“Change is doing something against the habit of life. “
— F.M. Alexander
Leaving my home of nearly 28 years brings joy and also some sadness. I think if I had stayed there, I’d never make any of the changes that I so want.
As I organized spoons in a drawer in the new apartment, it felt awkward. The drawer was on the wrong side of the sink. I laughed at myself and said, “Change is doing something against the habit of life.”
Change happens. I’m a bit nostalgic. It will be okay.
Rafi is eating less even though Leia isn’t there to steal his food. He misses her.
He runs through the house looking – then goes to sleep on the little pad that was Leia’s from puppyhood – against his habit that is to curl up on the big doggie pad or in the round bed that is no longer there.
Change is stretching to maintain my poise by actively thinking moment by moment rather than trying to find the feeling from the time before.
It keeps the energy continually renewed and alive rather than abandoning the present moment to try and retrieve a feeling from the past.
It is the intention to move my energy actively through my body Now & Now & Now & Now again. Dancing in the Now.
I try this. Today, I can only sustain it for a minute at most but I know that will change as this way of being more alive in movement, becomes my new habit.
Facebook doesn’t understand that she’s gone; it suggests a picture from one year ago today. My sweet Princess Leia with a smile on her face. Here is a puppy picture for you:
She lives in my heart in memory but I am also looking for her today as Rafi does; she’s just in the other room, always in the other room…
She died a few weeks ago after bravely surviving heart failure for a year and a half. She died as she lived, graciously offering a gift by passing in her own time, here at home, with Rafi and me.
Sadness is sharp, it makes me cry out loud.
And it is soft, remembering the feel of sweet little Leia’s fur, soft as a bunny, sweetness in her puppy face all her life.
Sadness isn’t so bad when it flows like water; it is a river of tears, and it is fitting to grieve. It is being stuck holding it as I’ve done in the past that is not healthy. Holding sadness is like holding the river. Try. Try again. The river always wins…
I notice how it is hard to keep my head up when I’m holding on to sadness. Holding emotion must be connected with tightness in my neck and shoulders.
I let my head float up and my spine flow upward and I let go; not of the love for my little dog but of the holding on to the river, holding on as if it will bring her back…as if I let go into sadness, she will be gone from memory. I let go and the sadness flows through me. Now & Now & Now again, I flow in and out of my grief, feeling her as if still alive. I remember she loved blueberries from my breakfast and I think of her as I share them with my Rafi-dog.
Sitting outside next to a croton plant with bright, tiger orange and jungle green leaves. Sipping coffee and watching the color flow like an orange river in sunlight, like a river of sadness and love.
Being unstuck in grief is going against the habit of life. It hurts, but it is very alive.
Twice in the last three days, I’ve nearly gotten off the freeway at the exit to my old house. I walk in the front door, say, “hello babies,” and have to correct myself: “hello, Rafi.”
Rafi runs through the house searching for her. He looks at his bed but instead, goes to Leia’s little pad, and sleeps.