A colleague of mine, born in the same year as myself, just passed away this week. She left behind two amazing teen-age sons, an adoring partner, cherished friends, and a thriving therapy practice.
As you may imagine, this has stirred up a lot for me. She was my age. She was thriving. She positively impacted so many. She got sick. She fought hard. She ran out of time.
It also brought up all the poignancy of another passing in my life – of a friend who was dear to me – who was unable to thrive – and how then, and now, I am making sense of these losses with the message that came to me. I shared it with her family. I would like to share it with you.
“I loved my friend Eve. I loved her intelligence. I loved her sharp wit, which was a match for my own. I loved her insights, and the way she called me out on things even though she knew it would trigger my arrogance armor. And I loved that she knew about the armor in the first place.
And then I think, what was her armor to protect her from pain and overwhelm? One of my strategies – armor – is arrogance. A way of assessing the world and seeing it as an adversary that will never be stronger than my own will. Of never letting them see me sweat, even if inside I’m afraid, which parts of me have been, most of my life. And again I ask, what was her armor? She couldn’t keep her pain and fear invisible like I would like to believe mine is. It was literally eating her alive. It was always visible. She didn’t feel good about herself and she always felt like every decision she made must be wrong. I have forced myself to believe that every decision I make is good enough because, I have insisted, nobody really knows what they are doing anyway. She always seemed to feel that all her decisions were bad, that she was bad, and it was only other people that had it right. She saw me that way. But no matter what I said, she could never see herself that way.
I told her once that her greatest lesson to me was teaching me unconditional love. Because to love her meant being willing to share love and connection without getting attached to how the other person takes it in or gives much of anything back. From being with Eve, I understood that when one is in the dark, one can’t stand the light. One can’t even stand hearing about the light. And so she couldn’t ask others/me who are living in the light too much about our own lives. The joyful things. The progress. Because in their/her own head, there is only darkness. No apparent progress. No hope.
And the heartbreak for me, is that I get that. I have been in that dark place. And I got out. I help others to get out. But she didn’t. I watched her life for 16 years. I walked with her. I loved her. And she never got out. It makes me really, really sad.
And now I am thinking that there is a far greater lesson that her life and her struggle can teach me. Can teach all of us. Her voice has a permanent place in my heart now and it is telling me what she could not do while she was on the earth. It is telling me, now that she has peace and is released from her tortured mind and body: “Take it all in. Don’t keep any light out. Take it in. The joy. The nourishment. The tenderness. Take all of Life in. Say Yes to Life.”
I will Eve. Thank you.
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