Spirit Walking - FF
No religious or grammar debate, please. This time the FF translates to "Fragile Faith." I have zero physical proof in physical hand that any of this will be okay. Again. Life in the aftermath???? Faith is that which I accept without proof. I am reaching for faith that any of this will be okay. Proof unavailable. My language circuits are still scrambling unmercifully. I am getting lost in metaphor with the noblest of intention. Please keep your metaphorical light out of my eyes today. Keep it literal, please.
My estranged mother's body has been cremated, in accordance with the law of the land. In the 60 odd year ramble between my most beloved sis and I, the preferred ritual might have been placing her on a bed of wood --we believe in wood spirits-- and floating her out onto the Atlantic Ocean off Roscommon shore. Her 21 gun salute would be 21 flaming arrows to give her spirit to the smoke of the wood spirits. She did the best she could with what she had to work with. We honor the effort and release her spirit to find peace. At least. . . Thus we have babbled with our heads on neighboring pillows. In our web design phase, my most beloved sis and I called ourselves, "DOS." Delusional Old Sisters. The DOS talk is currently running down the yaddah blah of throwing her a going away party. We believe our rowdy clan can liven up any party. . . We have the travelling kiddie whorehouse tales to back up that claim.
But this particular wandering wonder isnae about funeral traditions. . .
I believe --only believe-- that my mother gave herself a fatal stroke for her 70th birthday. August 1st, 1999. My father approved the triple by-pass which blessed her with 17+ years in a State Nursing Home bed. Of course I was not physically present for any of that. Estrangement reminder.
I believe --only believe-- that my mother has been "Spirit Walking" for most of the 17 years she spent in that bed. Can I translate our conversations? Dare I? I believe --only believe-- it would be easier to translate living need to legalese.
There. I said it. Now to see if I can make sense of ^it^ when I try to read these words later. . . Testing, 1, 2, 3. . .
Replies
Fact check.
21st century Roscommon has no Atlantic shoreline.
Sending healing energy and thoughts of peace to you as you work your puzzles today...much is on your plate. Hugs...ml
Ty, ml.
In my own struggles to cope with my father's death when I was 23 years old...I decided...that all deaths were (mostly) equal. I quit my internal debate and just accepted it. I tell my kids that they're literally welcome to dance on my coffin, if it will bring them comfort. Mostly, advice fails and we all must find out own way through each individual death.
Hugs as you find your way through this latest one. My condolences for all that you're working your way through, Patti
I made it in easy enough, now what can I say. This MBS or DOS number 2 wants to spend time with you on the shore of Roscommon till the fire fly's shine no more
Fact check:
1800 Roscommon had no shoreline, either. It was still "Ros Comain" or "Saint Comain's Wood." The name was anglicized by the Brits.
I think that your hopes and wishes for your mom are lovely Arf..... Huge hug and a blessing.....xo