A Hole in the Fabric

With my mother’s recent passing in April, I am aware of an empty feeling, a hole in the fabric of my being.  Yet, that hollow spot doesn’t feel empty as in lonely or depressing, it feels hallowed.  When I return to the moment during and after my mother left her body, a profound sense of peace fills me.  Witnessing her let go was a blessing and a necessary learning. In that moment, my mother showed me how to let go of suffering, of struggle, of life itself. Like a reverse birth, instead of a womb becoming vacated to give birth to life, her physical body became vacated to give birth to spirit.  The space in my consciousness, which she previously occupied, I now experience as a deep calm. Not too many thoughts or feelings, not many remembrances – just vast space.

After a death, life insists on moving on and yet I find myself not too eager to stitch up that hole because in its emptiness, I am in touch with the undeniable fact of impermanence.  Before, this sense of transience seemed threatening, but now it just feels real. Buddha really had a handle on this, and I can see the worth in dwelling on the matter for a spell.

As I slowly move back into the current of my life, I am more drawn to emptying than filling it.  Weeding, clearing, sweeping and cleaning are the activities that sooth me because they burnish that quiet, loving, internal space that is lit up in remembrance of my mother, Evelyn Greenberg.  This high gloss, continuously polished, kind of grief is a way for me to stay in reflection, and also a way for my mother’s light to continue shining through me.