Why is loss so good at crystallizing truth?
Sarah, if I had one more day with you.
I’d take you somewhere with no distractions and we would make one day feel like five. We’d do some yoga and meditate. Grab some tea and talk. I want to talk to you about everything. About friendship and how much I miss you. About the regrets I have for not taking better care of you when you came to my house for that last time — if I had known it was the last time I would have put you in my bed and I would have taken the sleeper couch. You should have slept in my best linen. Drank tea out of my finest cups. I should have called in sick to work and not left you sleeping as I crept out of the house… If I could just turn back the clock. What I would do for one more day….
And I should have come to see you over Easter even though you did not want people “coming to say goodbye” and treating you like you had cancer and would die… like you did that weekend. I say if only I had known how sick you really were that I should have come, but really it shouldn’t have mattered how sick you were. I should have come. Were you disappointed that I did not? Did it even matter at the end? Your friends?
I want you to know how much I miss you. Do you? How much I value you and what a big role you played in my life. Common culture or my limited belief systems make it seem like perhaps we were not as close as we really were because we don’t have stacks of photos to prove the good times we had, nor did we clock up thousands of hours together. Or because we knew each other long before we realised how precious our friendship was. I didn’t realise how much I needed you until you were gone. How much I treasured you. And treasured us, what we had. From where you sit, can you feel how much I miss you or have you moved on? Or do concepts like this no longer make sense with the transcendent love that you are surrounded with? Did I ever or do I ever disappoint you?
Now I know how difficult it is to find connection and friendship like that. To share a female bond with someone else who completely gets you. Gets “it.” To share the same beliefs of motherhood, and of spirituality. What a foundation for a friendship that is, and how I wish I recognised how blessed we were when you lived. I am so blessed to have been able to share a path with a friend like you as walked together to knowing ourselves, to knowing God and to becoming mothers.
And when I call to you when I miss you, or in times of crisis or deep connection, do you hear me? Is that energy that I connect with Sarah, or is it cosmos?
As more time passes, we, your loved ones, recognise how much of a blessing you were. Why does that only happen in death? Why is it that loss is so good in crystallising truth? Is there not another way? I don’t want more of my dearest treasures to be taken so that I may learn to live.
You are a lightworker, my friend. I think back to moments where my jaw was practically on the floor when I realised how connected you were to your higher self, and how deep the fight in you was to save this planet. And yet you danced this reality perfectly. You are magnetic and people loved you instantly when they met you. And you carry so much grace. And have so much capacity for joy. Your laugh was one of your most beautiful assets. And your smile. And you were ostentatious with both.
There was a well of unexplored passion within you and it almost made me bitter to know you had passed without being “flung around the room” in wild abandon. Your wild woman flirted with the surface of your very being. She was there, dancing under the covers of the good girl persona you clung too. And I longed for you to fling the covers off and expose her. I knew her well and felt her often. That’s one of the deep sisterly secrets we shared — our untamed wild woman lurking in the curtains…
Is she dancing naked around the wildfire now, my sister?
I loved your rawness. I know you felt safe in sharing the “real” you. Our inner wild women danced freely when we were together.
Thank you, Sarah. For loving me and seeing me. For letting me love and see you. For being so real and raw and for caring so deeply. For inspiring me with your passion and grace. For letting me taste the bliss that comes from the feminine bond. For being my sister and letting me be yours. For sharing the agony of that forced surrender that our births and children gifted us with. For being the closest to a twin I have yet experienced on Earth. What a gorgeous mirror you were my friend.
And how my heart aches…..