Julia in Flight

The Sassistas!^TM woke this morning to the following overnight news that DCsistah shared under our "Let Evening Come" post from last weekend: 

Julia is gone. Treesta just called me. Treesta's going to help bathe her, and then finally come home to me and our bed. She's so tired. And now, her mother is gone. That's just how she said it. Mom's gone.

Let light perpetual shine upon her.

thank you, all.

love,
DCsistah

Chrysosistah was the first in the sassosphere to receive the news last evening and posted the following:

I am so sorry, and yet so glad - because I'm sure she's winging it with the angels and will be in the light, definitely.

Parable of immortality ( A ship leaves . . . )
by Henry Van Dyke - 1852 - 1933

I am standing by the seashore.
A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze
and starts for the blue ocean.
She is an object of beauty and strength,
and I stand and watch
until at last she hangs like a speck of white cloud
just where the sun and sky come down to mingle with each other.

Then someone at my side says, 'There she goes!
Gone where? Gone from my sight - that is all.

She is just as large in mast and hull and spar
as she was when she left my side
and just as able to bear her load of living freight
to the places of destination.
Her diminished size is in me, not in her.

And just at the moment when someone at my side says,
'There she goes! ' ,
there are other eyes watching her coming,
and other voices ready to take up the glad shout:
'Here she comes!'

PEACEsista responded to the news with this:

Oh, dear treesta (and DC,) Please accept my deepest sympathy along with this quote:

"Would that life were like the shadow cast by a wall or a tree, but it is like the shadow of a bird in flight."
HAGGADAH

Fly, Julia, fly!

Please post your condolences for Julia here.  May Julia and Julia's family continue to soar and walk in the light.

Comments

[Flannista]

Earlier this week, DCsistah, in a separate email shared her perception that Sassistas! had become like "church" for her, treesta, and I suspect others in the sassosphere. I was quite touched by DC's comment. I was also touched by the sense of concern and caring I felt in the sassosphere for Julia . . . someone many of us have never met. It says so much to me about the community of saints and angels around us unawares.

DEEP BOW to Julia's spirit and to everyone touched by her spirit.

[Desertrat]

For Julia

THE JUNK MAN

I AM glad God saw Death
And gave Death a job taking care of all who are tired
of living:

When all the wheels in a clock are worn and slow and
the connections loose
And the clock goes on ticking and telling the wrong time
from hour to hour
And people around the house joke about what a bum
clock it is,
How glad the clock is when the big Junk Man drives
his wagon
Up to the house and puts his arms around the clock and
says:
"You don't belong here,
You gotta come
Along with me,"
How glad the clock is then, when it feels the arms of the
Junk Man close around it and carry it away.

Carl Sandburg

Julia "fought the good fight and finished the course". And her family did too.

[Flannista]

Desertrat -- I had never read this poem by Carl Sandburg. Thank you very much for taking the time to post it here as a way to honor Julia and her family.

Here's to the arms of the Junk Man.

[Carolyn]

I loved the Carl Sandburg poem.

I don't know what you're feeling right now, treesta. Surely there is exhaustion, and perhaps, even, a sense of relief. I don't know, either, exactly what your religious beliefs are, or if you have any. My belief in an afterlife would be comforting to me, as would better-half being by my side. I know that DC has been your stalwart support, along with the people you've grown to know at hospice. I hope that you find comfort in many things -- the brave sentinel you became at your Mom's bedside, perhaps the relationship you enjoyed and cultivated with her through her life -- and your own life, as your Mother's daughter, growing up, remembering her eyes on you. I hope that the totality of Julia's life, when considered, gives you satisfaction and joy, that she lived it fully and well, and was ready to leave the shell of her body behind.

Treesta and DC, find peace and comfort in many things today, as you cope with this immense loss, not the least of all in one another.

[Matissta]

Treesta shared some tender moments about Julia with me and Flannista, not only on this blog but in person. She lit up when she told stories of her mother.

Treesta, please accept my deepest condolences in the loss of your mother. She seemed like a real pistol. In my eyes, that's one of the highest compliments. Thank you for sharing stories of her with us, and please feel free to continue. They're truly wonderful.

[Flannista]

On Ash Wednesday, I met Julia at the hospice. She did, indeed, look like the bird described by treesta and DCsistah in their respective comments here. Her head was leaning to the right in an odd way . . . she was curling into herself. It wasn't until I stood next to her bed, treesta standing next to me, that I remembered that my sister, Karen, had died eight years earlier on Ash Wednesday (though in 2001 Ash Wednesday fell on March 14). Karen, too, died in the loving care of hospice workers.

I met treesta's sister, Joyce, who, for the past eight months has been on Family Medical Leave to care for her mother. She rarely left her mother's side. I also met treesta's father and brother -- both instantly companionable. I sensed immediately the goodness of the family and why treesta is so easy to love.

treesta and I went outside and walked around the hospice building at least 15-20 times, treesta reminiscing about her mother and family. She also shared what she learns from being outdoors -- "my real church," she said. We saw a bush filled with red cardinals, "firing up the landscape as nothing else can do," as Mary Oliver describes in her poem, "Red Bird".

When the time came to say goodbye, I placed my hand on top of Julia's head, and said aloud, "May flights of angels sing you to your rest. Say hello to Karen and give Isaac a nuzzle for me." I then silently prayed, "Come, Lord Jesus." Jesus was, of course, already there, embodied in treesta, Joyce, her father and brother, the hospice workers, and . . . Julia.

Yes, fly, Julia, fly . . . fire up the landscape as nothing else can do.

Fly.

