Cornucopia

I have been looking for the quote but cannot find it. Forgive me for not being able to give credit, but this is how I remember it:

My daughter is merely ahead of me, on a path, picking flowers. By the time she notices that I am missing and turns around, I will be there………

It has been a long two and a half years, full of pain and disorientation. There has been much living and doing happening but it all sits upon a fog of despair which seeps through my every cell. There is not a prettier way to frame that.

As this autumn has rolled in, I am into a deep cycle of change. If you are one of the people who prays for me or wishes me well, please know that healing is happening. Where I am, the foliage will be tinted with colors of new things to come. My last blog post was a while ago, because I am in graduate school, learning to use braille and help children who do not see this physical world with their eyes. I hope I can help them. I know I need to do something new, which I have never done before, and turn myself toward the future, the path.

Back to the path. I can see Susanna, looking as she did in my last dream. She is wearing her white, flowing gypsy dress with a Vera Neumann type floral print. Her hair has grown longer and thicker, it is tied into a meticulous top knot. She is full of joy and free of worry. If I look for her, I can see her. Summer is over now but the earth is still kind, still nurturing, embracing our feet.

We are not alone on this path. Though I cannot describe faces, others are there for us. At some point ahead, I will pick up the basket awaiting me, the cornucopia. In it are all the things I have worked so hard for over the years, the accomplishments. Not the type which can be measured and impress others. I mean the miracles of standing up whenever I have fallen, of slaying demons. The bounty which comes with survival. Despite the pain, I have never acquiesced in its absence.

When I wrap my fingers around the wicker handles, I will smile at the contents, remembering each precious item. The memories. The self-knowledge. Like the love of my daughter, these never die. On top of them will be limitless loaves of bread and satchels of gold coins. These are the gifts I will pass out to anyone who needs them. I am still here for now, and I can give those away like smiles and compassion (never hard to muster, all along).

There is more to life, on the other side. On a grey morning, I envision the banquet, dusty rose colored velvet cushions, fruit in earth tones, burnished flowers and laughter which breathes glitter. But there is another “other side” as well. There is a time to remember without all the pain. Not there yet, but I see it, soon. There is the other side of this pain, and I welcome that amidst my tears. It “sings the tune without the words” as Emily Dickinson said.  I love you, Susanna.

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