying”, there are only two paths from which to choose (near as I can tell anyway). Either to dread the process and pray on calloused knees to a god who neither hears nor answers (why is it that people only pray when the shit hits the fan?) OR we can trust this process of Life and revel in the moments we have. Ever notice how when folks have those near-death experiences they live ever more fully? Ever notice how it is precisely the brush with “death” that brings the Life force flowing like a raging river?

Me too.

I suppose the most challenging part of all this is having to deal with all the others who do not hold such beliefs. It is challenging because they want to draw you into their drama; they want to see you as miserably fearful as they are. And when you do not join in the dance, they get all pissed off. What do you mean there is no death? She's dying for Pete's sake!

Yea. Yea. I know.

It's hard. All the way round. To be sure, the “dying” one will be sorely missed. It's just not the same when they're not there to hold or hug or hang out with. I am quite familiar with this transition. But I also know that none of those who have changed form have left me. They are not gone. They have not “passed away” (that one really cracks me up. Passed away to ...where?). I guess you could say that all this chatter is a bit irreverent. No apologies shall be offered. I have my beliefs just as you have yours. I am in no way attempting to change your way of thinking. I'm simply offering a less-than-usual perspective so that maybe when that moment comes and you get some kind of deathly news you might not be so terrified. After all..do you really think you're gonna be in that body forever?

I've heard forever is a mighty long time.

I don't know about you, but I don't fancy living in this bag of water forever. For now, it's a pretty terrific experience. But forever???

No thanks.

In Honor of MerryMe

The name of this blog is JoyZAChoice. You probably already know that, but in case you forgot...I thought I'd remind you before I continue with this missive.

I remind you so that you will keep it in your heart as you read further. Today's little 'message' is being written specifically for my friend, MerryMe. She is about to embark on a brand new journey. And it may just be that she hasn't yet gotten her sea-legs. So... I just wanted to remind you that this blog is all about choosing Joy. For some, the matter of death is not so much a joyful thing. Small wonder, considering what we have been taught about the whole process.

I'll grant you...when someone leaves us it is not usually cause for celebration. We want them near us. We want to talk with them and laugh with them and hold them and touch them. We want their physical presence, not some LaLaLand version of their presence. I get it. I, too, have had my moments of sadness when someone I love has moved on. I don't much like their absence. BUT....

There are many traditions that celebrate death. They hold the belief that now their loved one(s) are at peace. They no longer feel pain or angst or any less-than feelings. They have returned to their Source, whatever that may mean to them. In short, it is a happy occasion. One to celebrate with laughter and the telling of stories and the sharing of food and drink. Break out the band. Break out the wine. Break out the balloons. Time to party!

I say this now because I wish to hold true to the purpose of this blog. AND because I saw something on MerryMe's blog that got my shorts in a twist. Someone wrote a comment telling her to "make time to grieve". And I thought, "WOW! REALLY? You're encouraging her to be sad???" I'm certain the person was lending support and love. But I question the stubborn consistency of such traditions.

Why must we mourn?
Why must we grieve?
Why must we 'make time' to feel such sadness?

I'm not trying to undermine or diminish anyone's feelings here. I'm simply saying that there is another way to meet death. And it doesn't have to be all tears and aching. It can be a celebration. Because, from my experience with such things, it is not the person who has passed we grieve for.

It is for ourselves.

We miss the person we are when they're around. We want the feelings they evoked. We want the surging of love they inspired. It is all about what WE won't be having now that they're gone. Once seen from this perspective, it pretty much negates the 'need to grieve'. It gives us another window from which to view this ongoing cycle of life. And it sure beats the hell outta feeling like crap for weeks or months or years on end.

Maybe I've just experienced so much 'death' that I have grown a kind of armor. Or maybe, just maybe, I'm finally remembering that death isn't anything we need fear. Death is a beautiful part of the process of Life. Ya just can't have one without the other. Period. So why fear it? Why mourn the passing of a life? Why not carry all those wonderful moments in our hearts, and smile that we were graced to have them?

It is my greatest wish that my friend walk through this next 'part' with grace and joy. I am not here to tell ya'll how to deal with the passing of a loved one. I'm simply offering yet another choice. Because that, my friends, is what this Life is all about.

I pray, MerryMe...that you will choose JOY.

P.S. And if you DO....you can forgo all the guilt crap too. I'm quite certain that there is no "guilt" on the Other Side!