Turning Toward

 

“As long as you remain present, everything you need is.”

― Caroline Myss, Sacred Contracts: Awakening Your Divine Potential

Note: The newsletter contains difficult stories of a personal nature. If you’re not up for that, that’s cool. Tune in next week. And if you are, read on!

In recent years, I’ve begun to pay attention to what the Universe is presenting to me. Now, what life is presenting to me is death.

In the last few days, I’ve attended a “Celebration of Life” and spoken with two people in hospice, who are facing the end of their lives. (People who are younger than I.)

So, I’m asking myself, “Why so much death? What is my life inviting me into?”

In the past, I’ve turned away from death or impending death. As a means of self protection. As a means of coping with that for which there is no coping.

Now, I sense my life is inviting me to turn toward it, all of it, even the end of it.

As I reflect on my life, I can identify moments of deep regret associated with turning away from death instead of turning toward. A few years ago, I learned that a distant cousin (someone I hadn’t seen or communicated with in over 30 years) was in hospice. I vacillated about calling her.

We hadn't stayed in touch. I really didn’t know her very well. I knew virtually nothing about her condition. I wasn’t sure how to contact her. I didn’t know what we’d say or what we’d talk about. (Insert next excuse here.) Bottomline: She died before I stopped vacillating. And I feel deep regret about that. I had turned away.

More personally and painfully….

Twenty five years ago, after trying and trying to get pregnant, I finally did. I was SO happy. We’d made it past the 12 week mark and I thought we were home free.

Then, at 22 weeks, my water broke. While I was running.

Upon getting to the hospital, I was told the baby wouldn’t live. I was given oxytocin to induce labor and morphine to reduce the physical pain.

My husband and I were devastated. I blamed myself for sealing the fate of my baby. I couldn’t face what I’d felt I’d done, its consequences or my baby.

So when the doctor encouraged me to hold or look at this baby who would only live a few short minutes more, I couldn’t. I couldn’t tolerate the debilitating shame and grief. I am beyond regretful that I did not look at and hold that little baby for the short time it had in this world. I had turned away.

And these last few days have been inviting me to turn toward. And I’ve accepted the invitation.

Not long ago, my mom told me that the son of a long time friend of hers (who had passed a few years ago) had contacted her, letting her know he was going to die. He had terminal cancer. My mom was touched by this and didn’t quite know how to respond. I saw the invitation.

Though I had only met him a few times, decades ago, I wondered about how lonely it could be when so many people turn away from death (as I had). So I got his number and called him. He was grateful for my call and we had a nice conversation. He said he’d “had a good run”. And though he believed that death was “the end”, he was OK with his impending ending. I was grateful (and so was he) that I’d turned toward.

Around the same time, I received an email from a woman who’d been my personal trainer about a decade before. She’s helped me train for a half iron man and for a climb of Mt. Rainier. We’d been through many tough sessions together and a lot of pain, doubt and just plain fear. We hadn’t connected since.

I was surprised by her email and asked “What’s up with you?”. And that’s when she told me she was dying of an autoimmune disease. I asked if she’d be up for a call and she was. We had such a good talk, about life and love and what matters and what happens. She was at peace with her upcoming “transition”.

I admitted to being somewhat surprised to hear from her. She’d been my trainer (and a good one), but we’d never had a personal relationship beyond that. She told me that I’d had an impact on her life and in fact, that she’d gotten a tattoo on her ankle, inspired by me. When I inquired about it, she said, “It’s one word, ‘courage’”.

I was shocked and honored. Much of my life, I would not have described myself with that word and for now, I’ll take it.

Courage describes what I’ve needed to turn toward. Turn toward life. Turn toward death.

I share this with you not to elevate myself. Not to suggest that “this is how to be” or that you should “do like me”.

I offer this to you as an en”courage”ment to pay attention to what your life is inviting you into and to turn toward it. Turn toward it, knowing you are enough. Knowing that everything you need is present.