the other side of grief
I am incredibly lucky to have the life that I do.
As I get a bit older, I do believe I am very, very lucky. I feel I have guardians that protect me. I feel that I have a strong compass of what I believe is right and wrong. I am extremely grateful for the deck I’ve been dealt - to have safety in many forms, to have love in SO many forms, to have opportunities, and to have the innate optimism and discipline to make more opportunities for myself, too. I have a lot of supporters, I have a tremendous support system.
I am lucky to be gifted an ability and openness to feel deep connection with nature, humanity, and the things beyond our physical realm.
Perhaps that’s why VR feels natural to me. It’s an extension of how I feel - in my body AND externally out into the world(s) around me.
Grief and Loss thru death is difficult. inevitable. and — oddly — has provided deep, purposeful gifts to me.
Veronica — one of my closest friends of 17 years — passed suddenly in 2019. I remember so vividly recognizing the things that mattered from that point on, and the things that didn’t:
The loss of Veronica was huge. It was like a huge pillar in the structure of my life came crashing down - and so many other infrastructure things with it. The loss was devastating - and forced me to slow down.
The loss of my dad was different. My relationship with him was very quiet, with few words spoken. I do believe our relationship had unspoken pain, misunderstanding, and tension that neither of us knew how to resolve.
As I’ve been prioritizing more stability, security, and predictability in my life now, his presence has been coming up so much more for me.
I flew to LA shortly after the Jan 2025 wildfires to volunteer with my SoCal community, to be there with friends, to do what I could. And driving on the I-10 towards Pasadena, I felt a resounding “I’m proud of you, muy" [little girl].
When I have moments of disagreements and frustration with my mom, I can sense his hand on my shoulder: “It’s okay. Let her.” And his presence reminds me that I don’t need to take on her methods as my own.
What I miss, what I grieve, what I wish I had in my dad as a toddler - he is showing up for me in spades now at 40.
Peace is quiet.
Peace is solace.
Peace is feeling the breeze flow through my hair - swaying in sync with the willow tree’s branches, flowing in unison with the burning incense smoke.
Peace is content in the moment - feeling embraced. connected. grounded.
