“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, ‘Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?’ Actually, who are you not to be?”
― Marianne Williamson, A Return to Love: Reflections on the Principles of “A Course in Miracles”
It is officially the first day of summer. The sun is shining brightly, the humid air is sticky with moisture, clothing is getting looser, bodies are moving more slowly under the oppression of summer’s heat, and I am fatigued by grief. A week and a half ago, without warning, someone I love shook off her earthly suit. The suddenness of this event rocked me on a cellular level, and fractured the last vestiges of the flimsy barriers I had constructed to push back pains I didn’t want to feel. For a moment I cracked and went completely dead inside, numb at the shock of this loss, stunned by its swift blow. Then my senses began to return, and the numbness was replaced by sorrow, and something magical happened, I began to wake up. For the first time in a long time, a little over an entire year, maybe even longer, I began to truly wake up.
My friend was HUGE. Her life force was magnificent and she was incredibly tall with a head full of massive curls that were constantly unrestrained. She had an insatiable curiosity for experiences and people and life. When she was with you she was present, often gesticulating wildly or leaning in more closely and pronouncing with greater articulation to make her point. She travelled and she explored, both the world and the inner workings of her spirit. She sought experiential knowledge, and found it over and over and over. In short, she lived. This is why, even in the earliest expressions of my despair, it never occurred to me that she hadn’t had enough time. I hadn’t had enough time with her, but she had been making the most of her days, and that has had a more profound effect on me than the greatest self help manual yet to be written.
In the midst of our friendship I didn’t see the impact she was having on me. Maybe it was the slow burn of someone you see regularly, but probably more so than anything else the simple fact that I hadn’t actually ever thought about it. I only knew that she was my friend and she was wonderful…doesn’t that so very often seem like it’s enough? And it was. But in retrospect, over the course of years and many hundreds of moments, I was listening and learning and getting to know her. Her life was making its mark on my soul, and luckily I was paying attention, because with the swift kick in the stomach of her death it all came flooding in.
TINA gave time and attention to the aspects of life that were important to her. She loved her art and textiles and creating, so she found a workshop (which she ended up ditching recently because it had a rodent problem, BUT she sought space for her creativity). She loved the Texas Playboys baseball club, so she became the supreme Nut (the name of their booster club), and attended almost every game, supported the team, and cheered them on with unmitigated enthusiasm. She loved her family, so she scheduled time with her sisters and nieces who lived out of state, flew to them on a seconds notice when needed, and prioritized them in her life. They knew without doubt they were loved. She sought knowledge of herself and believed strongly in our connection to the Absolute, and so she studied and wrote and read and devoted time to her personal development. She cherished her friends, old and new, and so she created time for us. She carved out hours, or sometimes minutes, to nurture the relationships that she held dear, and there were a lot of them. She LOVED to travel, and so she did. She made this happen even when finances and time were tight, and these experiences enriched her in countless ways.
My friend struggled against the same mortal coil that affects us all. She wasn’t magically immune or inoculated against the stresses of daily life, but she believed in abundance and had felt its presence in her life. In general, she truly believed that the universe was conspiring in her favor, and even in the moments when life wasn’t easy, as it so often isn’t, she believed. If something is important, you do it. If something vexes you, express it and move on. If you are called, answer. She showed up for her life, and she didn’t hesitate to say yes. So many of us are plagued by second guessing. Is this the right thing to do? Does it make sense? Can I make this work instead of will I make this work? So many questions when what we usually need is to simply say “yes,” and then show up for what we said yes to. She was expert at this.
I take away from her life that being present brings a treasure trove of riches, developing new and real friendships is never a bad idea, and that jumping in with both feet is only scary for approximately the first 5 seconds. I got cancer and lived. TINA got poison ivy and died. This is a supremely fucked up truth. The most beautiful part of her death is that she did not leave behind a lifetime of regret. If she was conscious in her final moments and knew what was happening, I sincerely doubt that she thought about the trip she should have taken, the adventures she should have said yes to, the friends she could have met, or the conversations she might have had. If she had a thought, I imagine it was more along the lines of what a glorious ride life had been.
I am fatigued by grief. I have struggled against low grade sadness for too long. Her death shook the foundation of that sadness and woke me up to potential. I am horrified by the idea of dragging out the sorrow of the last year for another second. It’s passed. It’s past. Today I am alive, and there are things I want to do. My friend had many lives in her 53 years on this planet. She started fresh multiple times, and was dedicated to action. First things first, live. Be in the world. Learn. Dive in and see what happens. Don’t be afraid of what will happen, be terrified of what won’t happen. “Who am I [not] to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?” The best way I have to celebrate her life is not to have regrets about mine, the risks I was afraid to take, the challenges I didn’t accept, the brilliance I turned my back on. She was part of my life and that meant something. Her life and beauty and presence affected me. It mattered and it was real.
I love you, TINA Pumilia. I am grateful every moment for the years I spent knowing you and for the knowledge of you that gets to be mine forever. I am better for your presence in my life, and I will live in such a way that the cosmos will shake with your laughter and delight. Cheers to your glorious, raucous, vibrant life! Cheers to you!
“No one ever said that you would live to see the repercussions of everything you do, or that you have guarantees, or that you are not obliged to wander in the dark, or that everything will be proved to you and neatly verified like something in science. Nothing is: at least nothing that is worthwhile. I didn’t bring you up only to move across sure ground. I didn’t teach you to think that everything must be within our control or understanding. Did I? For, if I did, I was wrong. If you won’t take a chance, then the powers you refuse because you cannot explain them, will, as they say, make a monkey out of you.”
― Mark Helprin, Winter’s Tale