Calendar Girl Blog: A New Normal
I woke up swearing. Out loud. Multiple utterances. The F word.
It's not my usual way of greeting the day.
I'm not angry. Or maybe I am.
Fuck.
We sat with Henry for a few hours after he died. Finally, Anne gave the staff permission to prepare his body for removal. I hovered outside the door while two nurses wrapped him in a giant plastic cover and placed him on a gurney. Then I returned to Henry's bedside, rested my head on his arm and sat for quite a while.
One question kept running through my mind in a repeating loop.
"What is my purpose on this earth?"
Last night, I sat with Anne and friends in the home she shared with Henry for 15 years. A home filled to overflowing with photos, love notes, books, music, rocks, branches, magnificent scrapes of life, liberally scattered.
Anne, born 16 days after me, in the frosty February of 1958, is now a widow.
Anne, a woman that I've only connected with since canoeing together this summer yet now, thanks to Henry, have shared the deepest life experience with. Anne looking deeply into my eyes, slowly yet surely allowing herself to grasp, a shred, of her new normal.
Calendar Girl has much life experience with the slight of hand, rug from beneath her feet experience of deaths visit.
Fuck.
Calendar Girl
It's not my usual way of greeting the day.
I'm not angry. Or maybe I am.
Fuck.
We sat with Henry for a few hours after he died. Finally, Anne gave the staff permission to prepare his body for removal. I hovered outside the door while two nurses wrapped him in a giant plastic cover and placed him on a gurney. Then I returned to Henry's bedside, rested my head on his arm and sat for quite a while.
One question kept running through my mind in a repeating loop.
"What is my purpose on this earth?"
Last night, I sat with Anne and friends in the home she shared with Henry for 15 years. A home filled to overflowing with photos, love notes, books, music, rocks, branches, magnificent scrapes of life, liberally scattered.
Anne, born 16 days after me, in the frosty February of 1958, is now a widow.
Anne, a woman that I've only connected with since canoeing together this summer yet now, thanks to Henry, have shared the deepest life experience with. Anne looking deeply into my eyes, slowly yet surely allowing herself to grasp, a shred, of her new normal.
Calendar Girl has much life experience with the slight of hand, rug from beneath her feet experience of deaths visit.
Fuck.
Calendar Girl
posted by Sue Richards at 10:24 AM
1 Comments:
I've also been thinking recently about what my purpose is. I intend it to be the core of my work for both myself and my clients this year.
I've been reading Presence by Peter Senge et al who take this a step further into thinking what our purpose as a human race might be and how we might together create the future.
It's not quite the same as what you have been doing so which, I guess, has been quite personal. But it is related and it is very deep. In this way we are all connected.
Chris
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