The Enormity of it All

The Enormity of it All

Lucia Maya, Elizabeth Blue, Jade Beall, Elizabeth Meagher

Lucia Maya and Elizabeth Blue, April, 2012.  photo by Jade Beall

Yesterday I was having lunch with a dear friend, who is very insightful and intuitive, and has two sons the same ages as my two daughters.  She asked me, with concern, for the second time in two weeks, if I was really taking the time and space to allow for the enormity of what has happened.  It felt like she was asking if I truly grasped the magnitude of what has happened to me, my daughter’s death a year ago.  I didn’t really know how to answer her and I still don’t.

On the one hand, I started to feel like maybe I wasn’t doing this grieving “right”, which I’m sure was far from what she intended.  As a mother, it’s such a familiar place to go: if this looks different, or is not what is expected by others, maybe I’m not doing it right.  Though much of my mothering has looked “different” (as is how I live my life), and I can see things I could have done better, overall I’ve mothered the best way I know how, following my heart and modeling that for my daughters.  Still, it’s easy to be vulnerable as a parent, to question if we’re doing the right thing. Guilt seems to come along with parenthood and the enormous responsibilities we’re honored with in bringing someone into the world.

What I said to my friend is that I feel like my main work now is healing through grieving, and taking the time to heal in whatever ways I can.  For me, this means a lot of time alone, listening to music where I often receive messages from Elizabeth, meditating, reading, watching tv on netflix for hours when I need to (all of “Orange is the New Black” during 2 really hard days). It means getting acupuncture and bodywork, talking to good friends, asking family to be around for difficult times, like birthdays and anniversaries, asking for support…It means saying no to many invitations and events, listening deeply to what I really want to do, and leaving when I’m tired and feeling full. It means spending time with my younger daughter, visiting her more often, connecting with her and wanting to be closer with her.

It also means seeing clients, offering the healing work I do, which I love – it helps me to focus on someone else, listening with my full presence, feeling like I’m in service and contributing, and it makes me feel better as I receive the Reiki as it flows through me to my client.  Teaching Reiki and facilitating healing circles and retreats also brings me joy, and is another way that I feel Elizabeth’s presence, sitting with me and supporting me, as I ask to be the clearest channel for the teachings to flow through. It also allows me the opportunity to share some of what I learned from Elizabeth about living and dying with grace, which helps bring some greater meaning to this intense journey of transformation.

It means writing, combing through my emails and journals, Elizabeth’s writing and photographs, and sharing these with all of you, listening for the guidance about the timing. Receiving feedback about how this affects you has been an amazing balm for my heart.

But, am I able to absorb the enormity of what has happened, that my adored and beloved and challenging and worrisome and beautiful and smart and difficult and adoring and creative and wise 22 year old first-born daughter has died? No, absolutely not.  Do I cry as I write these words? yes. There is no way I could absorb or take in all of this, even one year later it continues to seep in, little by little, day by day, and I do my best to stay present to it, to grief, stay present to Elizabeth’s spirit, stay present to my living daughter, Julianna, stay present to my partner, and mostly, stay present to my heart.

Leaving Her Body…

Elizabeth Blue, Jade Beall, Elizabeth Meagher

Elizabeth Blue ~ April, 2012 by Jade Beall

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One year ago today, the email below I sent to our close friends and family. Now I share it here, with those of you who have joined me on this transformative, healing journey.

As I prepared for this first anniversary of my daughter Elizabeth’s death, I anticipated it would be challenging. I’ve been learning how to care for myself, my needs, better and better throughout this time, so I asked close family and friends to gather, a very small group who knew and love Elizabeth (and me!) dearly, to come and spend time together.  We’ve spent the last couple of days telling stories, looking at photos, doing art projects with Elizabeth’s image, eating, laughing, resting, loving Elizabeth and each other…

We plan to begin the process of releasing her ashes today, spreading some in one of her favorite places in Tucson, with plans to spread more in Berkeley and Hawaii later, two of her other favorite places. I honor her and remember her every day, and oddly, today doesn’t feel as momentous or intense as I expected – I’m wondering now if the emotion will come when everyone leaves and I’m alone again…in this first year, even the hardest days have been fine, as I’ve watched myself experiencing emotion like never before, and always able to be aware that it will pass, that all I need to do is be present and keep trusting my heart. Thank you all for being here with me in this first year. Your presence from near and far, old friends and new, strangers and family, has meant so much. I am so grateful for each of you. Thank you.

