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The inevitable This is a special edition of the Unsui newsletter. It is in the language of my heart, in English, and a very personal piece on love and loss: feelings that can profoundly affect us or reveal themselves briefly in flashes. Occasionally, they creep up on us and linger; other times, they wash over us like a wave and bring us to our knees. Sometimes, the feelings are so subtle we hardly notice if we don’t pay attention. I am still talking about love and loss. The inevitables of life. In the last edition of the Unsui newsletter (spring 2022), I wrote a short text on remembering Thich Nhat Hanh after his passing in January. In December of that same year, I sat at the hospital bedside of my best friend of 34 years and watched her take her last breath. It took me a long time to transform the feelings of grief and loss and to focus on the love. I mourned deeply for a year if I am honest. Once the magnitude of the emotions eased, it felt like grains of sand remained. They silently rubbed and scratched to resurface a memory, sometimes painful, sometimes amusing, but a little lighter to contain. The grains made themselves noticeable in unexpected moments: subtle but persistent reminders of youth gone by, hopeful beginnings and painful endings, and all the years in between. Memories of daily phone calls exchanging tips and tricks, two-hour coffee breaks, sleepovers with food and wine, talking each other out of doing foolish things, dishing out advice on raising kids and maneuvering relationships, bouts of laughter with blue tongues, and board games... but those are just the graceful memories. A deep longing persists to talk about the hard stuff, to turn to the one who seemed to have all the right answers. That grain of sand is forever lodged in my heart. I will call it love. When Thich Nhat Hanh passed, I remember that I felt deep sorrow in my heart, a loss for the whole world. I placed his photo on my altar, lit a candle, and cried. I had followed his work and teachings for many years and deeply respected him as a human being. When my tears dried up, I suspected that my heavy heart was foreshadowing the inevitable that was to come. We know the inevitable. We just don’t know when and how it will transpire. And until it does, we go about our business in our everyday lives, or, in the case of my best friend’s illness, we embarked on a roller coaster ride. Life in an hourglass. We soak up the precious moments and make arrangements to accommodate new situations. We shift, we manage. We pay attention. We think about all the things we have to say and do. We show up. Isn’t that what living life is all about? Being present and responding to what needs to be done at a particular moment? All the while knowing it can change or even end in the blink of an eye. Isn’t that reason enough to embrace life? Isn’t that reason enough to take care of ourselves and others? Can we find the language to express love and appreciation and let it speak for itself? Can we find meaning in life for life’s sake? Thich Nhat Hanh had spoken about how ‘a cloud never dies’- it transforms and becomes many things - and how everything is interconnected. So, to this day, I stay open to catch all the glimmers in which my friend reveals herself to me. I can shift and see things through a new perspective, carrying her with me forever. My best friend believed in facing each challenge head-on, and she did so with elegance and courage. She showed up every single day until her very last hour. I still hear her words: ‚Trines, tomorrow is a new day.’ Her approach was to find that one positive thing each day. She left me with these words: ‚Don’t stay sad too long. Always look for the sun. Find the sun‘. I wish us all new beginnings repeatedly, every single day. May our losses add up to the sum of our love. May we never miss the details that make us shift, smile, and give us meaning, no matter how small or hidden they appear. In the end, I suspect that will make all the difference.
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