When I posted about Barnett yesterday, I was pulsing through what it feels to be on the verge of loss, already tasting it. I guess to complete my act of writing about that loss, I needed people to read it. And I’ve been so grateful for all of the responses, both in the comments here and in other parts of my life, from people who relate to loss and from people who share in this loss.
Just thinking quietly today about how to make space for meaning in the loss, for connection. And in that, was reminded over and over of the compounding nature of community.
Connecting with my business partner and friend around different, concurrent losses and how grateful we are for each other, for our collaboration.
Sending out a note to the Triad community about Joel needing a laptop, and having a commitment of more than $500 in half a day.
A rich connecting email from a friend who read my post and reflected on her mother’s loss.
A heart-wrenching email from Kim saying she’d read my post to Barnett.
A brief, connecting IM with a dear friend in Ottawa who helped me find shared witness to loss AND find joy in the same moments.
An unexpected phone call from an unexpected collaborator, my partner in the Uganda project — just as I was thinking about writing him a note about how grateful I am for him.
Connection with my online community, an amazing collection of wise, generous, loving women (and one boy), about different ways we find joy (FOOD! PETS!) and puzzle our way through life.
I got myself out of my post-work (post kettle corn) stupor and went out to be containers for the turkey broth I made yesterday, and took my camera. Made space for the little practice of mindful photography I’ve tried to adopt of taking one photo with real focus every day. Found a moment with the sunset above the busy street, with my compact. (Did, unmindfully, wish I had my 7D).
Listened to the most evocative piece of music I know, Laurie Anderson’s Here with You.
Found space. Found connection. Found gratitude.