My beautiful Oma died peacefully on 10/10/16. She was in the arms of my mother and surrounded by love and close family. She would have turned 93 in November.
My soul is stirring with thoughts of love and life’s precious lessons that came to me through this amazing woman, moment after moment arising in my awareness like bubbles rising from deep in my being, moments I shared with her as she becomes even more fully a part of me. I can feel her breathing on in me, and her laughter rings clear in my mind.
My mind is stirring with thoughts of life and death, ephemeral impermanence and that which alway abides, cycles and circles and spirals and torrents and waves all washing through and over.
In my lifetime so far I have witnessed only death that came to loved ones my age, too young and tragic, and this death was so different. So different to grieve and celebrate for a life that eased out so gentle and slow, at the end of a full and long life well lived. Not that there is any such thing ultimately as right and wrong in a soul’s passing, but there is a rightness of dying of old age. It just feels so sacred and amazing, and what a privilege, to die of old age.
Fly free sweet Oma, you are deeply treasured and cherished. I love you.
My Oma’s Celebration of Life was held this past Friday, and today I have a heartache that feels too big for my body to contain, I miss her so much.
I’ve walked through her house a thousand times in my mind, trying to etch every treasured detail of her into my mind, hearing her voice, the clocks ticking, sitting beside her in her living room, holding hands, having tea and cookies, or rusks with butter. I remember strawberries on toast, walks by the lake together with her dog, chocolate letters, blue and white windmills, the books about elves and fairies, raking the leaves, and little pots of plants and flowers all over the house. I remember her watering can, with its long and graceful pouring spout, her beautiful wooden sewing box, her way of eating a piece of fruit after each meal. Her hugs and her kisses, three kisses, right cheek, left cheek, right cheek, her cheeks were always so soft and warm. Her giggles, her laughter, and her ability to be so openly disgusted with us in our childhood ways, with a hearty “Heh Bah!!” She always had a beautiful meal or tea ready for us when we arrived, always made time to sit and visit, and made sure we all knew our times tables by heart. I never doubted her love, and she always told each of us how special we were to her. She would take my hand in hers, pat it lovingly, and say “you know you are my first grandchild, you are so special to me!”
While I am feeling so much grief, I also see her living on in my mother, my cousins and aunts and uncles, my siblings, my nieces and nephews, my self, and my children. I see the beauty and love she lived and cultivated acted out in the smiles of my family, their laughter, and their joy in being together. And that is a great joy.
Thank you Oma, I love you forever.