Nov 26, 730am, Cat Ba, Vietnam
John came to me again last night. I sat on the beach in the dark, by myself. I felt him wanting to connect, but I resisted at first. I only want to connect with him when I have time, space, and emotional energy to be fully present. So I gave myself a few moments to breathe deeply, closed my eyes, and dove in. Immediately he put his forehead against mine. I slid my hands along the sides of his face, along his scalp, and into his hair. He began to weep, and then we talked for a bit.
“I want to come back. I miss you and the girls so much. I can’t stand it. I want to come back.”
“John, you can’t come back.”
“This hurts too much. I can’t stand seeing you in such pain. I can’t stand not big able to hold you and comfort you.”
And then I felt the heavens trying to yank him away. He began to be sucked upwards and we reached our hands out to each other, trying to hold on.
“John, surrender. I don’t know why, but this is your destiny. You must let go of your attachment to this earth and shed the burden of your fear for me and the girls. We will find a path. These burdens are mine to carry.”
I felt John give in. He stopped fighting, and then, because he let go of his resistance, the sky stopped yanking him away and I was able to hold him. For perhaps the first time since his death, I was able to truly feel his pain rather than being consumed by my own. I filled with compassion for this sweet, tender man who will never see his children have babies, who will never climb the many peaks that he dreamed of, who will never grow old with his wife. I held him and let him sob for a while. I let myself comfort him. I allowed myself to be completely present and honor his great loss. Then, just like that, he was gone again, until the next time I’m lucky enough for one of these brief moments of connection. I cherish these moments and never take them for granted.
John – I love you forever and beyond.