end of the road

literally had just been wondering why my deceased cousin Henry hadn’t tried to contact me. we were kindred souls re. all things afterlife and the great mystery and shared stories and beliefs. i had the honor of talking with him as he was dying and he said he would try to connect from the other side. it was later looking at this photo in Portugal that i read these words, and i wondered …

It is difficult to know where to start after so long.

First a huge welcome to you all and a special nod to all of our recent subscribers. I see you and appreciate you.

Your engagement with this space means so very much to me and has been an important connection during some challenging times.

For those who are new and don't know my story you can peruse this platform to learn more if you are interested.

For context of where my message comes from today-–

• I've taken a break from the level of output and interaction with the project, podcast, and my writing since early 2023 when I became physically/energetically incapacitated. You can find it referenced in previous pieces.

• I've just returned from a three month overseas journey catching up with our adult kids and grandkids and friends all over the US and, then traveling to Portugal, staying a few weeks with our dear friends, ending with a processing, self-care stop in the Cook Islands.

• Why so personal? This project was born believing in the power of sharing our stories.

• Sharing personal is just one reason I refer to myself as a therapist gone rogue. We are so pounded with lessons of not sharing about ourselves in our training that it felt odd at first to wander into the world of shared experiences. (retired from over 30 years in human services/mental health)

  

  SPEECHLESS … in Portugal

The entire time we were away, especially in cities or chaotic times, I fondly looked forward to returning to our little paradise up on a hill in New Zealand; getting my zen back while also enjoying some renewed energy.

What I didn't imagine was that my re-entry would be such a challenge. Landing home takes a mindful practice for me in the best of times, more with health challenges.

This time was different.

In the last 10 days of our overseas trip, my husband and I caught a bout of covid. Not optimal. I did take the antiviral. What I didn't realize is that sometimes you can have a covid relapse after you are better. I think that happened after we were back in NZ; not severe and difficult to discern between it and trip-lag but the headache was the same as my covid headache.

Oh, and there was the very painful foot sprain that happened on the day we were flying out of San Francisco. Air New Zealand staff were saints. The check in attendant looked at me hobbling to the desk and immediately said she was calling for a wheelchair. I was treated with exquisite care the entire flight(s). I'm still nursing that injury and that's made me rather sedentary. Again.

You see, we had a couple of nicknames we came up with for this lengthy trip: "full circle" and "the resurrection tour."

Starting a new medication with positive results and mindfully increasing activity on the trip did feel like a resurrection of sorts.

During the first year of my newly diagnosed chronic condition my physician husband and I both thought death might be looming. There were times I said into the void, please don't let these awful symptoms continue. Call me home sooner than later if that's where this is heading. I was miserable. No energy to read, write or even engage with music which is always such medicine.

Eventually during these traveling months I surpassed 10,000 steps one day for the first time in two to three years. Hence, resurrection title, and yes, we can be a bit overdramatic at times.

I was so looking forward to returning home and re-establishing a walking routine as part of a continued rehab and ongoing wellness practice. I felt up for the challenge. Of course I'd have to really tune into my body and not push it over its limits which can change day to day. So yeah, that was one of the reasons I found my self floundering on my return home. I'm still waiting for my foot to heal and be pain free enough to go for meaningful walks. I relapsed stepping on uneven ground to let horses through a gate so I've learned the need to let it heal. In the mean time it’s yoga, band and some weights exercises.

Said horses and gate:

With a sudden surge of less activity and less interaction with loved ones upon our return, grief of loved ones slipped into some of the gaps these challenges left gaping. Going through photos to share with my granddaughter made the longing, wandering into grief, all more concrete seeing family of origin photos. Two brothers and my mother now absent. My oldest brother and I surviving. For now. I know we both feel lopsided at family gatherings with the absence of some of our strongest glue.

All part of love and loss—the emotional ebb and flow of grief.

Answering grief's call, I've been over-medicating with my meditative practice of mindfully, slowly, breathing in their love for me, it landing in my heart. Then exhaling love out of my heart to them. Sometimes I visualize a different person with each exhale. This is best done under a starry sky, as so many things are. Being so very dark with the new moon on our return, I’ve felt like the stars were speaking to me again in return. Magic. (my unpublished memoir through the lens of death that I've been sharing chapters of on here is titled “and then the stars spoke”)

Alrighty then, that's a wrap. There is a list yay long of topics I hope to share with you more frequently.

This song feels like an illumination of my personal journey.

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On another note—

All the while I was interacting with others throughout this project, I experienced a multitude of losses and grief along with an ongoing sparring session with anticipatory grief. One of my dear sons went traveling the US and the dangerous roads of addiction.

We are very close and had lovely conversations while he was on his journey, him always assuring me he wasn’t using heavy drugs—usually after telling me about the last OD death of a traveling acquaintance. It wasn’t until his best traveling mate OD’d on heroin and died, while they were apart, that the reality of his trauma reached our family. He began a dangerous spiral of his own drug use and likely a less than solid commitment to staying on the planet.

He’s been through treatment a couple times since he returned to his hometown. He lives in a sober Oxford House. We spent lovely time together in April when he came to NZ to be with us as well as when we were on our recent travels. He’s started the below project and we both would be grateful if you’d subscribe to his writing and podcast. It’s raw, but as I always say: listening to others’ stories will make you a better human. Promise.

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Another One Gone

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And speaking of podcasts, many of you have suggested I re-release an episode of The Death Dialogues Project podcast when publishing. You can find all of the episodes on this podcast on this platform.

Today I’m sharing a story that deeply moved me. This mother has become a friend as we bonded through her process you will hear about. I especially hope that the parents of my son’s best friend who died may have access to it. Maybe parts will resonate—even though their deaths have differences.

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If my energy holds, I hope to publish a little more frequently here.

Wishing you centering and loving times during any time of celebration you may be experiencing and all things for the greater good.

Much love,

Becky