Love Eternal

Steve’s Tree (A Douglas Fir planted in his memory with his composted body)

I would very much like to channel my dead partner’s wisdom. In fact I attempt to do this daily. What are the exact words he would say to me in this moment? What wisdom and words of advice would he shower me in? Even what wise cracks, often with deep hidden meanings, would he be sharing with me? One of the things he would ask, and one of the statements I say to myself often with jest is, “What is wrong with you?”. Steve had a way about him. One who knew him would know of this. By no means did he mean this with any sort of malice. More, it was to hopefully make me think and pause in my tracks. What is so odd, is after his death, these words have become increasingly comforting. What is it that is wrong with me? Well the answer is actually nothing. Steve’s statements often transcended time in this way. My program would have me pouring over my character defects and handing them over to God, a loving God, who created me perfect. Moreover, Steve would say these words to me, I think, when I was in some sort of turmoil and struggling with the tasks or issues of that day. So when I ask myself “What is wrong with me?”, today, I stop and think how absurd it is to think that something is actually wrong with me. Inherently, I am good, and Steve truly did love me just the way I am. I suppose that is the true answer to his question. Nothing, love, nothing.

Another thing he would say to me that seemed to make no sense at the time was, “God hates you.” This was implying that because I am a woman, God actually hates me. Often he would say these words around my period, sometimes followed with, “Go outside to your blood tent.” Hilarious, really, because in this world it could almost be agreed upon that God hates us because we are women. Again, pondering this odd statement after Steve is gone, I realize that the message actually was that God loves me. That I am sacred because I am a woman. But I am that, a woman, and perhaps it is the Goddess that loves me because I am an amazing creation that creates and brings life, comfort, empathy, and wisdom to others because of my innate womanhood. In no way does God hate me. This is somewhat of a political statement too, because there are many in this society that claim God wants to take away our rights and autonomy as women. That God does hate us. In a way, this important to remember. Their God as well, blames Eve for eating from the tree of knowledge and getting booted from the Garden of Eden. She was the one who listened to Satan, even if Adam ate just as willingly from the tree. But it is all the woman’s fault, right? Hence, God hates me. That God, which is not my God, actually may.

These small tricks that Steve would play on me, seem to be finding root in the fertileness of his passing and death. He is at peace now, but more so, he is without pain and physical difficulty. Steve was almost always at peace with himself and the world. He showered others in understanding, while listening to them and bringing them comfort. These backwards reverse statements were meant do drive home a point. He knew I was smart enough to not take them literally. Yet, not quite smart enough to comprehend his meaning upon delivery. One of the kind things he would say to me was, “Two feet on the ground.”, stressing that finding reality was essential. This helps me more now than it ever did. I must stay grounded on this earth. I will say that there are some riddles that he professed over the almost 28 years that we were together, that I still do not fully understand. But I trust it all will unfold with time. I am so grateful to have Steve looking after me beyond his physical life in this way.

The other night, I lost it. I was completely taken aback when I came home late one evening from the Grange, and was dismayed at the current state of my home and existence. We have been remodeling and painting the kitchen, I cleaned clutter off my walls and changed the art, and I even got rid of a bunch of his clothes and many kitchen items. I yelled, wailed, and wept over the fact that my kitchen was barren, and that I had lost our life even more that day. I called my mother at 10pm and talked with her until almost eleven. After I got off the phone I wept some more a bit uncontrollably, and then all of a sudden I heard Steve say with such clarity, “Come back to me. Come back to me.” I settled under the covers and stopped crying. I was able to imagine him there and was deeply comforted. I do not pretend to understand what and where our loved ones are after they pass, and I suppose this makes me a bit of an Agnostic, as I cannot believe in Heaven without also believing in Hell, and I do not believe in Hell. We are born perfect and we die perfect, and we are all equals under the grass so to speak. What happens in our waking lives stays in our waking lives, perhaps with the exception of our love which can transcend death. It is all a work in progress in this life. I since have embraced the changes and newness of this home that is ours, and I am aware that it is all just stuff, and that the love Steve and I share is truly eternal.