Life and Death and Friendship

So, in the midst of trying to hurry and meet a deadline on the labyrinth, preparing to travel overseas for three weeks, meet the needs of my six year old, and learn what I need to know as a new employer, and just because the universe knows that I haven't got enough stress in my life- a friend of mine for the last fifteen years went into the hospital two weeks ago. That's Sharon above, with her husband Tom. This photo is about six months old.

I don't have any way to describe her to you. She was a magical being, full of vitality and love, genuine and gentle and joyfyul. She gave power and hope to thousands of people all over the world, quite literally. She taught in the More to Life program, a weekend course that offers insight into personal motivations, and opportunities for taking conscious control of subconscious fears. There are people who know and love Sharon on at least four continents. If she had been in service to a religion, they'd be getting ready to saint her. I'm not exaggerating.

And now she's gone on to her next adventure. I pack some toiletries, think about how to entertain Alexander for sixteen hours of travel, then sit and cry for a moment. If ever anyone lived well, it was Sharon. This grief I feel, it is a selfish thing. I want her to still be here, where I can see her smile or hear her voice.

Actually, I do have a way to describe her. The sanskrit word, 'namaste,' cannot be easily translated into English. Our culture barely has the concepts for it. Roughly, it means- that which is divine in me sees and honors and cherishes that which is divine in you. Imagine going through life in this way, being your whole self, and seeing the wholeness in others, all the time. That was Sharon. She set a magical example.

There's a memorial service, today. I can't make it, since I'll be on a plane to Wales. My mind is full of the why, though. And the what ifs- what if I had to face the sudden death of my spouse? What if I suddenly collapsed, as she did? Have I left a legacy of hope and joy? Have my good works outweighed the hurts I have offered? What can I learn from the aching empty pain in my chest?

I know this, I loved her. I honor her memory, and I hope that I can step forward and take up her vision of a whole humanity in peace and cooperation.

Namaste,
Crow