Begin by doing what’s needed; then do what’s attainable; and immediately you might be doing the unimaginable. ~ Francis of Assissi
In her deeply trustworthy and provoking memoir, Looking ahead to Dragonflies: A Caregiver’s Transformative Journey, writer Suzanne Marriott explores how caregiving for her husband all through his journey with power sickness allowed her to achieve a religious consciousness that will in the end assist her by her personal medical disaster and into a spot of therapeutic and solace.
My husband, who typically struggled with motion after being recognized with MS, had a numinous expertise with dragonflies when he was in a position to stroll within the cool waters of the Eel River. On the far financial institution, he stood watching dragonflies flit by the reeds, transfixed as their clear wings mirrored the daylight, reworking them into prisms of iridescent coloration. These dragonflies grew to become a strong image of energy and renewal for him–an emblem of being entire.
***
With Michael’s loss of life, I really feel as if I, too, have died. The sunshine has gone out of my life. It’s as if I’m a candle and Michael the flame, and his final breath has blown out the flame and left me alone at the hours of darkness.
As I enter our empty dwelling, I really feel like I’m in shock. As if in a daze, I fall into the lounge chair that was Michael’s. Instantly, I’m struck with the ability of his presence. Our souls appear to satisfy and intertwine with the eagerness our our bodies as soon as knew. Because the connection builds, my breath turns into more and more speedy. I give up to this power that’s each inside and round me. After a timeless time, it reaches its peak and subsides. I’m left awestruck, my face moist with tears.
After some time I stand up and stroll over to the CD participant. I placed on a disk by Neil Younger. As I take heed to him sing “Harvest Moon,” I start to sway, holding my arms out and curved as if I’m dancing with Michael. With my eyes closed, I think about him holding me and main me throughout the ground. The lyric, “As a result of I’m nonetheless in love with you, I wish to see you dance once more, on this harvest moon,” touches my coronary heart, and I do know it’s a message from Michael. Tears and sobs combine with the lull of the music, and the track carries me off—carries me away to Michael. For only a bit, the ache lifts, and I really feel cherished and cared for as soon as extra.
***
Two days after Michael’s loss of life, I go to my therapist for our weekly session. Sharing my grief and confusion together with her provides me a way of grounding and security. As I emerge from her workplace, sporting a crimson fleece high that was Michael’s—which nonetheless holds his comforting scent—I’m immediately conscious of his presence. He tells me to stroll down the road to a store we each knew. I hear his voice inside my head— his voice, not mine.
“I wish to purchase you a present,” he says.
“How will I do know the place it’s?” I ask.
“You’ll know.”
On getting into the store, I’m drawn to a crimson Buddha Board on my left, just some steps from the doorway. It appears to be like like a slim laptop computer pc, however, because the proprietor reveals me, as a substitute of opening to a display, it opens to a clean floor on which one can write or draw with a gentle brush dipped in water. Because the crimson floor takes on the water, the photographs emerge in a darker shade of crimson and slowly fade away.
Instantly, I do know that is Michael’s present; it’s as if he has handed it to me. I buy it, take it dwelling, and place it on the espresso desk in entrance of the sofa. I sense that Michael has given me a phenomenal image of impermanence.
I’m entranced as the primary free-flowing traces I draw on the Buddha Board regularly fade, leaving simply two drops of crimson. I watch in surprise as one disappears, then the opposite. I really feel Michael sitting with me on the sofa, and I thank him.
“You’ve gotten taken care of me for therefore lengthy,” he tells me. “Now I’ll deal with you.”
***
Goals provide me a hyperlink to my unconscious and my instinct. One dream particularly brings my emotions of isolation and disconnection into stark reduction. On this dream, I’m in a conflict zone:
I’m excessive on the aspect of a mountain with different, youthful ladies. The scene is darkish; there may be little coloration. We see an enormous plane being shot down. It appears to be like as if it’s going to crash on high of us. The terrain is just too steep; we are able to’t run away, and there may be nowhere else to go. I inform the younger lady subsequent to me to drag the sleeping bag over her physique to guard herself from the flying particles. I watch the pilot of the airplane eject and fall downward and out of sight simply earlier than the airplane crashes. The girl and I are actually in a war-torn metropolis. We’re reuniting with others like ourselves. There are different folks there who haven’t been within the conflict. They ignore us. We’re survivors searching for our personal firm.
As within the dream, typically I really feel trapped in a conflict zone of loss and emotion, unprotected and unrecognized, remoted from a world of people that don’t see me, who don’t share my grief. On the recommendation of my therapist, I be a part of a help group. It seems like the precise factor to do, and it seems to be a smart choice. Being with individuals who actually know and perceive what I’m going by proves to be profoundly supportive. I study that I’m not alone in my grief, and I uncover that by sharing my very own ache and experiencing my empathy for the ache of others, I start to heal. As I watch others transfer by their grief and discover methods to turn out to be lively once more, I achieve hope.
Considered one of Michael’s desires I recounted in my journal appears particularly poignant proper now. It’s a dream he had after he started utilizing the wheelchair.
He’s sitting alongside the wall in a dance corridor. President Clinton comes over to him.
“Are you able to stroll?” he asks Michael.
“I can stroll,” Michael replies, and stands up.
“Are you able to dance?” President Clinton asks.
“I can dance,” Michael solutions.
They usually dance.
As soon as once more, Michael’s profitable, vibrant, charismatic self is within the lead. Now, in my creativeness, I add to this dream. I think about President Clinton asking, “Are you able to fly?”
And I think about Michael saying, “I can fly.” And I see him taking off, in spirit, now not sure to this earth. He’s free.
From this time on, dragonflies now not evoke the final time Michael may stroll. Now, for me, dragonflies are an emblem of his energy and his soul in flight, and I’ve turn out to be the collector of dragonflies.
© 2023 by Suzanne Marriott
Concerning the Writer: Suzanne Marriott is a memoirist and deep-travel author who shares her transformative experiences together with her readers. A local Californian, Suzanne has traveled up and down the coast of her state, exploring as far north as British Columbia and south into Mexico. Her pursuits embody transcendent experiences, afterlife communication, Jungian psychology, and Tibetan Buddhism. She lives in an ecologically aware cohousing neighborhood within the Sierra Nevada foothills. For extra info on Suzanne’s life and the significance of compassionate caregiving, go to her at https://suzannemarriottauthor.com and www.fb.com/suzannemarriottauthor