Leaving Her Body

September 23, 2012

Dear Ones,

Elizabeth left her body this morning around 4:30 am.  She was peaceful, she knew I was right with her, holding her hand, talking to her and loving her. Something woke me at 4am, and I went to check on her. As I heard her breathing, I knew she was very close, and sat down to be with her.  I was thinking it could be a few hours still, so was about to lay down on the couch, when I heard her take one breath, and then realized it was her last one.  Her heart continued for a while…

Since yesterday morning her breathing had changed, and Greg (her dad) and I had spent the whole day sitting close, talking to her, telling her how much we love her, and how many people love her and have been affected by her.  She was mostly in another world, but every few hours would open her eyes, and was still so clear, with the same love and grace in her gaze.

I am so grateful for the gentle waves of these passages, that each new wave has washed over, giving me time to adjust, to accept, to move into the next stage gracefully, diving in deep and emerging with an ever more cracked open heart, and knowing there’s still more and still more….

As usual, we are doing something a bit unusual – we are keeping Elizabeth’s body at home for a few days, having cleaned, anointed and prepared her body ourselves.  We will have a visiting time here, for anyone who is in Tucson, if you want to say goodbye to her body, and connect with me and family.  She will be cremated in a couple of days.

We are also planning a large, public memorial service in 2-3 weeks.  We will honor and celebrate her life, with music, stories, photos and her poetry.  Do not feel you need to come and see her body,  it is simply a possibility if you want to say goodbye in this way.

More to come…

love and blessings,
Lucia

This photo is of her last night, still beautiful and at peace.

Elizabeth Blue, Elizabeth Meagher, hospice

Elizabeth Blue her last night, 9/22/12

Elizabeth Blue,  Jade Beall, Elizabeth Meagher

Elizabeth Blue, April, 2012 by Jade Beall

Slowing Down – emails from the depths, September, 2012

Slowing Way Down

Some of the last emails I sent, about my older daughter Elizabeth Blue’s journey towards the ultimate release, from the two weeks before her transition last year. 

September 14, 2012

Dear Ones,
things here are slowing waaay down.  No words now, sometimes nodding or shaking her head in response to a question, sometimes that seems too much effort.

Elizabeth still has no pain, is comfortable and has no fear that I feel…there are lots of folks assisting her, both here and in the other realms too.  She’s not eating still, and only taking small sips of water.  The hospice nurse and our doctor/friend Ann Marie assure us that all is progressing as expected and in the best possible way as far as being peaceful and comfortable.  Even throughout the day there are changes, as tonight she had a hard time taking one of the medicines through a straw, so we skipped that one…it’s probably only days left now, but it’s still hard to say.  She’s breathing fine, a bit different now, and very inward, very much connected with the other worlds now.

Today 10 of Elizabeth’s friends came to say goodbye, led by Samantha, her closest friend, and it was so beautiful.  Full of tears, laughter, stories, reminiscences – they each took a turn holding her hand, kneeling by her bedside and talking to her, kissing her, loving her and telling her goodbye. It was exquisite.  They were all so loving, so respectful and sweet with us.  Amazing.

Feeling how precious we each are, remembering to tell those you love how you feel, letting the small things go, knowing that each day is precious, each smile, each kiss… for us all, not just Elizabeth.

sending love to you all ~ if you’re receiving this email know that I love you.
love,
Lucia

Samantha Salazar, Elizabeth Blue, Elizabeth Meagher, hospice

Elizabeth’s best friend Samantha and their circle of friends came to say goodbye, 9/14/2012

Lucia Maya, Elizabeth Blue, Elizabeth Meagher, hospice

Lucia and Elizabeth snuggle, 9/12/12

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

September 15, 2012

…a rare and REALLY hard day, watching Elizabeth visibly recede, and I was compelled, like I was a zombie, to watch some of E’s video diaries, of her when she was healthy, and then right when she was finishing chemo, and so hopeful and herself… it was beyond heartbreaking, and I’ve been avoiding going back and revisiting other times, but today i got pulled in.  The rest of the day I can barely be present with her. Can’t sit still, am angry, rageful, so sad…

