After my child died there was no role for a bereaved parent. Not in 1978. Not sure there is now. So I did what any self-respecting human would do. I hid my pain in order to make others comfortable. In order to make myself comfortable in the new normal which I had no proper place in.
We got a dog. Rob was in school learning his new role. Bob was becoming a workaholic right in front of my eyes. His work became all-consuming for him. Well, until he was forced to take early retirement before he turned 52. I think that may have caused the cancer. The ten or eleven years he spent in our unfinished basement trying to come up with a consulting career. Instead he was diagnosed with the same cancer that killed his father.
During Bob’s cancer years I became an essayist. I have written thousands of them, all pretty good and to the point. Now I am entering a new phase in my life. Not knowing. Two words I am not good at. Not knowing. For knowledge is something we apply to our broken lives in hopes of a quick fix. There is none.
I have absorbed my life rapidly into my bloodstream. I sit with nothing to do but be. And in this being I am a becoming. An endless love. An eternal flame. The flame consumes the guilt and the sorrow if I am still enough. If I am empty enough.
The new is transcendent only for a moment. But in that moment God is alive. Now we have to keep choosing transcendence as much as possible. And then it begins to choose us. The dance is dharmic, graceful and healing. You may dance alone but God is your silent partner.