this week

This week, I am crying at every little thing. Even sitting down to write a blog post makes me teary, and there’s nothing I’m particularly sad about in this moment.

This week I am staying up late watching full seasons of shows I like, family dramas especially, and sobbing through them. So much emotion – from marriages, to deaths, to new babies…and of course the scenes with the mother and her 20-something daughter having her first baby just put me right over the top…

This week I just want to stay in bed all morning reading Facebook updates on my phone, laughing and crying at silly videos and other people’s lives.

This week I want to eat chocolate for breakfast. And lunch and dinner. (Though I did make a great lentil soup last night to supplement the chocolate.)

This week I am angry at Elizabeth for dying. I am still stunned. Shocked that she left. Shocked that this fierce, stubborn hard-headed young woman, stronger-willed than I her whole life, could be gone. Taken down by something that wasn’t supposed to kill her. All kinds of people survive cancer. How did she not?

This week I rediscover Elizabeth’s Tumbler “Freshly Shaved Legs”, and smile at her posts the last months of her life – about fashion, music, deep thoughts, love, worries about her phone not working and being out of communication (little did we know she’d be communicating in a whole new way so soon…).  I forget how funny she was, in her sly, kittenish way. I admire her writing style, wish I could emulate her, and know that she is unique.

Elizabeth Blue, Elizabeth Meagher,

Elizabeth Blue, ~2010

This week I reread some of Rachel Remen’s book “Kitchen Table Wisdom”, which I loved when I read it years ago. One story is of a man who had survived cancer, and reading it this time, it seems she believes he survived only because he was able to move through and heal some deep emotional woundings. As Elizabeth’s mother, I feel responsible for ALL her emotional woundings (which I know intellectually isn’t true), and feel myself sink into self-blame.

This week I delight in the yard being cleaned and feeling brighter, more spacious, open; in adding a pump to my little pond so I hear running water from my bed when I wake up in the morning; in a basket full of oranges I picked from our backyard.

This week I cry tears of love and my heart opens as Zelie listens to her inner calling and attends a voice workshop for 10 days, being challenged and loved and supported in her soul’s work.

This week I listen to Julianna with pride and deep love as she prepares to graduate college and move out into the world at large, making her way with such grace, determination, focus and wisdom.

This week I despair at how little I’ve been writing, and feel my heart crack open when I discuss taking a writing workshop, and how I feel called to write a book about Elizabeth’s life and death and our journey together.

This week I feel the full-body Yes to this call, and know it’s not in my timing, any more than the timing of this post today, this week.

23 thoughts on “this week

  1. Your writing is so beautiful, Heart and Soul inspiring. I feel every emotion, the push, the pull, the Love and the tears, the joy & happiness and the pain and despair. Much Love…..Divine Timing they say….all in Divine Timing. Blessings to you, Namaste xoxo

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  2. Yes, yes, yes. . .a book.

    Yes, yes, yes. . .allowing this heart tending its due. No need to wish it a hastened pace. You are surrounded by color now, and from my perspective, it is as though you are feeling into each one of these hues for what they mean to you. Never one to be superficial, your nature is to go deeply. In my own way, across many miles, I hold you as you go through this process. You are working still, even amidst the chocolate, lentils and seeming lack of productivity. The muse of creativity whispers in your ear, dear, softly. No fault, no blame. . .only support.

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  3. Oh you must write the book. Perhaps ‘this week’ you have already started. I hope so. It will be difficult, painful, cathartic and joyful all at the same time. I know because I go through every emotion you can think of as I write my book about my mother.

    All I can say to you is, when it becomes too much stop and put it aside. You will know when you are ready to start again. It doesn’t matter how long it takes. I have put my book aside twice for six months and eight months.

    Your book is needed. That much I know.

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    • Dear Fransi, yes, it does feel as though it is already in process, and yet, I don’t know where to start… a funny contradiction of sorts. I SO appreciate your support of this, and I’m looking forward to reading your book!
      I’m trusting the timing, and sometimes impatient.
      much love, Lucia

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  4. Grieving is such a long never ending ‘journey’. I read your posts and I know you are strong, yet like my friend, Daniels mom, sometimes it is just a wave of emotion.
    I often say to her, let your tears fall, because when you cry and weep for your child, that is the closest you are to them. You speak to them, and miss them and cry for them, and there is nothing wrong with that. They are missed everywhere that they are not.
    I cannot imagine your pain Lucia. I hope you feel Elizabeth close.
    Just to let you know your writing always helps me to understand my friends grief. x

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  5. Life is so tough. Even years after losing a loved one it can suddenly knock you for six. Easy saying remember the good times but sometimes hard to put into practice. Lucia I wish you strength and love and peace. Cry as much as you like, laugh as much as you can and cherish your beautiful memories of Elizabeth

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  6. Thank you Lucia for sharing your heart with so many. Sending you a really big hug this day, Valentines day, coming from my heart! How appropriate! Always with such grace, Your loss still so raw and open. Your beautiful writing a blessing, showing balance and honesty, just as are you
    . Love, LLK

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  7. My heart cries with you as I, too, know the phases of grief like I know the phases of the moon. You and your precious daughter are proof that beauty begets beauty. Thank you for visiting my blog. I hope we can help each other through the trenches of this grief. I send you love and hugs…..Dale, Brandon’s mom forever

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