September 19, 2012

Dear Ones,
Elizabeth hasn’t been eating for 2 weeks now, except for these few times: it was lovely that she ate what seemed to be her last meal from Zelie, some fruit and toast for breakfast.  Then 4 days later when Greg arrived, with her favorite dessert, carrot cake, she ate a few bites, and then our dear friend Tita brought by some food, and Greg prepared and fed Elizabeth a whole meal of beans, rice, avocado, quesadilla – all her favorite foods, and it was so beautiful, her being able to receive that from her dad, who has such a deep connection to food and sharing his love for people through food…Then I was writing to him about how lovely that was, and realizing that I couldn’t remember the last food I’d fed her, and felt really sad.  A few hours later I offered her food again, (now days since she’d said yes to eating) and she said yes, as though she knew what I’d been thinking.  I fed her a perfect peach, and she gave me the gift of being able to feed her one more time…

She’s had almost no water for that long too (just enough to take pills and a few more sips), though the last few days it’s been hard for her to swallow, so she gets no pills, only 2 medications to give now, both liquid.  She has occasional ice chips, but often says no to that too.

She started having some pain a couple of days ago, so has had liquid morphine 3 times, but no pain yesterday or today.  She still has tremors/shakiness so gets liquid lorazepam a couple of times a day for that.  She’s sleeping much of each day, partly from the medication, and partly from having so little energy. She’s wanting to be alone more, doesn’t want any visitors and some days doesn’t want me around, which is different.  So it really feels like she’s disconnecting from this world…

Given all this, it’s quite remarkable that when there are no medications in her, she’s still quite clear, with a small smile to greet me in the morning, and this morning gave a thumbs up to my questions of how she slept and how she was feeling…She still rubs her lips together when i put lip balm on, like she always has, just very slowly now.  And she doesn’t want me to massage or put lotion on her now – it seems like too much stimulation, and bringing her back into the awareness of the body.

She’s not been talking for quite a while, but can still sometimes nod or shake her head, though even that takes effort now, using a lot of energy.   She is still comfortable and seems very peaceful.

So there’s no way to say how much longer she might be here, though without any water it seems it can’t be much more.  She is amazingly strong, and so courageous and loving.  She did say yes a few days ago when I asked if she feels ready to leave, and if she feels that she’s completed everything she came here to do.  That hadn’t been true a few weeks ago, so I was grateful to hear that.

Sending much love to all of you, and connecting at the heart…
love,
Lucia

Elizabeth Blue, Elizabeth Meagher, hospice

Elizabeth today (9/19/12), with her newest blue bracelet and a silky blanket under her head, both from Aunt Tashe, with her bunny by her side. She’s wearing a favorite ring from my Aunt Amy. Surrounded and enveloped in so much love…

Some Days with Elizabeth Blue…

Some Days with Elizabeth

Preface:  I am struggling a bit this week, the week leading to the first year anniversary of my daughter Elizabeth’s death.  Partly for the obvious reasons – the intensity of this loss resounding in my body and mind and spirit to a degree that at times I can’t remember the simplest things, like where an acupuncture office is that I’ve been to a dozen times; I’m thinking of her constantly, with memories of her at all stages of her life popping up, sometimes making me laugh, often in tears…Today I smiled as I put on sunglasses and thought of Elizabeth’s love of sunglasses and how she always accessorized with them in the most artful way, and then I passed the hospital where she had brain surgery, and remembered the neurosurgeon sitting with me in the waiting area, telling me that the surgery was not successful, he could only remove part of the tumor, and that her brain was swelling to such a degree that he had to stop operating. At first I felt sad, and then I heard myself saying out loud “you were released!” and was able to smile and feel joy for/with her…

The less obvious reason I’ve been struggling: I’ve been posting these past year’s emails from Elizabeth’s and my journey and have had this strong sense that they each needed to be shared before the anniversary date of each update. But I’ve fallen behind, and the last few were posted “late” and I have several more to share before we get to the anniversary itself, in less than a week, on September 23.

