When they’re snug inside their home by the hearth, reading or writing maybe, cooking dinner, perhaps creating art, they don’t expect to die by avalanche. They’ve lived at the base of a mountain for thirty years, weathered all kinds of rain, threat of grass fires, winds, wild critters and snow. But this year, this year a pretty crazy weather pattern hit their valley, my old home town of Missoula, Montana and
By an avalanche
Down the slope
At 120 mph
Her home with her
And her husband inside.
My grief is BIG!
I went to the rainforest to cry with the rain and scatter blessings over the rain spattered pond. Returning home, my breathing was that uncontrollably deep full bodied breathing of grieving, making it hard to concentrate on plowing through taxes. I decided to take my grief to the canvas. Here, unfinished but a healer for me already is Michel’s Angel.
May we all remember to be humble before Nature, to honor its many powers, which, like a god, can kill us. Flood, drought, tornado, typhoon, hurricane and unexpected avalanches on small mountains with fairly gentle slopes are all gods and we are puny before them. But these gods are not wrathful. There is no evil intent.
I am reminded that my life is in Life’s hands, not my own. My best laid plans do not keep me safe from dying.
May we remember the blessing of each breath each moment each day, walking in gratitude and awe from this moment on for the miracle of being in-body and in relationship to one another, connected to the web spiraling round this planet.
My heart goes out to your grief, but what a wonderful reminder that the only moment we can count on is this moment, and to be grateful. Thanks for this sharing.
thank you for making time to read my post and to empathize. What a gift!
Deborah, I am so sad to hear about your friend. I am thinking of you. Thanks for sharing this with all of us. Much love, Carol
Carol thank you so much for sending me a response. Every one means a lot at this particular time of wonderment for how devastation happens w/o any fore knowledge. It just does…let’s talk soon.
Deborah, I too, have two close friends that were covered by an avalanche in mid-February. They were also on a soft slope with two other friends of theirs. One of their friends died but 3 of the 4, by great miracle, survived. The twist of fate that allowed their survival after being buried for 90 minutes is as baffling as the fear in my chest as I run from imagining their experience. And…something has awakened in me. It began as deep grief and is morphing into something I don’t yet have words to describe. I’m deeply sorry for you loss, my dear sweet, Deborah. Thank you very much for your painting. Your loss brings me back to mid-February and when my friends arrive here on March 8th I will hug them with much more gratitude. If there is anything I can do for you during this painful process, I will be more than happy to oblige. Your Friend, Shannon
Shannon, somehow I missed seeing your comment. How unbelievable that we are sharing such a similar experience. How rare is this?? Thank you for taking time to write. and now let’s make time to talk soon…
Deborah, it’s amazing what you have done here. The wells of grief are now shared and dwell in the canvas…sending you my deepest condolences.
Thank you Paula for caring, for “knowing” how it is…