Duck, Death and the Tulip

Dear my beloved Phoenix on the WEb,

There is a children's book by Wolf Earbruch (2011) called Duck, Death and the Tulip.  Duck feels a presence near by, has for a while, but one day she notices how close this figure has become. It is Death.  At first, Duck is frightened and befuddled then she relaxes and they become friends.  They romp together and rest together quietly.  One day, the inevitable happens and Duck dies.  Her friend Death takes her to a stream, places her gently into the currents with a tulip on her chest and nudges her on her way.  This has significance again in my life, more so than ever, it seems, in the last several days.  I think I see where I'm going a bit more clearly.  Strangely enough.

Thursday of last week I walked into the kitchen at work and there in the large sink was a dead pig, skinned and pale, legs straight up, gut exposed ready for some sort of extraction.  I gasped and almost threw up then I cried.  I cried, Phoenix, for what humans do.  I cried for liking bacon (which I will never eat again).   I cried for the life that was that pig and her tribe.  I cried for you, Phoenix, for the shell that was left for me to find that night you were shot.  That shell that had been brutally murdered then dragged to a spot for me to get.  I cried right there at work amidst coworkers who were uncomfortable with the emotion.  Later that same day, I went to see a friend who was dying of cancer in hospice care.  When I walked into the room, I think I gasped quietly so as not to alarm anyone.  I've not seen anyone so close to death, skeletal and drawn.  I spoke to her, sang to her and gradually adjusted to this living life in front of me.  The next day when I saw her, she had just died.  I was there for 4 hours with her and her sisters and as time passed, I watched her face change, let go, relax into the death.  I too relaxed into her death.  And, something else.

My grandmother died this year.  She was 103 and I sat with her in April.  We sat and stared out the window, watching the wind blow leaves, flowers, branches and an American flag.  I have never felt such peace with anyone like that outside of circle.  She remarked to me how much she appreciated just the quiet and not talking.  When I left her that visit, I knew it was the last time I'd see her and I knew it was time for me to follow through on a long time interest in hospice work.  In fact she died two months later and I began hospice care work shortly after that.  It was time.

Phoenix, I am aware of this current carrying me.  I have felt this with me for many years, much like Duck: this presence and knowing of something lingering nearby.  I've had glimpses. And then long stretches of not knowing, feeling lost.  Now I feel like Death has laid me down into a stream of life, handed me a tulip and nudged/pushed me on my way.  I feel the flow and see how maybe all the trauma, death and divorce have some how woven this stream/current for me.  I am beholden to Death in this way.  I do not know how else to speak of it.  Beholden to Death and Life in this way.

And what must I let die in order to let go?  Guilt.  Not responsibility. No, I will never not feel responsible for the devastation I have caused another.  I see now, though, I cannot hold myself back from living a life I chose.  Death has showed me something of the way in Life.  I am truly grateful. 

Love,
Me