It feels like the timing has been in large part due to Elizabeth’s guidance – that in the beginning she was urging me on, also aware of the dates and the timing being important, but as her spirit is moving to other levels, the earthly concepts of time are less important, so I haven’t received guidance to post as urgently in the past two months, and I’ve slowed down. Also, as I share these writings I (re)experience the journey, and it feels like there will be another sense of finality in sharing these emails leading to her transition…So this is all to warn you that this may be an intense week for you as well, if you read these in real-time. I’ll be sharing a month’s worth of transformation in a very condensed time, and you can choose to read them as they come, or you may prefer to take your time and stretch it out a bit.  It feels important however, for me to share all the emails by this first anniversary.  I will continue to share Elizabeth’s writing, as well as my own.

Elizabeth Blue, Elizabeth Meagher, lymphoma,

Elizabeth Blue, June, 2012

Though certainly sad on some level, ultimately my hope is that this story is as uplifting and transformative for you as it is for me.  May these offerings bring you some comfort and inspiration on your journey!

This image is how I’m seeing her in my mind’s eye right now…

 

 

 

 

 

September 4, 2012

Dear Ones,
today I woke up, as I often do, to the sound of wooden bracelets lightly clinking together.  Elizabeth’s bed in the living room is visible from our room, and I have a direct line of sight to her, so I can see her begin to move her right arm and hand, as though she is dancing slowly by herself, and making quiet music with her bracelets.  She’s been wearing at least 6 bracelets for weeks, given to her by different people – 2 she was gifted from Tashe, my sister, one was a gift from Ann Marie, our friend and E’s doctor, and the 3 wooden ones are mine, gifted to me from my partner Zelie.  Elizabeth has also been given rings from several women who’ve visited – as she plays with and holds their hands, they’ve been inspired/instructed to leave a ring with her.  She enjoys playing with them and looking at them all.

I’ve been reading out loud to Elizabeth (one of my favorite things when my daughters were young, and still), and the first book that came to me was The Little Prince. I hadn’t remembered the story, but it was an amazingly perfect book to read at this time, for me very sweet and very reassuring, about love and the process of leaving one’s body. I highly recommend it for all.  I’ve also been reading her Winnie the Pooh, which is lovely.  We’ve been listening for weeks to the Graceful Passages CD, which she always says yes to when I ask, and also still loving the Coleman Barks readings of Rumi poetry.  We have lots of beautiful relaxation types of music, which Elizabeth enjoys too.  She likes being read to, and music, but then also wants time for quiet, when she’ll say no to offerings of words or music.

We’ve been enjoying this time of more quiet, more spaciousness, and Elizabeth seems to want to have time alone each day. (It is just me and Zelie here, with Elizabeth’s father Greg coming on the weekends from San Francisco.) It is a bit hard to know her preferences, as she might answer 2 different ways to the same question, depending on how it’s asked, so mostly I’m following my intuition and staying in the flow, reading her as best as I can, and trying to take care of myself too. It’s hard to tell also how much she understands, she has confusion and has little short-term memory, though long-term seems much better. Her expression is almost always neutral, and she only answers yes or no when asked, and if pressed might give a word or two explanation. She is  still not stating anything on her own, or asking any questions, which is SO different from her previous expressive self, since she could first speak!  She continues to smile so sweetly when we smile at her, and only occasionally expresses pain, her neck sometimes hurts when we turn her, but as soon as she’s positioned well, she’s not in pain.

This morning I was talking to Elizabeth about how hard it’s been for me to believe that she’s dying (throughout this process with cancer, and still, though I’m finally starting to believe it), and she said the same is true for her.  (I was talking about a poem of hers I read, that startled me as it seemed to be speaking of dying, but then I realized it was written as she was preparing to leave Tucson for Seattle 2 years ago – it’s “Bird’s Nest”, here.) I asked if she felt ready, and she said no.  I asked if she felt she needed to do or say anything to prepare, and she said no.  So I said perhaps she’s not ready yet because today’s not the day, and that she would be ready when it is the day, and she responded with holding up crossed fingers, which was both funny and so dear and moving.  It does feel that she is getting closer to the end, though it’s still really hard to see how or when that will happen.  I’m doing my best to be present and live each day as though it could be her last, and my own as well.

