A Zen Thing.

I was driving to my friend Sam's house, thinking about Julian - his life, his death, and his mum. You know, nice light fare for a jaunt to a chum's.

I don't really feel too sad for Julian...he was sick, weak, in pain. How is death a bad thing, when you have all that to juggle? I've been with cancer patients from start to finish...and the finish is always a relief for the ones experiencing it most intimately. I'm sorry the little guy won't know some of the joys of growing into an adult. No first kiss, no prom, no fumbling a bra off a girl for the first time...all the things that help shape a lad into a man.

More, though, I feel for his mum. Could I share with y'all, if my beloved were sick, dying, gone? I have no idea. I doubt I'd be coherent enough to use a Kleenex properly, let alone write a beautiful post for everyone who'd been following along with our journey. Although grief fades, until she dies there will be a sore, empty place where Julian's life should be...dances, dates, loves, triumphs, graduations, wins, losses, sorrows, fiancees, wedding, children...a whole long life's worth of empty.

Sigh.

I was also thinking a sort of Zenish thought about yesterday. I figured it out...around the time Julian was passing through the veil, I was catching snowflakes in front of my house. My head was tilted back and I was letting them fall into my mouth, onto my tongue, brush cold feathery kisses across my cheeks and eyes. I was delighted, brought right back to my own childhood and the taste and feel of fat wet flakes. I was grinning (a sight to behold I'm sure, since I know I don't do it often) a big silly grin, and my hair, face, and torso were covered in the melting miracles. The snow tasted clean, the flakes were magnificent and massive...I caught them on my palm and ate them, tipped my head back and caught them, blinked them out of my eyes and giggled when a few went down the back of my shirt. All while Julian lay dying.

I didn't know he was failing...I've been keeping passively up with his regression from life, and only knew he was still hanging on through Xmas. So I was uncomplicatedly happy for a little while. In the same moments he and his family were uncomplicatedly sorrowful. We were in the moments together, experiencing different parts of the same whole, hearts beating together, breathing together, being in our moments together even as were were as far apart as strangers can be...in so many ways, so very far apart...but we were still sharing those moments. Some of Julian's dying was mine, and some of his mother's grief and relief were mine, and some of my simple snowy joy was theirs.

Right now, in this moment, as I type, Mimi (Julian's mother, although I have no right to be so familiar with her name) and I are sharing existence - she with her heart full of her experience, and I with mine. Along with us, there's you, dear reader...you and everyone you know and the even greater number of people you don't know. We are all in our moments together. There is no different time for one or another...we share it all, together...it's only our experience makes us different in these moments.

If that doesn't make you feel connected to it all, I don't know what will.

Or maybe it's just me...or a Zen thing.