The Garden — Page 2

The Wheel Of Belonging is available from Katya Sabaroff Taylor
through her Creative Arts & Healing website…

It has been 4 days since Tanner died. It’s odd writing that because 4 nights ago, at this time, he was still with me. Grief is such a complicated process. I woke up this morning feeling that while still very sad I was perhaps getting a handle on things. I got up, got the little ones out and fed them their breakfast, made coffee and sat down here at my desk and then like being knocked down by a tidal wave I was wailing, sobbing uncontrollably, the tears that feel that they have no end. This was followed by a period of being very quiet and feeling kind of confused as though I couldn’t quite understand what had happened. Surely it wasn’t true, Tanner was still here somewhere? It didn’t seem real. But of course it is real, and I began crying again. These are early days still and the loss of my baby cuts so deep I can barely breathe all the while knowing that I must get myself together and move forward.

The day progressed slowly, as if there were too many hours, as if I were slogging knee deep through wet sand. Delilah and Pugsley stay very close. We go outside, we come back in, I sit and stare. Finally I decided I would take a nap and when I couldn’t go to sleep I got up and scanned the bookshelves for something to read. My eyes rested on a book I read several years ago and I knew that it was just what I needed. It was written by my dear friend of nearly 40 years, Katya Sabaroff Taylor. She is an incredible writer, teacher, and has been a mentor and muse for me. When she left the Roanoke, Virginia area I took over her journal classes at Roanoke College and we have stayed in touch for decades. This book, “The Wheel of Belonging” is a collection of Faith columns she wrote for the newspaper and sermons that she gave at the Unitarian Church.

The quote on the back of the book sums it up… “What does a Jewish Unitarian Zen-inspired poet (raised as an atheist) have to say about Faith? Where does she — and where do you — fit on the Wheel of Belonging? She’s found it takes Faith to ask the question…”

As I began to read my whole body relaxed. I snuggled in my big recliner with a soft blanket and my 2 sweet pugs and read for over an hour. I wanted to highlight everything. Katya’s writings brought me back to earth, back to myself, gave me something to hold onto. They are personal, profound, universal. There is something here for everyone.

In “Remember Decembers Past, Embrace The Promise Of The Season,” she writes…

“All of life is now in its glory and sadness, in its reaching,
desperate hopefulness and its promise of fulfillment.
Smile and help a stranger. Hold your family close,
embrace your friends…”

These words rose up off the page as a dictum, a directive, telling me that amidst this sadness that feels unbearable there is so much here in this world, perhaps I can touch a stranger through this blog, and I surely do want to hold my family close, want to embrace my friends…

And she writes, in “Contemplating Life, Death, Love, and Open-Heart Surgery”…

“I don’t know whether I’l see you in heaven, Dad, or even
if there is a heaven. But I do know what love is. And I’m
certain that nothing, not even death, can take that away.”

Tears ran down my cheeks as I read these words. I do believe in heaven, and further, I believe that when one day I pass on I will see all the little animals I have loved and shared my life with there. Tanner will be there to greet me, and he and all the others know how deeply and dearly I loved them. Death cannot take that love away. My love for Tanner and all of my other babies who have left this earth is a living, palpable thing. It is all around me here. That brings me comfort, to think of that undying love. Its presence in my life and the love that I feel for my family and friends carries me, will carry me. This is what will help me make it through.

I’ll close with this passage from “Finding Faith in the Compelling Mystery of Day-To-Day Life”…

“Perhaps it is strange that what gives me faith, in the end,
is the mystery of it, the compelling unknowingness that
shimmers around each daily act and supposition and
choice I make. God only knows why, in the end, I’m here,
doing what I’m doing, one day at a time, with my family,
friends, and community, on this troubled yet enduring
and generous planet. But every now and then I think I
know, and I hug hard to me the fleeting truth: ‘This is the
adventure of your lifetime. Hang on, breathe deep, and
honor the ride.'”