re-membering

Tis the season of reuniting and re-imagining. And again, I find myself in the wake of a jet lag fog, having just returned from our Thanksgiving escapades in Southern California. Now home on St.Thomas with the winter winds and blue waters, I hit the reset button and work to find my center. I listen to the crashing swells hit the rocky shore below and watch the butterflies flit across the abundant greens of sea grapes trees, cacti and aloe plants. I write my morning pages (thank you Artist's Way) and lean into what's present in my head and heart- the perpetual paradox of great appreciation and a lingering longing. I hold an awareness of contentment, while also sensing a feeling somewhat kin to a phantom limb. The holiday season begs this predicament to the surface. I know I am not alone.

It has been a year of loss. The kind of loss that reminds you of the circle of life, as well as the capacity to live a life. I speak of good friends from my childhood who have lost a parent, friends who are in the midst of losing parents and siblings, and families who have lost a child. While no one can quantify grief, its edges that stun you unexpectedly and underground cavities that pull you to your knees years after the fact, grief is a universal language and, once felt, is forever translatable. Living far away from the losing and the lost has been a challenge. I am not a part of the daily conversations or physical gatherings when the reality hits that time can, in fact, stop, that things will, indeed, end. And as I feel the hollow reverberations and the familiar sensations of what it is to lose, I can't help but yearn for a connectedness to "home."

Home is where the heart is, while a true statement, fails in that hearts are everywhere. There is no such one place as home, our hearts live everywhere. In our travels, letters, prayers, meals, playlists and long distance (is that still a thing?) conversations. And while grief can sometimes disconnect us, with a cloak of isolation and pure loneliness, we have to re-member ourselves and acknowledge what is missing, through memories, stories, smells, and songs.

It hurts in my body not to be present for the memorializations and celebrations of loved ones. There were four funerals this year that I would have attended, had I still lived in Connecticut. There were friends, family and neighbors I would have seen and hugged, laughed with and cried to. These circle of life rituals help you keep track of where you actually are on the track. You are reminded of who is doing what along side you, ahead of you and behind you. You get to support others and let others catch you, you get to speak your heart and listen to others'. I'm not saying I want to go funeral hopping or anything, but these gatherings for people I care about remind me of the fact that I am the sum of so many parts, past and present, all having informed what I am today and who I want to be tomorrow.

And the truth is, since moving to an island 1700 miles away from what used to be home, I am learning the meaning of discernment, opportunity and consequences. I recognize that the grass is always greener where you water it, and it's friggin hard to water everything that you love or have loved for over 47 years. "I get to" and "I can't" are daily affirmations and realities that continue to weather and shape my present existence. While I am getting better at time travel and shape shifting, I still can't beam myself to my sister's house for the night and monitor her daughter's insulin pump, so that she can sleep. I still have to book a flight and a rental car when I want to visit the friend who is missing her mother or father, to sit on her couch and talk into the night. I still need to put my kids first, present to the one who lives at home and the ones who live hours away and need that regular dose of insular support that doesn't translate over spotty Face-time. And, I still have to live and grow a life here, where we're rooted, engaged and becoming- ever present to the stretching web of loved ones.

As I have gypsy-ed around the country and reflect on what my life looks like, I recognize that my parenting has become less about endurance and more about deep dives and whole body work outs. The conversations may be richer and deeper, though possibly fewer. (They can also be a whole lot of everything.) I can get little slices concerning the stress due to tomorrow's chemistry test, how one does (not) clean up one's own vomit and who ordered what on Amazon, and sometimes I can get the entire pie, "I'm starting to like the mornings and am waking up earlier... I feel good and am excited about... How was your day, Mama?"

The same goes with my sisters and friends, phone calls that drench and, sometimes, just drizzle. It's an up and down roller coaster, this act of staying in touch and keeping connected, and I effort to remain familiar enough by getting straight to the point or just sharing a snapshot of a day, a moment, a whim with a Marco. I water and I prune, I plant and I reap. And as I learn to home like a turtle wherever I go, I count my blessings and remember the missing parts I can't always carry with me, but can feel deep inside. I cherish what's here and what's passed, longing and delighting in the everything.

With sustaining love,

St. Sunshine