Adrift...

Goodbyes are hard. It's not something I'm good at. As much as I tell myself to be strong, tears well up and I get that familiar ache in the back of my throat until I set them free. It's that first tear that opens the flood gates and there's no telling when it will end. Especially if there are tears not spent over things past. I didn't inherit this teary trait from my Mother.

She was stoic when it came to goodbyes. I know she suffered from unspent tears as much, if not more than me. After all, she lived through hard times; the Great Depression; World War II; and the inability to close the gap between loved ones as easily as we can today with the telephone, computers, fast cars and air travel. Maybe it was all the goodbyes she experienced that exercised those tiny little muscles that controlled her tear ducts. Whatever the cause, as a result she became an expert at goodbye.

I was witness to this skill she possessed the summer I moved her to Edmonton. She was eighty-seven at the time and had lived every second of those many years in the same community. Her friends were still there; childhood friends; friends she and my Dad had as a crazy-in-love young couple; church friends; writing friends; new friends. In between packing up her belongings I took her to visit these people who were so important to her, so she could say farewell. Time after time I watched as they hugged and said their goodbyes with nary a tear, even knowing this was likely the last time they would ever see each other. I watched from the puddle of salty tears I was reduced to shimmering on the floor. I know she felt a deep sadness at leaving them. I know because she wouldn't look me in the eye. Tears are highly contagious and they weren't something she wanted to catch. She'd suffered much loss over her brothers, her sister, her eldest daughter, her husband, her sister-in-law, and parting with the home she grew up in, but I never saw her cry. She had ducts of steel.

Tracy, Me, Wise Young Yoga Instructor, Janice, Cherie and Mabel

I have ducts of fluff. This week I said goodbye to my wise young yoga instructor. She's getting married and moving to Calgary to start a new life and as much as I am happy for her, I have been a shimmering puddle all week. Of course some of these tears are unspent tears for my Mom. There might even be some in there over the failings of my first marriage, the suffering of my children, the vanishing of my sister, the loss of my Dad, the passing of aunts and uncles, the sorrows of friends, and numerous dogs and cats I've known and loved. When those flood gates open they all come spilling out. It's like a tear-fest over so much lost. 

I've lost another wisdom-keeper in my life; losing two in such a short span of time is devastating. I feel rudderless; adrift. Both their missions in my life are complete and so they've moved on. My Mom fulfilled her mortal toil and my wise young yoga instructor is in greater need elsewhere. It's up to me to ensure the wisdom they imparted; the blessings they bestowed; are put to good use. I guess I'll start by focusing on breath and putting one foot in front of the other. 

Still standing... namaste.