Every October, I get a deep pang, and I think, “Here I go again.” The pang reminds me that this is right around the time that I received a message from Spirit, 26 years ago, saying “Saul has to go. Many lessons will be learned from his death.”
10 weeks later, my husband Saul died next to me in a tragic car accident on the New York State Thruway. It seems like grief sits in my body and somehow knows the exact timing every year, like an internal clock ticking away, filling me with the lasting cellular memory of the message and the accident, and I get so sad.So sad.
Yet at this same time of year, I look out my window and I also remember that fall is my favorite time of the year. Always has been. I love it when the air is getting cool and crisp, and the leaves are turning into breathtaking colors all around me. The trees also have their internal clocks ticking away. It makes me feel grateful, Blessed, and alive to be able to witness this visual feast.
Today my 5-year-old grandson came to visit me. His delicious hugs were a salve for my soul and soothed my heart. As we played, I was reminded of how Blessed I am to have this precious child in my life. I thought about how life goes on. I felt grateful for the many Blessings in my life. And I also felt joy.
In the depths of my grief 26 years ago, I never could have imagined that sadness, grief, gratitude, and joy could all reside within me at the same time. I’ve done a lot of personal healing during these last 26 years, which has helped me to be able to honor the pangs when they arise, while also giving myself permission to embrace the joys.
As the EMT pulled me through the shattered window of my demolished car, a voice entered my head and told me to “Be loving and kind to everyone.” I am always mindful that “everyone” includes me, too, and I will remember to be kind to myself throughallthe feelings.
Last night as my pendulum was swinging with Saul’s signature twirl that says, “I love you,” I suddenly saw an orb to my right, sliding up and down on my mobile phone that was resting in its base, a few inches from me.
Thanks, Saul. I know you are remembering, too. I love that you continue to be a part of my life, that you too are aware of the pangs and celebrating the joys.