Bigger Than The Sky was written in privacy and solitude, as that is the pattern and rhythm of my life. It is when I emailed my friend Peter that I found solace from long hours serving as a caregiver for my late husband. As I pounded out the story of us, he was usually resting in another part of the house. The dining room is my “office” and it is here I sit now in the ratty old black robe with the leopard collar. It is from Macy’s and has kept me warm for many winters now.
It is here that my emails with Peter took place. I never heard the sound of his voice. Now it rings on the printed page. You can hear him play his penny whistle on the MP3 that I made about him, though. It is quite moving. He went from being a strong man who played bagpipes to someone happy that he could play the smallest of instruments. He didn’t have to tell me that he was bigger than the sky!
I just washed my hair and later I will make my way to Tai Chi. One of the students said she “saw” Bob behind me as we did our slow and graceful movements. I don’t doubt it. Once when I was getting a massage, the woman giving it said she felt my daughter as a flitting quick energy moving around me. “She wants you to be happy,” the masseuse said. That is all she ever wanted for me.
So I write because that often does the trick. It lifts the weight, not only for me but for those who read with sorrow in their hearts. You see, this sorrow must be acknowledged before it can bloom into bliss again. I know this to be true and I often forget. It is then that I end up crying until there are no more tears left. And I feel better, though I may not look like it.