HomeLoss & GriefMeditation on Thresholds & Bridges

These thoughts are for anyone who has ever lost a loved one—which is just about everybody I know.

Ten years since Stephen’s passing. A decade, which feels significant. Tomorrow, October 15, is the anniversary. Solar Return at 11:30 a.m. But ten years ago today, October 14, was the day that Stephen went into silence. Today was the bridge—the transition place where full leave-taking was in process. Active dying. That in Stephen’s case was very still.

Lots more activity on my part—as always, he would say. I was getting his physical form ready for the journey. All cleaned up and ready to go. That was my day ten years ago. Both of us as prepared as one can be to step across the threshold into our new lives. His as the spirit who would still be attending me all these years later. Mine as the writer who would stay to tell our story. And many stories, as it turned out.

Threshold images hold great power for me these days. Doorways, openings from one space to another. And bridges.

Those spans that reach across marshes, bogs, rivers, streams. All those middles-of-nowhere we suspect might trap us in nothingness or despair if we let them.

Of course, time—and what we do with the time that loss presents—teaches us that we ourselves become the bridge. And on each side we embrace a threshold of the heart that lets us go at the ending where the next bridge begins and gathers us into a new beginning where that bridge ends.

We complete this transition many times, as I am reminded in this moment of contemplation.

Today, ten years on, I stand upon another bridge, ready to enter more deeply my heart’s threshold into the next phase of living, loving, learning.

A bridge’s final step is the hardest, the most filled with longing for the past and trepidation for the future. Even as shafts of golden illumination beam out from tomorrow’s threshold with shining possibilities, I must gather all my courage for another round, another cycle of promises yet to be fulfilled before the sun returns once more to its point of origin.

And I remind myself again—the sun returns in hope. With happiness at its core and encouragement in its light rays that reach out to me as hands of unfailing support, no matter where I walk.

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