Physically, she is having 3-4 episodes of tremors/increased heart rate each day (due to the tumor in her brain), and sometimes they bother her, sometimes not, mainly related to the severity. This morning was the most intense one – they’re similar to the full body shivering one might have when really cold, and include her torso and her right arm.  The medication helps quickly most often, though it makes her sleepy or “numb” she says, so she prefers not to have it when possible.  Her head continues to swell, and the tumor in her neck feels like it’s growing, especially as it causes some pain with movement.  I think it moves the vertebrae out of place, and some healer-friends have been able to help it shift back several times, giving her relief for many days or weeks.

She has been eating well still, and drinking some.  The other day, she was holding a rose, and suddenly I realized she’d taken a bite!  Must have smelled really good…though she said it didn’t taste good.

Elizabeth still says she is not afraid, her mind is quiet, and she’s peaceful.  I’m really grateful for that, and for each day.  Sometimes I go into stories of past or future, and get overwhelmed with grief, but then I can simply move into gratitude for her presence right now, feel the warmth of her skin, look into her eyes, place my hand on her heart and feel that love, and all is well.

love and blessings,
Lucia

Elizabeth Blue, Elizabeth Meagher, hospice

Elizabeth liked ice packs on her head – here she was being funny in this subtle way of hers…

Elizabeth Blue, Elizabeth Meagher, Zelie Duvauchelle, hospice

Zelie and Elizabeth, September 4, 2012

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

September 11, 2012

Dear Ones,

There has  been a noticeable shift this past week, as Elizabeth has stopped eating and drinking for the most part. She occasionally (every 2-4 days) has said yes to something – Greg brought her favorite dessert of carrot cake this weekend, and she had a few bites, and our friend Tita brought some wonderful beans and rice (another favorite) which she ate as well, but overall she’s stopped eating and drinking.  We are not pushing her to eat or drink, simply continuing to offer, as we’ve been told that often the wisdom of the body is to stop, and that it’s a painless and easy way to leave.

For quite a while she’s needed some encouragement to eat – she might say no to being hungry, but then would say yes to a specific food…But something really shifted last Wednesday – she started only drinking enough to swallow her pills and then saying no when I asked if she wants more.  And started saying no to everything i offered her to eat.    Right after I wrote this, she said yes to food, and ate a peach…so it continues to change, but that was the only thing she’s eaten since a dinner on Saturday. There is this fine line between offering and encouraging or urging. I want her to live as long as possible, but don’t to prolong her life if it means suffering. It feels like the best I can do is listen to her, and when she’s not clear, then follow my intuition, knowing her as well as I do for these 22 years. I hear from others some concern about her not eating and drinking, and it certainly has felt strange as a mother, not to urge her to eat, but I continue to trust her and listen.

This has brought the reality of her leaving that much closer, and I am aware of how precious it is that I can massage her arms and feet, clean her skin, hear her voice (more rarely now), kiss her cheek… I am deeply grateful for the blessing of each day with Elizabeth still here in her body, and at the same time wanting to let her go, which is the most challenging contrast of intentions and emotions I’ve ever experienced.  The grief is ever-present, and mostly just below the surface, as I stay with her in this journey, present as I possibly can be.

I’ve just finished reading “The Alchemist” by Paulo Coelho to Elizabeth, which I loved, and she seemed to enjoy, usually saying yes when I would ask if she wanted me to continue.  It doesn’t seem she is following the story, but seems to like the sound of my voice. I’ve now started reading pieces from Anne Lamott’s “Tender Mercies”, and though I’d read it years ago, am amazed at how perfect each book has been for the process Elizabeth is in, and perhaps more so for me!  She is not wanting music lately, prefers me to be with her, even if we’re not talking, though she still wants some time alone.

I keep delaying sending this, as things change each day, but I know many of you are wanting to know what life is like here, so this feels somehow like a lot is missing, but it’s still enough.

much love,
Lucia

Keep Living

A Reason to Keep Living

This is a piece Elizabeth Blue wrote, from the period when she was going through chemo for the first time. She was being treated for non-hodgkins lymphoma which was diagnosed 2 months earlier.  The doctors had told us she had an 85-90% chance of full recovery at this point.

