Walking in the valley of the shadow of death

the jesus
Originally uploaded by Only an idiot

Yesterday morning began with a funeral. The mother of a friend in AA who I never met. I was there to support my friend along with a number of other women from our Thur night women's AA mtg. It was a Catholic Mass and a very visceral reminder of my father-in-law's service 7 years ago. I felt very awake to all of my feelings in a way that I hadn't been before. When I felt myself hold back tears, I then invited them to come. When I felt myself wanting to push away a past memory, like the way the priest waved the incense burner over the casket before it was whisked out of the church by the pall bearers for burial, I opened my eyes wider to make room for my discomfort to live. I took in the large sculpture of Jesus on the Crucifix that had a prominent place on the highest beam of the ceiling and I could recall how fearful I was of that image for most of my childhood days staring at a similar one from my church pew seat.
I found tremendous comfort, on the other hand, from singing the words to the Prayer of St. Francis, given that it's the 11th step prayer in AA. And then there was the standard reading of the 23rd Psalm: "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want ..." I've heard this countless times, primarily at funeral services, and the words have never resonated with me. Except for yesterday. And just 1 line: "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for thou art with me." I have become increasingly aware of my Higher Power, of God's presence in my life. I know that when I am still and open and willing to soften my heart, that I allow for God to enter and that I have company. And there is a comfort to know that my greatest fear -- dying alone -- is alleviated because God is always here and will be there.

Yesterday afternoon, I sat with the team of people who support my client who has terminal cancer. I had asked if everyone could be available so we could begin a discussion about how we want to support her and, more importantly, each other. Having settled in myself in a deep feeling place from the morning's funeral experience, I spoke from THAT place within me. About being scared for my client as she prepares to die and my own initial fears. About the support I received in my kabbalistic supervision and being able to bring to them the sage advice given to me about letting my client see a "human" and to have all feelings be present. And how I have understood that my client has been very unhappy and wants to be reunited with her father in heaven. And this opened the doorway to other members sharing from their hearts and about their own experiences with terminal illness and fears of death. The staff person who has been with this client long before any of us was able to talk about the loving interactions between this client and her father -- who she actually met before he died. And she told us how he loved his daughter unconditionally, regardless of her behavior. And how this client's mother wanted nothing to do with her while he was alive. And it became so clear to everyone about why she has experienced such a profound sense of loss and lostness after he was gone.

And the subject of death was not yet over for the day.

I arrived at my home group meeting to see my friend who has been battling with non-Hodgkins lymphoma. He looked particularly worn out. Downright weary. When I asked him how he was doing, he replied: "I feel like absolute shit." He went on to say that he was tired. That the cancer has spread and that he has to start a new, more aggressive chemo treatment. He understood why people considered suicide. He felt depressed and completely defeated. He spoke about how he just can't pretend to be strong anymore. My only statement to him, as my arm was wrapped around his bony shoulder, was that all he needed to be was himself. As he is. Honest. After the speaker's story, the chair asked if there was anyone who needed to share that was "sitting on a drink". After a long pause, my dear friend raised his hand hesitantly. And he said to the group: "I have almost 27 years of sobriety. And today is the first time I have felt like drinking." And he proceeded to tell the group exactly what he shared with me. And you could hear a pin drop. At the end of the meeting, he thanked me for my concern and care for him. And I thanked him for his expressing his honest fears about approaching death because it was teaching me how to live.