A December '22 Update

The "What Would I Write If No-one Was Reading Edition"

Dec 12, 2022

Hello my friends!

Today my letter is for you - there is a letter to Doug brewing but today I wanted to touch base with you.

(Also today’s letter has a trigger warning of talking about death, in the most gentlest of ways of course, so I understand if you do not wish to continue reading and may prefer to revisit at another time depending on where you are at in your own life right now . Even if you are not in the throws of grief and loss there will be something relevant you’ll be able to take away from today’s letter).

The other morning, while lying in bed gazing out the window, I wrote this and shared it on Instagram and FB…

What would you write if no one was reading?

Early morning musings…

Not a breath… not a sound… not a movement to be found.

Finally, the world has stopped turning, acknowledging you’re no longer in it.

A welcome pause, an exhale, a sense of relief… jolted all too soon by the twitch of a leaf.

#ThroughMyWindow

There are many friends and family who subscribe to my letters and I have been paralysed lately with sharing what’s on my heart because I don’t want any of you to worry about me.

I love having you all here with me, sharing in my world and the dualities of life but the last thing I want is for people to worry if I’m okay or not.

Sharing my truth is done with hope in my heart that it really does open up space for others to share their truths… if only to (and for) themselves.

It helps me and I hope in some way it helps you too.

There are people in my world who worry more when I don’t write - that’s probably more of a gauge of how I’m doing than what and when I do publish (secret is out now as to tell how I’m really travelling).

I know I keep saying this, but this grief shit is hard… really, really hard.

This last little while has been laced with sadness in the lead up to my second Christmas without Doug - the first Christmas without him was tough, but do-able - with a lot of pushing through on my part.

This Christmas the grief is not as intense but the realisation of the loss of his presence in my every day and my every tomorrow has been heavy.

On the 22nd of July this year my friend Carly Jacobs of Very Excellent Habits Podcast released an episode on ‘A Practical Guide to Dying’ with author Jackey Coyle. I found it very interesting and insightful and if you are up for it, it is well worth a listen.

There are a few things I’m still digesting from that episode. One being Jackey saying that in the last days of someone’s life they are moving more away from you and more towards their death and what lies beyond (I’m paraphrasing of course).

At the risk of sounding like a complete nutter, I felt this.

I felt it deeply.

The last three days of Doug’s life I struggled to feel the deep connection we had always shared that often transcended the need for words. What I felt quite palpably in my chest instead was the effort it was taking for his body to shut down knowing full well that his spirit and soul had already said their goodbyes and were on their way to where-ever and whoever he’d sometimes open his eyes and smile at beyond those of us sitting around him.

I needed to walk and leave the room more often than what I liked so I could shake off the intense energy of every breath from a body that had only ever fought with every cell to stay and live now trying to do the opposite - shutdown and pass over. (I’m still working through my guilt at having to leave the room so often, even though I know it was so I could recharge to be fully present when beside him holding his hand).

The day after Doug’s passing was the first time in days that I felt his closeness as I laid on the grass opposite the hospital below the canopy of a Golden Elm tree in the park. A knowing, a peace, a oneness.

I’ve only felt it a handful of times since.

I don’t know where his spirit and soul are now and some days that upsets me that I can’t feel him around. But I’m slowly embracing that he really did take on board my words in those last days together when we realised the time was coming and so he feels free to not be with me - those words conveyed that I’d be okay, not to worry about me, that he’d taught me well to take one day at a time when things were shit, that I would make sure his transition from this life here with us to the afterlife that lay waiting would be as smooth as I could humanly make possible as his advocate and I’d see it through to the end.

As I held his hand and spoke the words it was as if our souls connected and embodied our purpose for the days ahead and we drew strength from each others devotion in that moment.

The other night after climbing into bed I closed my eyes and breathed deeply into the stillness and I silently called his name… in my imagination he cheekily snapped “What… what do you want, I’m busy” and I smiled and chuckled to myself. It was as though I could hear his cheeky tone and see his cheeky grin and I went off to sleep with a sense of relief.

So I’m hoping that’s where he is - too busy to chat, off letting his soul and spirit fully immerse itself in the freedom from his painful crippled body, running free without worry in the company of those gone before him… and our furry friends happily bounding alongside.

This letter is what I would write if no one was reading, if I was to feel no one would worry.

It is, and what has been, on my heart.

I’m hoping it’s received with the knowledge that I’m okay-ish. I’m sad, but okay-ish. I don’t think I’ll ever be completely ‘okay’ and I’m learning to embrace that too… by living one day at a time as his life taught me.

Acceptance seems too final and blunt… Embracing where I’m at is the gentle cradle from where I can function and also retreat.

Possibly you can grant yourself such grace if you are in need? Our own permission is all we need, not anyone else’s.

All my love,

Sandra Xx

Hi from Sandra!

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