Saving My Life Even After You Are Gone.
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“The most authentic thing about us is our capacity to create, to overcome, to endure, to transform, to love and to be greater than our suffering.” ~ Ben Okri
That park saved my life numerous times, of that I am sure.
When I could feel the darkness of the grief creep back into my bones, debilitating my body mind and soul from the inside out. A night of headstrong wind anxiety as my body twisted alone on the cold winter sheets. I could not shake this aching, nor why it was here.
Not until the morning did I connect this pain; Hello again, I say to my lonely, dark friend, grief. She always seems to need a comrade; I guess she likes me.
I take a deep breath in as I look at the photo of your beautiful face on my nightstand. Of course, another holiday without you, my love. It’s been two years since you’ve died. How could I possibly not feel this heaviness in my being?
No place will bring me comfort like that of your eyes swimming into my soul from across a crowded room. No festive food, no song, no Christmas party — not even copious amounts of string lights could ease this emptiness. If anything, it spirals my insides more until I no longer feel I can catch my breath.
“That’s part of what I like about the book in some ways. It portrays death truthfully. You die in the middle of your life, in the middle of a sentence.” ~ John Green, The Fault in Our Stars
All of these painfully remind me that you’re no longer next to me. So now what? My soul begs: what to do with this heavy aching heart? Wallow? I have… and do.
My inner voice faintly calls to me, one step at a time, darling. Compassion, compassion, compassion. “This hasn’t been easy,” she says, and as I glance out the window at the falling leaves, the park across the way in the distance — the park I always see, and long to venture to, but don’t. Glassy-eyed and red-nosed, I softly whisper in reply, Okay.
I place my hoodie over my sad frizzed mess of a do, comfy Yoga pants and sandals, and I’m gone.
“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” ~ Rumi
That little park across the street. “Let me breathe,” I pray to the Universe as I place one foot in front of the other wearily and yet with all my intention. With each step I make my way into the green… into the trees. I am safe here — connected to the earth — outside of myself.
And here I walk, I sit… I inhale. I am still. I hear the sweet sounds of jibber jabber from the little ones playing on the slide; their innocence is music to my ears. Life untouched, unscathed. I see the simplicity of the squirrels gathering their nuts.
Here in this earthly place, my heart begins to flow again — thawing the dark corners of me and drawing me back into the morning light.
As I find myself off the beaten path toward a field of wild flowers, thistle-like bushes and fallen leaves, the warmth of sun on my porcelain skin, inhaling the crisp morning air — I feel you here in this place. Reminding me you are everywhere.
That the seasons of life will ebb and flow from vibrant greens and colors, to autumn’s burnt and dried leaves. But in this… spring will come. And that just like the seasons, I must trust. Trust that the earth will also nurture my aching soul until it is my spring again.
And as I sit in this place I thank this park, and you for leading me to it. I remember that you are in the sun and the wind as you brisk by me and leave me with goosebumps.
I take you with me into this new year, holding your hand in mine as I continue this journey of life with you in each step I take. Thank you for giving me such a deep love, deep enough to fill this place even when I can no longer physically see you in it.
But now knowing as long as I can still feel you, I will survive this. Forever and always I am yours, and you are mine, my love.
“And after the storm,
I run and run as the rains come
And I look up, I look up,
on my knees and out of luck,
I look up.” ~ Mumford & Sons
And this park slowly became my place of refuge. And it was after my visits here when I came home and began to write again. And then my camera followed.
Thank you, my love. Thank you for this new eyesight, and helping me transform my pain into beauty.
“And there will come a time — you’ll see — with no more tears.
And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.
Get over your hill and see what you find there,
With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.” ~ Mumford & Sons
*****
{Photo credit: Emily Magers}
Vanessa Fierstadt is a photographer, mental health therapist, widow, writer and searcher of souls. In her work as a therapist, she has taken the loss of her young husband and let it guide her in all areas of her life — through the lens of her camera, her words and with her clients as she channels her wounds to help heal the wounds of others. She is a life-liver, nomad at heart, Pandora-fanatic and coffee aficionado. She has a soulful connection with the sea, dark chocolate, sushi, and anything that gets her adrenaline pumping. After many years as a Pilates enthusiast, she has just begun her venture into the world of Yoga as she enjoys incorporating this into her daily meditations. Vanessa currently resides in Los Angeles, California, where she practices both her therapy and capturing the lives and stories of others through her lens. You can find some of her work here.
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