Another Wave of Grief

I thought I was pretty much done, with grieving my mom. 

I was wrong. Last night, a wave came rolling in, as I let myself feel the whole extent of our conversation earlier that morning. The bitter sweetness in my mom's voice. She is slipping away, fast. Not singing like she did a few weeks ago, and barely responding when I try to entice her with her familiar tune. She has even forgotten to ask as she always did, 'when are you coming?'

It hit me.

I know grief is nothing else but clinging in its most extreme form, a denial of the reality of life and death, a desperate clinging to what cannot be had. I hear in my head the Buddha's admonition to Ananda:

"Enough, Ananda! Do not grieve, do not lament! For have I not taught from the very beginning that with all that is dear and beloved there must be change, separation, and severance? Of that which is born, come into being, compounded, and subject to decay, how can one say: 'May it not come to dissolution!'? There can be no such state of things. Now for a long time, Ananda, you have served the Tathagata with loving-kindness in deed, word, and thought, graciously, pleasantly, with a whole heart and beyond measure. Great good have you gathered, Ananda! Now you should put forth energy, and soon you too will be free from the taints."


This morning, nothing to do, but feel the feeling in the body, in the heart, and let it unfold, with great compassion. Just another wave . . .