Elizabeth Blue, Jade Beall, Elizabeth Meagher

Elizabeth Blue, April, 2012  (photo by Jade Beall)

1.20.12

Keep Living

It’s sort of funny this thing when you have cancer.  One thing about it is when people are talking about someone who they know who has died recently, usually part of such a story is telling of how they died or what they died from.  The funny thing is when you have cancer and someone is telling a story about someone they knew who died from cancer, they chose to omit that detail.  And that’s how you can tell.  You don’t really want to ask about it (it’s a normal question, ‘how did they die?’) because you can tell and you don’t want to make the person telling the story uncomfortable.  You don’t want to make them be the one to say cancer kills to your face.

The funny thing is that when you have cancer, if you’ve had it for any length of time you had to come to grips with dying long ago.  You’re sort of over it now (that is if you’ve established that you’re probably not going to die).  You’ve dealt with that possibility and, in a sense, moved on.  You kinda have to move on.  You kinda have to move on from that idea of death if you have any intention or expectation of living.  I think of a friend who has cancer (an uncurable kind she will live and die with, but probably has a long time to live).  She told me that at first when diagnosed she was very depressed.  For about a month all she could do was be sad.  And then a friend said to her: “Tita, you can’t die while you’re still living.”  And now she sees beauty in everything because it’s what makes her so so happy and want to keep living.  I think that’s the thing, you know, you’ve got to find that thing that makes you want to keep living.  For Tita it’s beauty.  

My Godmother recently asked me what my thing was, that thing that I want to live life for.  At my age there are a lot of obvious potentials to want to fulfill.  (Having children, a husband, a career, etc.) but these aren’t palpable things you get to experience right away if you beat cancer.  They’re a bit far off in the future to put that desire in your hands, a desire strong enough to make you want to live as much or more than you’ve ever wanted anything before.  

What came to mind for me was the carnal.  Wanting to live long enough to have that amazing feeling of heartbreakingly beautiful sex with a person after you’ve wanted and been imagining it for months.

That’s enough for a twenty-something person to want to keep living another day, truly beautiful sex.  It doesn’t even have to be actual sex, it could be just the idea of it.  The idea of the hunt or the chase and the exuberant feeling of wanting someone and guessing that they might want you too.  Some days that is quite enough to keep me alive.

Elizabeth Blue ©

Elizabeth Blue’s Life in Pictures

Elizabeth Blue, Jade Beall, Elizabeth Meagher

Elizabeth Blue, 4/2012 (by Jade Beall)

Elizabeth Blue, Jade Beall, Elizabeth Meagher,

Elizabeth Blue, 4/2012 (by Jade Beall)

As we move closer to the one year anniversary of my daughter Elizabeth’s death, on September 23, she is very present with me, giving me many messages and signs that she is close.  I will share more of that in another post.  For now – I am getting the message that it is time to share this video again.  This is a slideshow of Elizabeth’s life, from beginning to end, with many of the people, animals, events and passages in her life.

The professional photo shoot done during the last year of her life was done by Jade Beall, who recently dedicated a blog post with photos and story of that photo shoot, and I will be sharing many more of those extraordinary photos soon. Here are 2 favorites.

This slideshow was created with love and is shared with love.  (And you might want to have some tissues handy…)

Hospice – last week of August, 2012

Slipping Closer to the Edge…

These writings are from about a month before my daughter Elizabeth Blue died.  She was at home and needing 24 hour care, having had a stroke following unsuccessful surgery and chemo to remove the cancer that had spread to her brain. She was in a peaceful state of grace that is hard to capture in words and images.

August 24, 2012: a group email

dear ones,

again, I’m not sure how long it’s been since writing, but when I start to receive texts and emails asking what is going on, I can feel it’s time to share more outside of this small and yet expansive, world I’m living in.

Day to day, it’s hard to see change, much like when you have a newborn baby, and can’t see how quickly she is changing because you’re so immersed. But when I look at photos of Elizabeth now, I can see that her head is more swollen, and I know she now has a bump on the back of her neck that is very likely another tumor, or one that has spread, so there is evidence that the cancer is growing.   She has also had several episodes of muscle tremors, with her heart racing, which is uncomfortable for her, but responds to muscle-relaxants. It is likely a sign of neurological symptoms from the tumor, and may indicate other symptoms to come.