[PEACEsista]

Dear treesta & and all at Sassistas!,

We are still in silence here in Taos, but half-a asked me to let him know when Julia passed. I slipped him a note this morning and later he gave me one, written on a napkin. It says, in part:

"I brought the Heart Sutra with me because I figured she would die while we were here. I will chant it this afternoon and the next two mornings while sitting in the zendo facing Taos Mountain. One man's ashes released to the gods and goddesses of Taos Mountain. A woman's spirit sent beyond on their shoulders."

Half-a was asked to release some of the ashes of a friend's brother (who he did not know) here. Our thoughts and love are with you all. I will put Julia's name on the altar here.

[Flannista]

PEACE -- thank you for putting Julia's name on the zendo altar . . . I was going to email you separately about that, but should have known that you would be several steps ahead of me in thoughtfulness.

Also, please thank half-a-sista on behalf of all of us for chanting the Heart Sutra and for including Julia in his ceremony of releasing the ashes he carries for a friend. DEEP BOW to him. Much love to you, half-a, and Westsista as your week of silence comes to a close. We have missed you but are so grateful for your presence with us.

[Flannista]

ANAMNESIS
Elizabeth Spires

When we meet again without our bodies,
meet in the grave’s cold bed,
when, fingerbone to fingerbone,
we touch, will time be frozen forever,
or run on as it always has,
a stream neither fast nor slow?

When, our faces gone, we speak
through the softness of moss,
through crumbling moss-soft lips,
will our words unsay themselves,
or will our voices meet again
in rising recognition?

When, like the blind, we search
for our names in the tomb’s shadow,
will we find them lost forever,
or will our anxious fingers touch
the upraised edge of letters chiseled
in stone? Tell me if you know.

Once, I apprehended All:
I saw light streaming through stone,
and you in the sere clothes of the dead.
A fine dust lay on everything. You said
not one word. How could you?
I did not touch you then.

It is only a matter of time
before I lie down beside you
and we become all things to each other –
mother, child, thief, betrayer, love, friend—
we will be all things as we whisper,
How green life was!

[babysis]

Thanks again, Treesta, for all you've gifted us with in honor of Julia. Grieve her deeply and well, and we'd be honored to share in that too. As we're all learning, though, that will also be your private journey in your own time. Much love to you and DC and your extended family.

[Jerseysista]

Treesta and DCsistah, my hope is that all of us in the Sassosphere can provide a measure of comfort to you that is commensurate with the grace and love you have allowed us to see and share as you have tended to Julia. Your eloquence and vulnerability have enhanced the reach of her life to all of us in her last days. That is no small thing. Perhaps it is acts such as yours that light the transition from seeing through the glass darkly to then seeing face to face.

[Flannista]

Jersey -- your eloquence and vulnerability also help us see through the glass darkly. Thank you.

[Flannista]

A year ago today, half-a-sista's mother died. In the sassosphere, he has often commented on her, particularly caring for her in the last years of her life.

Anniversaries of the death of loved ones are often times of sad reflection, sometimes regret. We know that treesta would not mind using space honoring her mother's passing, for us to take a moment and send our love to half-a-sista.

PEACE TO YOU, OUR FRIEND.

[treesta]

Where do I begin?

My mom died at 9:28 PM on Thursday, February 26, 2009.

I watched in amazement. Somehow it was not painful to watch her die. The pain was earlier, watching her cling to life, when she continued tenaciously, day after day, to force her lungs to take in air. It is hard, hard work to prepare to die. Death itself is a release. Or at the very least, it was for Mom.

Around 9:00 her breathing, which had become jerky a few days before, began to slow. At first the pause between breaths was almost imperceptable, causing Joyce and I to glance at each other and say, "Did you see that?" The pause grew longer, three to four seconds would go by before she would gulp in just a bit of air. It stayed that way for ten minutes or so, and part of me thought, "Oh my God, this is going to last all night." But another part of me knew. I slipped out of my pajamas and back into my jeans and t-shirt. And when Joyce said that she needed to get a Coke for the night ahead, I told her she might not want to leave just then.

As if on cue, Mom began to wait longer and longer between breaths. Gulp. Tick, tick, tick, tick. Gulp. Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick. Gulp. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Gulp. Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick. Over the course of ten minutes or so until ten, eleven, twelve seconds would go by between breaths. Enough time for Joyce and I to remind Mom once again how much we love her, how much we would miss her, but it was ok. We would be ok. We would all take care of each other. We told her to look for the light, to follow it over the mountain to get back home. The last gulp. Her heart continued to beat, slowly but methodically for another moment or so. Then a final sigh as the last of the air in her lungs left her body. My prayer at that moment was just one word - Fly. And so she did.

[Flannista]

I am listening, treesta, and bow my head in prayer.

[treesta]

Tuesday evening, Jane came to be with me during our vigil. She brought with her The Book of Common Prayer, and a copy of all of the "Let Evening Come" posts up to that point. As Mom's breathing became more and more jerky and forced, I would sit at her bedside and read your prayers, poems, and thoughts. They brought me enormous solace and comfort. To know that so many people were lifting us in prayer was both awesome and humbling. Namaste, my friends.

[Flannista]

Your words in the sassosphere always and all ways honor us, treesta.

As Jerseysista said so beautifully, Julia's life -- and the moment of her death -- reached all of us. We stand, palms open, in humble gratitude.

[Chrysosistah]

Your grace, eloquence and patient, embracing love is an example for all of us. Thank you for allowing us to be here with you, sharing the vigil and the passing. Namaste.

[barista]

My thoughts and prayers with you Treesta as you live life on the earth without your mother...your words describing her flight to the other side were simply luminous. Thank you.

[Westsista]

Oh Treesta - I care. I remember when my dad died, even though he had been sick for awhile it was a terrible shock. Be kind to yourself. Much love.

[Chrysosistah]

Treesta & DC, just checking in to let you know you're on my mind, hope you are taking good care of yourselves! Best~~