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 her last night, 9/22/12Elizabeth Blue, April, 2012 by Jade Beall
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
Elizabeth’s best friend Samantha and their circle of friends came to say goodbye, 9/14/2012Lucia 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 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…
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, 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 liked ice packs on her head – here she was being funny in this subtle way of hers…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.
Assumptions: things that are accepted as true or as certain to happen, without proof
There are many things we live with as givens, as assumptions that we don’t even know we believe. Even when we do our best to live with great awareness and consciousness, they still creep in, so universally accepted in our world, that we don’t see the possibility that they could not be true.
Elizabeth Blue – at the Grand Canyon, January, 2012
As I was sitting with my older daughter Elizabeth last year while she was moving towards her death, I had time to reflect on many assumptions I’d made about her and her life: That she’d live a long and fulfilling life. That wherever we both lived, we’d continue to talk, communicate, and see each other. That no matter our differences and hurt feelings, we’d continue to dive deep into our inner worlds and find places in common and communicate about what we wished for, apologize for any ways we’d hurt each other, and let each other know how much we loved and appreciated each other.
In some ways the assumption about her, or any of us living a long life was foolish, having grown up close to my grandparents, who’d watched both their sons die young, my uncle and my father at ages 21 and 30; I had watched several friends die of cancer who had young children they’d planned on raising; I’d worked with people dying of cancer, including children and young adults, years before Elizabeth had been diagnosed with cancer…so I knew this was a possibility in life. However, I believed as so many do: not to me, not to my family, not possible, please.
August 19, 2012 from Lucia Maya’s journal – Assumptions
The things i didn’t even realize i was counting on. Assuming without knowing: that Elizabeth would grow up and outlive me. That she’d have a career, whether as an English professor, as she talked about, or a body piercer, another idea that seemed more a youthful way to make some extra money, I didn’t know. Perhaps owning a vintage clothing store, or as a successful writer…
I assumed and hoped: that she would have long term relationship(s) with someone that she would love and find happiness with, that I might like, hopefully marry one of them someday, a wonderful man/woman who loves and adores her, and makes her happy, inspires her creativity, and that they would have children together. That I would have grandchildren to come visit, wherever she lived.
That we would have lots of time to talk and get along, to have intimate conversations and have times where she couldn’t stand me again. Where she desperately needed me, and times when she was so in love and busy she couldn’t answer my calls or texts.
Times where I’d worry if she was happy, had anxiety, was fulfilled, was never going to fall in love; have high enough self-esteem; recover from whatever emotional damage I’ve inflicted, or ways life traumas have wounded her…
It is this loss of the innocence, the loss of all these beliefs and assumptions and my stories of the imagined future that cause me the greatest grief. It is when I go back in my mind to see a “movie” of Elizabeth as she was, and that picture of her in the past holds all these assumptions and beliefs of what was still to come, and it is heartbreaking. All the stories that will never come true. The conversations never had, the joy and the anger and the fear and the wedding(s) and the grandchildren and the growing old, and the love, always the love…
So I take and am grateful for what I still have – the love, the conversations I can still have with her now in spirit, when I listen closely I hear her. I know she is always with me, and the present and the future will look different than what I assumed, and I do the best I can to accept and even love this life, as it is.
A short and heart-wrenching piece written by my daughter Elizabeth Blue, while she was in the middle of her first round of chemo treatment for non-Hodgkins lymphoma, which ended her life on September 23, 2012.This was written 4 days after her 22nd birthday.
Motherhood
Monday January 16, 2012 7:57 PM
I just burst into tears. I was looking at a friends new baby and wedding pictures and I was getting teary eyed at them. I got up, closed the computer and went to use the bathroom. When I came out I thought about my daughter and the people I would want there during my labor and her birth. I thought about Victoria coaching me through labor and pain and telling me about her experiences and I burst into tears. Truly uncontrollable sobs. I’m still crying. I thought about how I might never have that and I could barely stand it. Something just months ago I thought I would never want, I want. I want so badly, so much, to be a mom. I want so much to meet my daughter Chloe Cricket Benjamin Blue. I imagined her having the same birthday as me or the day before and how it would be the best birthday present god or life or anyone could give. I want to meet her. My daughter: Chloe Cricket Benjamin Blue. I want so much to know her – the thought of not knowing her brings tears to my eyes and I can’t stop crying and sobbing and wailing knowing that it is possible it may never happen. I miss her and I didn’t even meet her yet. I tried to reason the tears away wondering if I’m hormonal or had too much coffee or am hungry. But none of these things were true and even if they were it doesn’t matter. I just want to meet her I just want to know her. I want to be born a mom, anew and born with her into a new life: the clan of motherhood.
Luminous Blue 