We have so much to be thankful for. As I navigate this transition with my mom, I am leaning into love, thanks, gratitude, grace, and mercy as much as I can. Making each moment last while we have them with each other.
In preparation for her passing, I was given a book to read called “Heartwood: The Art of Living with the End in Mind” by Barbara Becker. The definition of Heartwood in Merriam-Webster, is: The older, harder, nonliving central wood of trees that is usually darker, denser, less permeable, and more durable than the surrounding sapwood.
It is also a teaching by the Buddha, comparing the layers of a tree—the twigs and leaves, outer bark, inner bark, sapwood—to the spiritual discoveries that may distract a seeker before they come to realize the unshakable deliverance of mind, or “heartwood.” Or, as defined by the author, it is a reminder to embrace the inseparability of life and death, the growth rings and the heartwood.
She goes on to write: "Heartwood. In the poetry of nature, I encountered a metaphor of loss and life, hand in hand, enhancing one another… If you have the chance to examine the cross-section of a tree, you will notice a central core, darker than the sapwood surrounding it. Called heartwood, this supporting pillar no longer participates in the life process of a tree—transporting and storing water and nutrients. Although dead, heartwood will not decay or lose its sturdiness while the outer, living rings of newer growth sustain it. In the perfect ecology of a tree, the dead become the heart of the living, and the living nourish the enduring essence of the dead.
So it is with our lives, where life and death cannot exist separately from each other. Heartwood is about strength in what remains and the virtue of listening to our innermost source of stability and stillness. It is about how trusting the natural cycle of life and loss can help us to better live our lives. It applies equally in ordinary times as it does during the most trying of times, when the surety of our existence is called into question.
I have learned that being open to death is a powerful way to learn about living. When we stop pretending we will live forever, a certain tightness begins to loosen. Slowly, as we give ourselves permission to relax the vise grip we use to try to control our circumstances, a sense of freedom emerges from within. Though little may have changed on the outside, and loss will continue to be our companion, our internal landscape is renewed. Just as we will cherish ourselves more, we will cherish others more as well.
Sometimes, as the great masters have taught, we have to die before we die if we want to truly live."
As I reflect on my mom’s life, there is regret for the moments not spent together, for the times we have missed. That is the gift that life offers you as life teaches you about regret. And regret teaches you about life. The thing with both—life and regret—is to learn from them. Life always offers you a chance, if you are lucky, to step forward in love and learning.
How are you going to take the lessons and learn?
What changes will you make next time?
Will you hold on a little tighter?
Will you love a little bigger?
Will you grow?
Will you stretch?
Will you reach past your limits of fear, realizing that love has no limits, no boundaries?
My mom does this—she embodies love. You think you can always call. You think they will always be there in physical form. They won’t. You won’t. My mom won’t be.
I always say that no one is getting out of here alive. That is the cold hard truth. So live and love big. Your loved ones want that for each and every one of us.
Live and love big—each day, hour, minute, second, and with every breath you take. The truth is you never know when it will be your last. And if you don’t want regrets, then live with love. Now.
Not tomorrow.
Today.
There is no time to spare. And if you do, you may live in a place of despair. So take the time to repair.
Repair the friendships.
Repair your family.
Stretch your heart.
Set your ego aside.
I know it is hard. But that is the story you are telling yourself. My mom has helped me to live and love and let go…
The poem from Rumi comes to mind: Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.
Take the step.
Write.
Hit send.
Be authentic.
Show up.
In love.
In service of your soul, their soul, for the souls that are watching over us.
Set your fears aside—they are false expectations appearing real. Allow the truth to flow from Your heart.
In the name of healing.
In the name of love.
For my mom.
Then I was wondering: How do you know the Soul?
It is the beat of my heart,
The whisper of my breath,
The softness of my touch,
The embrace of my arms,
The sparkle in my eye,
The gentle tone of my voice.
It is in my presence—
With you, for you, beside you, behind you.
My silence,
My strength,
My tears,
My laughter,
My joy.
You are me.
I am you.
Together we travel
Until we part.
Never forget to carry me
In your heart.
Beside you and alongside you,
Behind you and in front of you,
I surround you
In love,
Warmth,
Remember my embrace.
With grace,
May you carry on.
My mom wants me to carry on in
Love,
Growth,
Acceptance,
Forgiveness,
Granting grace,
Giving mercy,
Kindness,
Compassion,
Consideration,
Understanding.
There are so many emotions—I have been feeling them all since learning about my mom’s diagnosis. Grief encompasses every color of the rainbow,
Every emotion,
All included
In the whole,
Carried in the container that is you.
Love.
Anger.
Sadness.
Regret.
Guilt.
Frustration.
Disappointment.
Relief.
Hope.
Wistfulness.
Denial.
Acceptance.
More anger.
Turning to rage.
Turning to peace.
Dissolving.
Mixing.
Blending
Into one big teardrop
Like rain falling
From the sky.
So, on this Thanksgiving weekend, may you hold your loved ones a little tighter. There is so much to be grateful for. Make sure you focus on what is important—your connections to the ones you love. From our hearts to yours, we wish you a happy Thanksgiving.
