This Saturday I attended the funeral of a very dear friend, Elizabeth Michael.
She was like a grandmother and a mentor who once befriended me at a time in my life when I felt totally alone. She was the kind of person who loved without judgments or preconditions, and accepted me just as I was. She always interjected warmth and humor into every interaction. She was a rare person, a treasure.
Back in October or November, I dreamed of Elizabeth, standing on a mountain. The spirit of the mountain spoke and directed her to find the grandmother mountains amid the glaciers and the highest peaks. The spirit said she was worthy now to stand among the Grandmother Mountains. As the dream ended, I saw Elizabeth's face, smiling and radiant in the sunlight.
When I awoke, I thought perhaps that I would send a note and mention my dream to Elizabeth, but I didn't follow through.
If I had followed my intuition, I might have learned about her diagnosis in time to make one final visit. We might have shared one final laugh, one final embrace. But she passed away on January 1 before I even learned of her cancer. Now I'm left with a terrible ache in my chest that doesn't seem to diminish or heal. It's too late; I'm so sorry.
She was like a grandmother and a mentor who once befriended me at a time in my life when I felt totally alone. She was the kind of person who loved without judgments or preconditions, and accepted me just as I was. She always interjected warmth and humor into every interaction. She was a rare person, a treasure.
Back in October or November, I dreamed of Elizabeth, standing on a mountain. The spirit of the mountain spoke and directed her to find the grandmother mountains amid the glaciers and the highest peaks. The spirit said she was worthy now to stand among the Grandmother Mountains. As the dream ended, I saw Elizabeth's face, smiling and radiant in the sunlight.
When I awoke, I thought perhaps that I would send a note and mention my dream to Elizabeth, but I didn't follow through.
If I had followed my intuition, I might have learned about her diagnosis in time to make one final visit. We might have shared one final laugh, one final embrace. But she passed away on January 1 before I even learned of her cancer. Now I'm left with a terrible ache in my chest that doesn't seem to diminish or heal. It's too late; I'm so sorry.
2 comments:
Wow so vulnerable Barry. And honest as you always are my friend. I am sorry for the loss, but I am grateful as you are always learning and in turn teaching others. You are a great eacher.
I inclination not concur on it. I over nice post. Particularly the title attracted me to be familiar with the unscathed story.
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