Transitions, Grief and Gratitude

I’m not sure why the spacing wouldn’t work on the following post. I hope you can read it all squnched together.
Thank you for the kind words and emails about the show.
I know I disappeared for a while. You have been in my thoughts.
The day after EmBody (9/10), my aunt Anna, dad’s sister, was killed in a car accident.
4 days later (9/14), mom’s husband Red died, of massive heart attacks he had suffered just 2 days after Anna’s death.
I was able to support both of my parents in their hours of need. What a gift.
While in Texas, just 30 minutes after Red’s passing, David shared that a soul sister of mine in Portland, Kari, had made her transition due to complications with Cancer.
I stayed strong for my family, not really feeling the grief until I went to visit the Shackelford place outside of Tyler. I slept in that old room again where I experienced summer Love, and where I was part of an amazing family. I felt safe and secure at the Shacks. I could hear echos of young Adam’s laughter from down the hall. They don’t call them old haunts for no reason. I heard faint traces of conversations from yesterday’s dreams and so much emotion came pouring into my consciousness. This was my first trip back since Adam died. There is that word again, died. I went into his old room and stood there, taking in what I could of his memory and the presence I can still feel in my heart. He was a brother. I miss him.
We tiptoe around death with words like transition and passing, because to say someone has died… feels so final. And it is. The soul continues, I think, but there is no more Adam or Kari here to hug and experience as a brother or sister. Red is no longer here to hear me say, “I love you. I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Thank you.” Aunt Anna is not here to hug and feel loved beyond description. Her hugs told me that I was absolutely Loved. Aunt Anna was soft and safe. The little girl in me misses her deeply.
After visiting Adam’s room, I went downstairs and picked up a little book Jacque had by the couch about moving through grief. I was curious, but not overly emotional. I wasn’t feeling much of anything when I began reading. A couple of paragraphs into the book I fell completely apart. I grieved, moaned, sobbed. Cried for Adam, cried for old lost Loves, cried for the painful losses my parents were feeling, cried for my brother as he moves through family transitions, wept for all of the time, now passed, spent apart from loved ones I see changing, knowing life is temporary for all of us. I mourned all who have ever died in war and those scarred by what they experienced fighting for their countries. I cried for the times I have not been available to loved ones in need. I cried for LIFE. I wept under the sheer magnitude of this human experience, cried in wounded animal sobs until a little dog named Little Man put his paws on my knees and licked my face. Little Man must be a grief expert by now, I’m certain. He is a joyful gift to the Shacks, and on that day to me.
While in Texas, old allergies and symptoms began to creep in. Sense memory?
Today I have been restoring and healing my body after two flights to bring me back to the homeostasis of my Oregonian life.
This is why I haven’t been in touch.
I’ve been BEing with this Life, which you are a part of beyond time and space.
I am well, and expect exciting things to occur this year. Some are already set in motion.
I know none of it would have been possible as it looks today without your support.
I am forever Grateful.
Red's service at DFW National Cemetery
Red's service at DFW National Cemetery

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