We were the best.
I can't stop shaking as I write this, and I can't even remember the other lyrics or the name of this song or the melody, but when I heard it last week, it hit hard.
Because it is in the past tense, and I knew: That is us -- now.
Rich is leaving, and no one can offer him anything more than comfort.
"We don't talk about comfort in yoga," says James, my teacher, after I tell him I'm comfortable while in some odd configuration.
"We ask, 'is this taking you deeper?' If not, it's time to move on."
Together, Rich and I squeezed a lot out of what, at times, seemed like a very odd configuration (what does a physicist really do?) and I know Rich often wondered what I really do.
Together, we went deeper than I could ever have gone on my own, learning how to love and how to forgive and how to rejoice knowing that there was one human being to whom I mattered above anyone (for no reason).
And I cry because I'm not ready to move on.
We're still going deeper, and this time to the most remote place of all.
I'm learning how to let him go.
Candace
3 comments:
Dear Candace and Rich,
Each day I read your blogs and ask myself, as tears spill from my eyes, why do I come back day after day. I know the story. The plot is too clear.
But, then I hope today will be different. Today there will be a glorious surprise. The chemotherapy will work...
Sadly, your comments today told me that the reality we hope and pray for is not the one we will receive.
Still I will keep reading because there are other reasons to read your passionate and tender words. I choose to walk beside you as you go through this challenging, heartrending experience. Lending invisible support as I read.
Selfishly, I also read to learn. How do we face the pain of losing a precious friend and companion? How do we face our own inevitable death? How do we live, even as we die?
Like hearing "illness is a gift," being thanked for sharing an experience that you both never wanted and would send back in an instant, probably feels horrible and I apologize. Yet. I hope in some way it gives you comfort too.
With love and compassion.
Chaya
Hugs to you both through these transitions.
Love, Paula
Candace and Rich, we are probably never ready to let go. That's not our task, though. It would be too much to ask of ourselves. The task is to take the moment for what the moment brings. And that is where the learning happens, learning how, by doing it. (And the rest of us learn how by reading about it).
I cry because it's all so beautiful. Not pretty, or kind, or anything like that. But beautiful because it goes so deep.
You describe the greatest fear and the greatest love. And how we can't have one without the other. Fear of losing life because we love life. Fear of losing a person because we love the person. Without love, there might be no fear. Without fear, we would not know that we love.
I bow in respect to you both for so boldly and deeply going both places.
And for bringing us with you.
With much love, and yes, not without fear too,
Heather
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