WordSisters

Tag: Elizabeth di Grazai

  • At The Funeral

    In January, a time before the corona virus, I sat with three friends from my writing group. Our other group member was up front, a part of the funeral party. Her mother had passed away.

    We had done this before, sat together for a funeral. Then it was one of our own group members who had passed on. This time, it wasn’t a sense of déjà vu as much as it was a strong sense of community, of being with your tribe, your writing family. These people who read and commented on your stories, knew your family and your journey through life. We’ve been together for over fifteen years.

    I had Kleenex scrunched up in my palm. Tears would come from who knows where, but they would come.

    It touched me that we were supporting our friend and supporting each other. Several of us had taken the day off from work. Being present for one another was important. Sacred circles show up for each other.

    The church was full of people of all ages and races to honor this woman of 89 who had passed away. A testament to her and the family she raised.

    My shoulder brushed my writing friend sitting next to me. I dabbed at the corner of my eye. Being at funerals often connects me to other griefs and in that moment, I keenly felt my estrangement from my siblings. My bond to my sacred circle of writing friends made me feel the distance from my siblings even more. My Kleenex became soggier. I pushed my glasses up.

    How Great Thou Art, chorused through the congregation. I imagined my feet reaching to the earth’s center.

    While in prayer, I let myself grieve the alienation from my siblings. I was doing what I believed.  I was honoring myself, my partner, my children and my beliefs. I was honoring the essence of who I am. I stayed in this revered place with the universe. Wrapped myself in love. Cloaked myself in love. I was in a blessed place in this church, in this pew, and with these people. I felt love all around me.

    While in communion with the Universe, I added a prayer, Universe, please help me find my memory stick. I had been putting blog posts on the stick and had yet to back it up. I knew that I should. Every writer knows that. The memory stick had blog posts on that I might publish after more revision. I’ve learned that the best time to write a blog post is when I have the greatest feeling. The memory stick was holding a lot of me. I had been looking for the stick for days.

    In The Garden filled the place of worship. When I raised my eyes I could see clearly. I felt liberated. The veil of sadness had lifted.

    At the podium, our writer friend was reading a story that she had written about her mother. A story that was familiar to the sacred circle. She was full of light and joy. Her gift bringing forth laughter.

    Following the recessional, we said goodbye to our friend and decided the rest of us would gather for lunch. We needed to be together a little longer before we re-entered our daily lives.

    Opening my car door, I moved pieces in the basket in the back seat that held loose items in the car. There was my memory stick. Thank you, Universe, I breathed. I am loved.

  • My Wish Came True

    My Wish Came True

    My wish came true. On my annual trip to Destin, Florida for a human resources conference, I learned at hotel check-in that my guest room would be in the Emerald Tower on the 14th floor.

    I smiled.

    This would be my third stay at the Hilton Sandestin Beach Golf Resort Hotel and Spa. My first time with a room that high that looked out towards Florida’s Emerald Coast.

    I nodded along as the receptionist explained where the elevator was located.

    Once in the room, I did my usual hotel check: looking behind the shower curtain, opening the closet door that held the ironing board, kicking under the bed to hear the thud of the base, and glancing behind the couch and chair.

    I slid my patio door open and stepped out. I studied the brick wall to my left and right. A person would have to rappel up to get inside my room. Who would do that?

    Kids’ laughter floated up to me. I viewed the white sand, the people walking on the beach, and the boogieboarders. I leaned back breathing in the sun’s warmth. I closed my eyes to bring even closer to my core the sound of the ocean waves. Ah, this was lovely.

    For a moment, I held my breath. Could I leave my patio door open and fall asleep to the ocean waves?

    Looking at my hotel from the beach. My room is on the 14th floor.

    It took me years to feel safe enough in my own home to fall asleep while napping on the couch. I had to work hard to not chastise myself for relinquishing my watchful eye. Growing up, it had been my job to be vigilant. Being on alert sleeping or awake was my natural way of being. I had to teach my body that it was okay to rest. I did this by using an eye mask and earplugs. My signals to my body that it was time to sleep.

    Even so, it was me who woke a moment before one of the babies did. I must have heard their rustling in the crib before they started whimpering. Later, it was me who woke Jody before one of our toddlers fell out of their bed in the hotel room. I reached across from my bed where Juan Jose’ and I were sleeping to theirs. I nudged Jody, “Crystel’s falling out of bed.” She quickly scooped the child up.

    I have grown to be most comfortable with Jody sleeping beside me. She is a source of comfort. I have my deepest sleep in her presence.

    I travel to Grand Forks, North Dakota, one week a month for work. I can’t take Jody with me. It helps to request the same hotel room. One that doesn’t have a connecting room. I continue to use earplugs and eye shades. I take the ironing board out of the closet and set it up against the hotel door. I push the rolling chair next to the ironing board. I figure, I’ll wake before the door opens.

    All of my senses told me that I was safe in my guest room at the Hilton Sandestin Beach Golf Resort Hotel and Spa on the 14th floor. Could I leave my patio door open and fall asleep to the sound of ocean waves? I took a deep breath. If not now, when?

    That evening after our Welcome Gathering and dinner on the Sunside deck, I retreated to my room. After completing my hotel room check, I took the ironing board out of the closet and set it up against the door, pushed the rolling chair up next to it, and put another chair against the connecting door.

    I walked out to the patio, listened to the rolling ocean waves. Even in the darkness you knew the ocean was there, splashing against the shore.

    In bed, I imagined the universe holding me, embracing me. A mother and her child.

    For the next four nights, I slept to the sound of waves breaking against the shore. When I’d wake in the night, I’d let it lull me to sleep again.