There is a story of a young woman who had a child that fell ill and died suddenly. When she carried the dead child to the Buddha and told Him her sad story, He listened with patience and compassion, and then said to her, "Kisa Gautami, there is only one way to solve your problem. Go and find me four or five mustard seeds from any family in which there has never been a death."
Kisa Gautami was filled with hope, and set off straight away to find such a household. But very soon she discovered that every family she visited had experienced the death of one person or another. At last, she understood what the Buddha had wanted her to find out for herself — that suffering is a part of life, and death comes to us all. Once Kisa Guatami accepted the fact that death is inevitable, she could stop her grieving.
I had dinner with a coworker and dear friend of mine last night. She has been a rock for me since Randi's death (like many people have been... I'm one lucky girl), and it was a breath of fresh air being able to discuss my loss now that all of the dust surrounding the accident has settled a bit.
When Randi first died, there was so much stuff. There were funeral arrangements, traveling to Seattle, phone calls to be made and taken, a room to be packed up, a job to figure out. There were tickets bought, rent that needed to (still be) paid. There was a now ownerless car. There were bank accounts, and cell phone bills, and just stuff. And it all kept me, and several other people, very busy in our state of shock.
But now the stuff is taken care of. Arrangements have been made, things are packed, the car has an owner once again. And that leaves me with the emptiness. It leaves me with the dull ache every day, every moment, reminding me that my best friend is gone. Reminding me that I won't be calling her after work today. That I won't have dinner with her this week. That she won't be around tomorrow, or for my birthday next month, or for my wedding, or to be an auntie to my future babies.
Although this is truly the saddest thing I have ever experienced, and knowing that she isn't here is a vast and insane concept that I'm still struggling to understand, in a strange way, I feel comfort right now. I don't know if it was the great conversation I was able to have last night. Or maybe it's because I'm finally starting to try to work through all of this and learn to live without her. It could just be that I got a great night of sleep last night. Whatever it is that is giving me this peace, I will take it gladly.
I think the hardest part about death, especially one so unexpected, is that you have days that you really are okay. And then it is something so simple that takes you back to that dark and scary and extremely painful place of remembrance. It can be the way someone is walking in front of you, or the sound of a stranger's laugh, or a YouTube video, or a song, or a restaurant.... and this list could go on forever if I let it, because it seems like everything reminds me of her.
I look forward to the day that I hear her laugh in a crowd, or am able to watch the NFL lip reading on YouTube and not cry, or can drink a dirty martini with blue cheese olives and not miss her with every part of me.
And that day will come. At some point, those things will bring a smile to my face instead of making me want to crawl under a rock forever.
I hope that this becomes a safe space for me to explain how I am getting to that day (or at least trying to). I might be the only person reading this, and if that's the case, that is okay. But maybe it will reach far enough to hit one of you, and you will find peace in knowing that there are other people who feel your pain. And we aren't crazy for how we're feeling. And we aren't alone.
Cheers to US. Cheers to THEM.