Sharing

 

This is a poem I wrote in honor of my "sister of the heart,." Sharon Parish.  It's close to her birthday now so I thought I'd post it here to say hello. 

Sharing

by Dreena Melea Tischler

©August 24, 2006

We passed in the night

like an exhaled breath,

slowly whiffing out 

until every last sigh of it

                                        was gone.

Then I trudged into my future 

and you slipped into yours.

I cannot now see you

except 

in backward glances. 

I see you as in 

a foggy mirror 

and sometimes . . . 

I do not recognize you there.

I see you in a dress

lovingly decorated with ricrac

and a photo

and a daughter.

I see you in your tarnished pin

which I do not wear

but only hold and polish. 

Solitary, I long for that night

in which we each went to our futures

and to hold again your hand

and hear again your breath

mingled and shared,

                                    my dear,

                                                    with mine.

Image by Albrecht Fietz from Pixabay

Missing Sharon and a Lesson on Grief

Lately, I have been missing my dear "sister" Sharon. She's been gone for 7 -1/2 years now, but in the last weeks, the longing for her has returned with an acuteness I'd not felt in some time. The "longing" is an actual feeling in my chest, a heaviness; it's tears just behind my eyes; it's a tendency to pout.

It seems everything reminds me of her. Someone gave me a book called The Good, Good Pig. I cannot even look at the cover without smiling and thinking of her. She'd have loved the cover and the book and it reminds me that we sure shared some laughs and some good reading!

I play my iPod on "shuffle" and all the "Sharon" songs seem to come on. Yesterday, I made a genius list of one of my silly songs -- "Don't Fence Me In" and there were a couple of those songs in the mix. The one that had the tears flowing was "Life A'int Always Beautiful" by Gary Allen. It is a truly lovely song and it's one that came across Pandora in the weeks I sat in the hospital with Sharon. It has ties to that time. Still, I wondered at this sudden renewal of a sense of loss. Something about it just didn't ring true.

The song that really busted me up, though, was "My Sweet Lorraine." Oh, my goodness, this song (and it's story) just has me crying every time. And yet . . . there is also something in the song that has caught my attention. It was this line: "I wish we could do the good times all over again." Isn't that how it is with grief? We blissfully remember mostly the sweet times and we somehow believe or think that if we had a second chance, it would be all those good times.

Finally, I had a speck of insight into my grief! I do miss those good times with Sharon; the twice daily phone calls, the way we told each other the whole truth, her honesty, her sweet smile. And though I'd have given anything to extend her life even a day, I learned so much from her death. This is true not only for  me, but many others as well. We have all evolved, so to speak, in a way that might have been much different were she still living.

I can see that it may not be mainly Sharon that I miss, but "the way we were." I sent my last "Little" off to school this year; there is grief there. My bestie is on a year long sabbatical traveling the country with her family. I'm so happy for her yet I do miss her so. My oldest "big," Alli, is in her senior year --our relationship is a close one but bound to change in the coming months as she traverses her first foray with true independence; it is a beautiful and heart-breaking time. I have gone back to "outside the home" work for the first time since Alli was born. There are a few unresolved guilty thoughts lurking there.

Life is changing, as it always does. Wishing Sharon back from the dead will not shield me from this truth. My part is (as always) to stop resisting and ebrace what is, to live my "yes" to the gift of this moment. 

In fact, when Sharon was dying, I was able to be present in the moment. I was able to say , "This is the truth of her life. I will be with her in her truth." That is how I want to be in the truth of my life this moment. I want to truly enjoy my friend's travels, to savor Alli's senior year without holding on too tight, to enjoy Bennie's first steps away from me, and so forth.

I do miss my sweet sister, and I am equally grateful for all I have learned, both from her living and her dying. Sweet Sunday, everyone!

The Present Present

(pictured: Sharon Parish)

One of my beautiful daughters is an enthusiastic 10 year old, Chanelle. She has been very distracted of late by a giant present that I hid in plain site on a high shelf in the laundry room. Since she discovered it last week, "the present" has been a part of at least a half-dozen conversations every day.

When I wrapped that particular gift, I was thinking of my absent soul-mate and "sister," Sharon Parish. She infused me with an enthusiasm for taking my time in wrapping gifts and presenting them lovingly, beautifully and with care. In fact, much of her life was "wrapped" with great care . . . lovingly . . . beautifully. It was so inspiring to me.

The present. Sharon was a master of it. She used to sit for hours making little woodland creatures with acorn caps for hats. She sewed their tiny felt costumes and embellished them with embroidery thread. She did this without worrying about the laundry, her job, or anything at all. As she wrapped those tiny figures in beautiful clothes, she did so in the present. She took this approach to each thing she undertook. If she and I were on the phone, it was as if she had all the time in world. I am still evoked and challenged by Sharon's sense of time expanding to accommodate all of her life.

Chanelle will still have to wait two days for that big, intriguing present in the laundry room to find it's way under the Christmas tree. There is a lot I could do (housework, raking leaves, going crazy with the cleaning and decorating), but not a lot I'm planning to do. I'm committed to wrapping my world and my present in love and beauty. I'm soaking the most out of every precious moment. And the laundry? Well, it may have to wait!


(Thank you, Sharon. Miss you!)