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| Laurence by the fabulously talented Kit Yeung |
For those of you who read this blog (for which, thank you), but are not on Facebook, here is what I wrote this morning upon rising with the dawn:
This morning, one full Gregorian year ago, on 24 March 2017, my beloved Laurence James Lucas took his last gentle breath and left our beautiful world.
My life – and that of many others – was ripped asunder. I lost my husband, my best friend, my partner in work and play, the man of my heart and soul and the love of my life. Many of you lost father, son, brother of the soul, good friend, mentor, guide, and valued companion on the long good road of life.
I have spent many months thinking – under unbearable internal pressure – about what to DO to mark this day. Should I hold a celebration, some kind of blessing circle? Should I host a party? Should I go away? Should I stay here? I felt very lost and confused about how to honour this day, how to honour all the people in Laurence’s life who have also been missing him and grieving his loss. How to honour myself?
I certainly felt that I SHOULD have finished clearing the house, I SHOULD have completed at least part of the work we had planned to continue together from January 2017 for that year, this year and the years that come. I SHOULD have answered all the wonderful emails and messages from people. I SHOULD have started the new blog I plan to write, about grief and the journey I am on.
But, as the one-year deathiversary dawns this morning, I acknowledge that I have just not been able to do so much of this, despite huge amounts of work and time and clear intention on my part. My energy has simply been too limited; the tasks before me too huge; the grief so overwhelming.
But then I realised: Every ‘anniversary’ during this year has caused pain and sorrow and a shattering sense of loss, with sneaky glimmers of joy in the remembering and the honouring – his birthday, my birthday, Oce’s birthday, his or my Mayan birthdays, Christmas, New Year, Chinese New Year… Every single Friday morning at 7.45, I think, ‘Oh God, another week, this is the time he left.’
So today, I am spending very
quiet time. I am not hosting anything; I am not expending any extra
energy that I do not have to give.
Instead, I am choosing to honour myself by walking in the hills with my dogs, by doing a yoga practice at home, by spending the afternoon with my brother and sister-in-law (and of course, my young nephew, whose smile lights up the whole world!), and by having a very small family dinner out in HK in the buzz of the city that Laurence loved.
I will of course burn copious amounts of resin incense, as I have been doing daily; I will burn sage and say my prayers; I will remember and honour; and I will hear Laurence’s laughter echoing in the hills, alongside the cawing of the crows.
But in the meantime, I wish to say thank you to everyone who helped us during the last few weeks when Laurence was ill and needed to be back in hospital, thank you to those who visited us and helped me get him into a good private room for his last two nights, so that I could be there with him.
And a very big thank you to all of you who have helped in so many ways during this long and lonely year, with support of many kinds and with enormous kindness that supported me more than I can say.
Thank you for the ongoing love, friendship, assistance and for being here.
May you all remember Laurence with love in your heart and a smile in your soul, with elevated consciousness and a sense of your own sovereign identity. May you hear his laughter ring out from the skies; may you hold his wisdom, compassion, humour and light in your spirit; and may you recognise and acknowledge the very great blessing we have all received by having had Laurence in our lives.
Blessings and love to you all, and great appreciation and thanks.
My life – and that of many others – was ripped asunder. I lost my husband, my best friend, my partner in work and play, the man of my heart and soul and the love of my life. Many of you lost father, son, brother of the soul, good friend, mentor, guide, and valued companion on the long good road of life.
I have spent many months thinking – under unbearable internal pressure – about what to DO to mark this day. Should I hold a celebration, some kind of blessing circle? Should I host a party? Should I go away? Should I stay here? I felt very lost and confused about how to honour this day, how to honour all the people in Laurence’s life who have also been missing him and grieving his loss. How to honour myself?
I certainly felt that I SHOULD have finished clearing the house, I SHOULD have completed at least part of the work we had planned to continue together from January 2017 for that year, this year and the years that come. I SHOULD have answered all the wonderful emails and messages from people. I SHOULD have started the new blog I plan to write, about grief and the journey I am on.
But, as the one-year deathiversary dawns this morning, I acknowledge that I have just not been able to do so much of this, despite huge amounts of work and time and clear intention on my part. My energy has simply been too limited; the tasks before me too huge; the grief so overwhelming.
But then I realised: Every ‘anniversary’ during this year has caused pain and sorrow and a shattering sense of loss, with sneaky glimmers of joy in the remembering and the honouring – his birthday, my birthday, Oce’s birthday, his or my Mayan birthdays, Christmas, New Year, Chinese New Year… Every single Friday morning at 7.45, I think, ‘Oh God, another week, this is the time he left.’
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| LjL in Penang, enjoying a sunset cocktail by the beach at one of our favourite places |
Instead, I am choosing to honour myself by walking in the hills with my dogs, by doing a yoga practice at home, by spending the afternoon with my brother and sister-in-law (and of course, my young nephew, whose smile lights up the whole world!), and by having a very small family dinner out in HK in the buzz of the city that Laurence loved.
I will of course burn copious amounts of resin incense, as I have been doing daily; I will burn sage and say my prayers; I will remember and honour; and I will hear Laurence’s laughter echoing in the hills, alongside the cawing of the crows.
But in the meantime, I wish to say thank you to everyone who helped us during the last few weeks when Laurence was ill and needed to be back in hospital, thank you to those who visited us and helped me get him into a good private room for his last two nights, so that I could be there with him.
And a very big thank you to all of you who have helped in so many ways during this long and lonely year, with support of many kinds and with enormous kindness that supported me more than I can say.
Thank you for the ongoing love, friendship, assistance and for being here.
May you all remember Laurence with love in your heart and a smile in your soul, with elevated consciousness and a sense of your own sovereign identity. May you hear his laughter ring out from the skies; may you hold his wisdom, compassion, humour and light in your spirit; and may you recognise and acknowledge the very great blessing we have all received by having had Laurence in our lives.
Blessings and love to you all, and great appreciation and thanks.
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| A kiss from our beloved |
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