Dear Lola

Dear Lola

Sometimes I wonder how I am able to go on breathing knowing that you passed away less than four months ago. Sometimes, it just engulfs me in this feeling… I don't know how to explain it, except that it is some impossible combination of the deepest sadness and even deeper gratitude. Writing this helps make the tears stop flowing. I don't cry all the time when I talk about you. Most of the time, it's not any different than when you were still here on earth with us. I talk about when I used to lay in your bed and you would rub my back when I had a tummy ache, and whisper to me that I was your favorite grandchild, even though I'm pretty sure you said that to all your grandchildren. Thinking about those moments makes me feel so proud, I feel invincible. I knew you would love me no matter what, that I would always be the most beautiful, and perfect to you.

I remember when we left California to live with you and Lolo, when things were no longer working between Mom and Dad. You and Lolo have always been there for us, without condition. I once read that true perfection is undetectable and invisible, because it functions so harmoniously you don't even notice it's there. Your love for me was perfect. I wish I'd told you this sooner. I hope you know that ever since I was a little girl, even trying to estimate the magnitude of how much I loved you brought me to tears. I couldn't. It was impossible, and overwhelming. I was never perfect for you, I never could show you how much. You were not perfect, either…. but I loved you Perfect. I know you loved me Perfect.

I have gone on breathing, though. Sometimes when I decide to feel guilty about something, I think it's possible because I have forgotten about you, forgotten that you are gone. Other times, when I decide to feel smart I think it's possible because I know you will always be here with me, in many forms because I've learned that everything changes with time, but nothing disappears. That life and death are a series of transformations and that consciousness is in a way immortal, transported into the minds of you and me through words and actions and acts of love and hate and compassion and all those other things that affect not only ourselves but everyone we touch. We are alive and contagious in our activity, I like to think that as our molecules take other forms (because they never cease to exist… except for maybe/maybe-not if you were sucked into a black hole….) they continue to be active… and forever. Did you know you would be Forever, Lola? Sometimes I KNOW you are Forever, when I'm feeling smart.

I could never forget you. You are part of me… your blood runs through my veins. Your life gave birth to my mother, who gave birth to me. The lessons you taught us will resonate in the decisions I make every day of the rest of my life, along with the mistakes you've made- and both of those things have given me both wisdom, and humility. You make me brave, still. When I forget my own self-worth, all I have to do is take a look at Perfect Me through your eyes, which were a gift from you, through my mother.

Thank you, Lola. I hope you know how much you meant to everyone you touched. You probably didn't, did you? I remember two Christmases ago listening to you argue with Lolo in the living room, saying you wanted to die. I remembered that just now. Like me, you were dramatic, you did everything with passion.

This last December I waited at the front door as our family helped you from the van and into the house… it took so long, and you were so tired. The first thing you said was, 'Where is Josette?' and I came to you, and you hugged me, and with strength, even though you had so little.

You said to me, 'Are you feeling better?'

You were so sick, and I was just sad. I told you yes, I was feeling better, because I was… because I realized right then, I had you. I had our family. You taught me so much, Lola… about compassion, and grace.

That night you could not stop coughing and the sound of you in pain was terrible. I cried silent tears with my head rested next to your legs, rubbing them like I would when I was 15 and I'd wake to you screaming, trying to comfort you when they would cramp up in the middle of the night. My aunt, your daughter held your head, telling you, 'You did good Mom, just try to relax..' because you felt so bad for waking her up.

On Christmas Eve, you could not breathe, and your children took you to the Emergency Room. You spent holy week in the hospital. We spent that week hoping and praying… I think, more for ourselves than for you. The last time I spoke to you, I was holding your hand, you asked me where I was, you thought I was someone else at first. When you realized it was me, you told me you loved me. I love you too, Lola. Always. Always.

On New Year's Eve I got a call- 'Settie, I think it's time… you'd better get here quick.' I ran red lights. When I got there, you were still breathing, but you were drowning… you were alive but you were in and out of sleep, and somehow I knew you would never wake up again.

I will never forget Lolo's lullaby to you… 'You're sleeeeeepy….. so sleeeeeeeeepy…….'

Do you know, that he held your tiny feet and repeated that chant to you for hours? He loved you so much, Lola. I know some part of you knew that, without question. You were alone with him when you gave your last breath. Lola, everything about you was beautiful and romantic.. and your death was just as poetic.

