Tribute To Sam Greylord

Sam is dead. The man I loved because he gave me four amazing daughters, not because I ever had the luxury of BEING in love with him.  He made that impossible.  This reality does not change the depths of my feelings about the situation.  His life was more about mourning than celebrating. To finally feel that stranglehold of pain slip away is powerful and poignant.

We don't always have the luxury of partnering with someone who completes us.  Sometimes we end up with an individual that challenges us at every turn. Relentlessly. Sometimes we struggle to translate pain into understanding and forgiveness. Sometimes it feels like an assignment from God, entrusting us with one who needs what they can't give back.  Sometimes it's not equal, or fair.  Sometimes we are stretched beyond all reasonable bounds, akin to birthing a harsh rocky mountain who's pain will stretch far beyond labor and delivery.

We grieve the darling cuddly puppy who gets hit by a car.  It's more complex the gnarly cur who bites your hand every time you offer food.  Who has suffered such abuse that doesn't have the capacity to understand unconditional love and lashes out against it because this is all it knows. Because trust has been annihalated. Sam was such a beast, but he was also a beloved child of God.  People sometimes forgot that.

Oh the damage and pain inflicted are legendary.  There was little sympathy or understanding from those looking in from the outside.  Why waste time loving a being who can't return the favor, at least not the way the rules are written.  Why invest in the most damaged members of the human race, or any species for that matter? Why?

I will tell you why.  Because life's greatest lessons come from leaving our comfort zone.  Because sometimes a mere pebble has more value than a chest of gold and jewels.  Because the sacrifices we make do not diminish us, they teach us to be stronger better members of the human family.  Because one person can make all of the difference in the world.

Beneath his hurt and anguish was the most gentle of souls.  He dared to love and hope in his own unique way.  He knew injustice firsthand, the flame of it burned deep. He was self aware enough to choose loneliness as a way to protect us from the fires of rage that resided within.  He gentled himself over time, he tempered his unspeakable pain with an exile of solitude. And continued to love us from afar.

I am grieving deeply.  I have tried to give voice to his story. There is no happily ever after.  But this is not the end, this is a new chapter and the legacy he leaves is priceless.  I think of our four daughters waking up today for the first time to this new chapter.  They honored him with a most loving death, a true and good death, a perfect transition.  His last act was a classic fish-lipped smooch as he let go.

He will live on in them.  Their children will hear stories of Grampa Sam, they will learn his magic from a slate wiped clean by forgiveness, by this culmination of life's lessons learned the hard way and shared as a family.  The healing and growth I have witnessed are priceless, and I am honored to be a part of it.

You are Loved Sam, deeply so.  I am very proud of you. You stayed true to the very end.

THE FORCE OF CONFORMITY

I know I shouldn't take it personally.  When we moved into this sprawling rural complex four years ago I made sure it was OK to hang my beloved wind chimes.  They  were a gift from Cully, the nicest possible chimes, Music of the Spheres Mongolian Chimes, richly melodic.  They ground me and give me great comfort and pleasure. Hearing them fills my heart.

They reside in a little corner nook outside the bedroom window, a few feet from my head.  I keep my window cracked open, yes even on frigid Wisconsin nights, so I can hear them, even in my dreams.  There is a woods behind us, and other buildings create a somewhat protected courtyard area. Several lush bushy pines surround these chimes as well, buffering them from fierce weather They hang patiently and gently sing when the wind finds them, and I am grateful for this simple joy.

Fast forward four years. The manager of the complex calls to very nicely inform me that we have a new neighbor and they have complained.  Yes, the chimes were there when they decided to rent here.  And yes, nobody else of the hundreds of neighbors has EVER complained.  And frankly, my not being allowed to hang them would have been a deal breaker for me, moving in. Nonetheless, they must come down. 

Cully fetches them, my heart is heavy.  They are tangled in a mute heap in the corner.  Their silence is deafening.  Hark!  Hear the airplanes, low in the sky. We are in the flight path of the international airport up the road. Ooh, the endless thrum of thousands of cars and trucks zooming endlessly around the clock on the TWO major highway systems, within a mile.  Ah, the distinctive sound of the train! I favor the sound of the train at least. I don't however favor the rest of the intrusive sounds of the human rat race. Energetically it is draining.

I feel so defeated.  Intolerance has moved into my neighborhood and raised it's ugly head.  I'm grieving, I'm sad, I'm angry.  Those chimes were Cully's first token of affection, many years back. Those melodies embody this old-ish crippled blind lady's precious connection to nature, to the gently wafting wind.  They were God's whispers to me they soothed my pain.  Suddenly I feel trapped, caged in a place where my spirit is no longer understood or welcome or tolerated. The seed of fear has been planted  I wonder what they will complain about next?

But wait... the birds are singing. The branches are whispering. The spirit must find refuge where it may!