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Grief,
Healing and Renewal
Wildfire Heart – Part I Grief races a rampant path Shock. I breathe and discover I have time to breathe again. Wish you all that’s in my heart Small…it grows and catches. Carries me with it and part of me is gone too. She went in alive. Some will see it. Ginny Mazur
Two Weekends Sunday Morning 10-26-03 Turn Back Your Clock? "No. I forgot." I start to cry. "See you later. I’ll call you back." I sit down at the kitchen table I grew up at and bury my head in my hands and sob. I’ve never forgotten daylight savings at either the turn ahead or turn back part in my entire life. But this is completely off my radar for the first time. I can’t keep track of much. I just sit there. Charlie Chaplin comes to mind. Is it is in "Modern Times"? He gets stuck on a big clock. I become him and all I can think of through the tears that just don’t stop is, "Yes, I’d like to turn the clock back! I’d like to turn the damn clock back three years." I envision myself, hard worker that I am, trying to turn back three years worth of hours. I can’t. Every bit of me just hurts with longing for what Bob went through, what we went through with ALS." The thought strikes me that I should be more together, braver, if I were more spiritually developed it wouldn’t hurt like this. Sorry, I don’t think so. I don’t really know. I just cry and cry. I haven’t even had breakfast. "Some wells are just too deep for that"…the poem Bob read at his concert in November. Yesterday…nearly a year ago. I’m at the table for a good long while, not keeping track of time, just letting these waves of grief wash over and through me. I get up and walk through the house and reset all the clocks. It’s almost 8 a.m. All Souls Day, November 1, 2003 Spring 2003 It is my very favorite photograph taken by our great and caring friend, John Burkhardt. It is May. Bob and I are at Forest Hills Cemetery under the great Copper Beech tree by the lake. The photo shows such love, compassion and anguish at the awareness that we will be leaving each other soon. The tree winds up to heaven like an umbilical cord reminding us that this is the destiny and great leveler of each and every human being. It is spring but the Copper Beech makes it seems like fall. How fitting! On this day we sit with John by the lake and we all talk easily about Bob’s dying and how we will now seek Hospice care soon. We notice we are sitting on a marble bench and we say how perfect it would be if we could dedicate one to Bob so I could come and remember Bob in such a beautiful spot. We laugh, saying these are probably only for wealthy people who contribute a lot of money because it is so beautiful in this spot and that we are not that but that we are not that but that we will look into acquiring a bench, anyway. Bob says simply and commandingly, "I want a bench. I want it, Gin, so you’ll have a place to visit and sit". November 1, 2003 I take a bike a ride to Bob’s bench by the lake. It is a glorious warm day for November. There are many people at the cemetery. I feel at peace on this one day. I am thankful for a break in what is a rampage of grief now. I ride by Bob’s bench and I stop and laugh. My heart is full of love. Bob would have loved this! I can’t even get near the bench. There are three jugglers practicing right in front of it. They are having so much fun. To the right is an elderly couple sitting in lawn chairs soaking up the November sun and reading. Then, a group of Japanese students walk by and ask if the bench is part of the sculpture path. They all read out loud and repeat the sentence inscribed on the bench: "It is possible to remember that we are in heaven." A woman with a dog stops me and remarks, "This is one perfect All Souls Day." I agree. Then, I get back on my bike. Ginny
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