Some days she seems even less able to track things in a linear way, but this seems so natural now it’s hard to notice the change.  Today also for the first time she said her mind was busy when I asked (rather than quiet), using her hands to show me “chatty”.   She often uses her hands to communicate, though she is able to speak. She has said she is “doing work”, working through some things internally on this journey that need to be completed.  She is aware of the support she has, from all of us, in addition to the unseen forces.

There have been many visitors, (including the nurse and nurse’s aide 2 times a week), which she seems to enjoy though gets tired quickly. She says yes to everyone who has asked to visit, though I limit the schedule so she (and I) aren’t too tired. Often I am happiest when I have time alone to just sit with Elizabeth, like the other morning when I played Coleman Barks’ album, his readings of Rumi poetry, and we listened together, which was a beautiful way to start our day.  The physical tasks of feeding, changing, turning her, giving medicines at the right time, etc, often take up most of the time in the day, but I try to find times still when we can simply sit and be…

We have fewer people here, which is easier in some ways, harder in others.  Tashe and Terri (my sister and sister-in-law) were here which was immensely helpful. My mom is leaving this weekend, and it’s been wonderful to have her. She’s been patient and generous with me, even when I’m not at my best, not as patient and loving as I’d like to be.  Julianna (my younger daughter, 19 years old) heads back to NYU on Tuesday, and I’m going to miss her terribly.  She’s been home all summer, the longest time we’ve had together in many years and I’ve enjoyed every day with her.  During this difficult time she’s been just amazing – so loving, supportive, thoughtful, helpful, generous and just beautiful to be with. She is ready to go back to school, and though I can’t imagine how I could function in that world now, I can see that it will be a good place for her right now.

So next week it will be just Zelie (my partner), Elizabeth and me here, and we’ll see how that goes. Zelie is wonderful – patient and loving, and really sweet to see the two of them together. Greg (Elizabeth’s father) continues to come every week from Friday to Sunday, and brings Elizabeth treats from Berkeley and good company as he sits with her for hours each day, and he just cooked us all a wonderful dinner.  We may call on friends and hospice volunteers more, taking up offers of meals and perhaps just to come and sit with Elizabeth so we can do errands or have some time for emails and maybe even some breaks…

It doesn’t feel like Elizabeth’s ready to leave us yet, and yet we are aware it could happen at any time.  Most days it simply feels like I’m caring for her while she’s very ill, disabled, but really hard to see/believe that she’s dying.  The hardest day for me so far was going to Elizabeth’s apartment for the first time without her, and seeing all her belongings: her artwork, clothes, lists of things to do, all the outward ordinary objects that connect me to her in her previous self, all the ways we spent time together, the gifts I bought her, the stories of getting these shoes in Seattle, or that friend who made her that drawing, etc…it was just heartbreaking. Then a couple of days later I went back, and already it had shifted, and was much easier…so time continues to help, and continuing to be present to whatever degree possible.

I’ve been in the process of writing this in bits for days, as that’s how life is right now, and this feels broken up and unsatisfying, as some of the days do.  There’s an unsettled quality right now, and also an immense amount of love and gratitude in each day. Grateful for all that has been and all that is.

love and gratitude to you all,

Lucia

We managed to take Elizabeth outside in a reclining wheelchair to the backyard last week, which she’d really wanted to do:

Elizabeth Blue. hospice,

Elizabeth Blue on her expedition outside, 8/2012

Elizabeth Blue, hospice, wheelchair,

Elizabeth with Julianna and Greg, 8/2012

Elizabeth Blue, hospice, reclining wheelchair,

Elizabeth with Grandma, 8/2012

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

August 28, 2012 – from Lucia’s Journal

Tonight I had the thought to tell Elizabeth that I would willingly trade places with her, sacrifice my life for hers, and then I realized how arrogant that was, the idea that my life was better then hers, my situation, my potential future, better than hers.  I saw in that instant that her life and situation, however long, has nothing wrong with it, nothing that she needs to “trade” for.  I shared this all with her, and she agreed, nodding.  I finished by saying that I wanted her to know that if I could, and she wanted, I would willingly give my life for hers.