What has the loss of both my parents really meant to me? Well truly what is most meaningful for me was being there for them. I for the first time experienced in my adult life a world without a focus on a high stress job, but instead an intense focus on what is truly important. Love. Kindness. Not money. Not career. But taking care of those who took care of me. I can say there was a great deal of happiness  even in the shadow of death. I walked twice a day. I sat with my mom at the table and brushed her hair. I bathed her gently on the deck outside and we giggled. I drove my father to appointments and we explored new roads and shared old stories. I also cleaned up his shit with calm and poise in a tiny Thai restaurant bathroom and helped him escape out the back door laughing. I wrote letters and cards and emails. I sat by the creek and thought about life and the inevitability of the death that was coming. I sat by their sides for hours as mom and dad declined. I spoke with doctors. I paid bills. I cherished the time I had and loved unconditionally with care and tenderness and kindness. I found meaning in the face of impending loss.

When you go through a loss. When you go through trauma. People reach out. But then they disappear. They return into the folds of their own lives. And your life well it moves on. You move on. You move forward in time. But something within you changes. There is a shift.

I wrote the following in the days and months following the loss of two beautiful souls.

Be Brave

I watched them as they died. 

Slowly gasping for air, gurgling, mouths open. 

Eyes in a distant place. 

And then they were gone. 

I felt a shift. 

A change from within.

Be Brave. Amanda.

Be Strong.

Be Kind.

Be You.

But who am I?

Do I even know?

I know.

Last night as a I tossed and turned.

I pulled into my memory the square rock with moss.

The rock sitting in “The Fork”.

The deep pool of water below.

The green light filtering through.

The quiet.

The beauty.

The rhododendron with flowers gone.

The knowledge of new growth at dawn.

Sunbathing

Last night I woke with tears in my eyes. 
I dreamed of the happiness of my childhood. 
Of sitting on my father’s lap as he pulled my cheeks
and they made squishy sounds 
As I giggled out loud

Last night I woke and heard the cicadas fill the night air with song.
I heard the dogs rustle as I quietly wept. 
I heard my husband gently snoring. 
I heard my mother’s voice say it’s okay to cry.

For the many months of my father’s treatments
I bathed mom on our porch with lavender soap.
I rubbed her arthritic hands and cleaned under her thick nails. 
Afterwards, she loved sitting in the sun to let her hair dry.

This morning I sat in the sun to let my hair dry.
I gently pulled at my cheeks.