I wish you could have seen us together the week we waited for you in the hospital… and the week we spent saying goodbye. I just could not feel that I'd lost you, seeing how well everyone took care of each other, and how strong brother was for sister, father was for daughter, and so on. We love each other because of you, you know. Do you know what you taught me? You taught me about family, you taught all of us, and I just cannot fucking believe, I cannot even fathom how blessed….

…. I just have no words for what I saw in those two weeks. It changed something in me. It will awe me, for the rest of my life.

I don't know why I think about this as I am sitting in my cabin on this ship, far away from everything I know. Maybe because now I finally understand deep in my heart that neither distance nor death separates those who have love for each other. We can't even separate ourselves from the people we love, even if we try, because we are a part of each other, and no matter how much we try to convince ourselves that love is gone, it never will be….. love is immortal, and ever-changing. Love is always there.

I read something like this yesterday in a book, only it was about music… about space. It said, 'If there were no rest, all Music that ever played would still be playing. The thought of there being no rest was disturbing. Right then, I was really appreciating the existence of that element.'

So much that is beautiful in this life is about space, and rest. The last few years you were here you were halfway across the world from me. I wonder why I didn't call you more, but it doesn't change the fact that I missed you more than I ever told you, and feeling guilty for it doesn't change anything. I like to think that you knew, anyway. Space has a way of filtering out the noise and emphasizing the meaningful bits with its relative tranquility… with its calm. I can see how there could be no beauty without space. I can see how life could be muddled with noise, without rest.

Because I know this, the idea of the space between me and you, geographically, metaphysically or otherwise takes on an unanticipated light. Space is not for nothing. It is not a void, or just an emptiness between me and you and everything else. It is, in itself, a necessary and beautiful thing because it is an integral part of what makes its absence stand out so much. When you were with us, it was outstanding. You shone to the world, you gave it so much. Now that you are resting, you continue to give it so much in your absence.

If there were no rest, all music that ever played would still be playing. It is death that gives life it's meaning… and from the moment we laid you to rest, the very thought of you punctuates every breath we take, makes the air sweeter in our lungs, makes the rain more comforting as it splashes against windows (or portholes), makes every gesture of love more meaningful, and I am thankful for your resting.

I brought one photograph with me on this trip… of you holding 10-year-old me in your bed, as I am reading a book to you. You were probably whispering to me that I was your favorite grandchild. I have not visited your grave since your funeral, but I look at that photograph every day because it reminds me that this is who you are to me, this is who you have always been to me… and this is who you will always be to me, even when I am gone and I have passed my love on to everyone I have ever touched.

It's hard to know what to do when you lose someone in your life… do you 'let it go'? Do you 'move on'? Do you forget? These are all very different things in my mind… forgetting, is out of the question, and I don't think it's necessary to let go… that sounds lonely… and anyway, would You let Me go? I don't think so…. but the idea of 'moving on'... has a transformative, if not magical quality to it in my head.

I think 'moving on' has something to do with the realization that Love is eternal, and not in a vampire sort of way. I mean, it is like all the music that ever played, and how it would still be playing now. I think if we look for it, it's all still there, it's a joyful caucophany of Love songs made immortal by every act of compassion every individual, which might have been passed down from the very first act of Love, whatever it was… and this goes for any sort of love I think…

When friends stop being friends, and lovers stop being lovers, its a bit disconcerting to think that what was once there no longer is. Yes, in a way, it isn't… but in a way… it is… isn't it?

IT always will be.

Love transforms translates and transfers… it is exuded and absorbed…. it may be received but not reciprocated but it never, ever disappears. It never dissipates, and there is no shortage of it… I can't prove it, but something in me knows its true, and I trust that. I find comfort in that. The same kind of comfort you gave me Lola, with your Perfect love.

You were human like me, you made mistakes. You had regrets, and things you wish you'd said, and things you wish you hadn't. You were like me, and not perfect. But you loved me Perfectly, and I loved you Perfectly. It was Perfect, and WE were perfect. That Perfect part of us is all-knowing, all-seeing, immortal, and life-giving. It sounds… extraordinary, celestial, fantastic and mythical, because it is… it is all those thing, and it is REAL.

It's funny, I'm looking at this photograph of myself reading to you… as I am writing you this letter. As I reflect upon all this, and my love for you… one or two people might be reading this because I've posted it on my blog… and because I am only being honest, it's possible I have shared my love for you with them… it's possible they are experiencing Our love in some way. Do you see what I mean, Lola? It's forever. You're forever. I love you. Forever.