Autumn Equinox

So many nights I have written to you in my head, in my heart.   I haven't made it to the lit screen of the computer for a while, but that doesn't mean anything about the depth of my love or our speaking.  It's just been more private. Always so sweet.

So much has happened.

Again, faced with such a big burden. Cancer. Children. Wanting life.

I feel like I'm far down the road, so much faced and so many steps taken. And the endless mystery stretching out.

Tonight I stepped outside as I often do, to open the door and look out at the stars for a final goodnight before going into the bedroom. To look up, breathe the air, get a sense of the universe, how far it goes, get a sense of you, my boy, my first baby, my lost one, but yet you are my heart.

I saw the glow of the moon above the big oak tree rising beyond my neighbor's roof, I saw stars, and clouds and my heart felt like it was breaking, squeezing.   Tears falling effortlessly.  I am so sad that you are gone. I am so sad that I am facing this now. And yet, this autumn equinox feels so beautiful and holy, so clear and luminous, so full.  What does it all mean?  Suffering and love and night stars, grandmother moon and the huge old oak tree, and me and you and my girls, and my heart that feels tired and alive. I'm not sure. But I know I desperately want to be here, to keep going, to take it in. I can take it. Just let me. Let me be here. Let me stay here.  For many many night skies and moons and equinoxes.