I took my regular route, crossing East Side Drive and turning left towards the pavilion that created an Italian wedding scene in the film, Julie & Julia. Moving through the lower garden towards the lake, my stride begins to slow. I always stop and take in the view here. The small trees placed on a man-made island within the man-made lake allows time to stop and pool, blending periods and moods with the changing light of day. Dusk is always special, allowing those with the proper sight to slip into bygone years and feel what life was like for former New Yorkers walking this path. Now the turn is mine.
I follow the water down a quiet wooded trail and lose myself in thought. Out of the corner of my eye, two creatures break through my reverie. Two squirrels darting full speed in my direction fly up a tree a foot away. My breath, caught in shock, releases with a grin. They must be young, I think. No fear and full of life. As I continue, I hear a hard thud on the pavement. It doesn’t belong. I turn and see one of the squirrels lifeless on the ground.
A group of women who just passed also turn towards the fallen animal. We stare in silence as my instinct begins to kick in. I step forward. Embarrassed but praying that perhaps it may work, I imagine energy radiating out of me into the still body. Let my life be your life. My energy your energy. My hand lifts ever so slightly and humbly as I try to forget the women and allow myself to see light flowing from me. As I take a deep breath, the squirrel does the same. He shakes his shock away and looks dazed and confused. Seeing signs of life, his companion begins to move back down the tree to help. The fallen squirrel gauges a small stone wall he must scale to reunite, but knows it’s currently too much for him. He backs away vulnerably. Seeing this, I know it’s best to leave so he can feel safe.
I continue my journey, feeling like a child with a runaway imagination. “People can’t heal others like that,”I tell myself. Or can they? As a nurse, I work on a telemetry unit and I have had two memorable nights where a monitor suddenly read asystole for a patient who had had no issues before. In both cases, I quickly moved toward the patient and from a distance, their stillness seemed a bit too still. Their pallor too pale. When I reached out and touched them, they awoke with a start and so did their monitor, never to read asystole again. At least not that night.
What is one to make of such moments? Even to ponder it seems foolish. Unscientific. It is something I have obviously refrained from discussing at work.
The swaying trees and flowing water grab hold of my mind again and bring me back to the present. As it does, I feel: There must be balance. Another will fall. There must be balance.
I believe something similar happened to me when you left. Everything around me grew darker than I have ever known. So empty inside. I kept crashing through each layer of persona built to protect and save me. Like magical wards in case the threat of love ever appeared. “I know who I am! I know what I am. I know how I…” Layer after layer, my consciousness succumbed to something greater and I fell into a dark emptiness. As black as that night when I must have died. Black.
Still alive, a version of me had to return to work two days later, but who? My colleagues noticed right away, asking if I was ill. Weight had been lost as well as any glow of vitality. I was ill. But no remedy in my medicine bag could cure it. No meditation or shamanic circle could save me. No body could replace yours. I was so lost and dead inside that I wanted to join my father. Follow in his footsteps.
Before I could think of a way, he did. One of the first friends I made in New York City. The message popped up on my facebook feed one night as I sat in candlelight trying to focus on creating and not missing the thought of you. Of who you made yourself out to be. The funeral would be held the following day. I was there. His casket was closed. We were not allowed to see the damage he caused to himself at the end. The same was true with my father. Body bloated from the water. Only his picture on top of a casket. That was how I said goodbye.
I watched the wood box and crying room from a distance this time. Listened to the family I never got to meet, and knew my friend’s act had spared me in some way.
Let my life be your life. My energy your energy.
Now what? What am I to do with this?
Write, was the answer I heard. Write to create balance. To help show the way to love. So that people don’t give up on love and themselves. Write.
That’s when I decided to start this blog. And in so doing, I began to turn back. Back to the beginning and the end. The alpha and omega.
The journey has not been an easy one. So much of me has been lost in the storm. Flung overboard so that I may continue to rise above the fierce waves that surround me. Cleansing me of every desire until there is only one.
I return to Prospect Park the following day and take my normal route. I head into the Middle Wood, and decide to take a path rarely chosen. What new things might it show me? As I walk, I see it and stop. A squirrel dead on the ground. Fallen from a tree. A companion is close by and moves closer as if to protect him. Then a third squirrel runs down a neighboring tree and playfully engages the other. Without pause, they play. So much life! I too need to return to life. To play again. Life is calling and there is a promise I still have to keep. I must finish telling our story. A story I would not change for the world because it allowed me to be with you, if only for a brief moment. To love you always. To die before my death and be born anew.
