Go Ahead and Cry

Many people have told me that they’re trying not to grieve the loss of our friend and yogi, but instead celebrate her life. That’s a noble and admirable goal, yet it’s also important to allow ourselves to grieve.

Our society doesn’t fully honor the death of an elderly person, labeling it as “the natural order of things.” Did you think they would last forever? is the unspoken question. In truth, we did. And that can leave us feeling disenfranchised and alone in our grief.

Unresolved residual grief must be expressed or it comes out sideways in our health, relationships, and/or work. We’re sometimes reluctant to allow ourselves a good cry because once the flood gates open, we fear we may never get them closed again. But we do, and feel so much better for it.

The therapeutic benefits of cleansing ourselves of bottled-up grief – simply by crying and talking about it – are immeasurable and essential to a healthy mind and body. Isak Dinesen wrote in Seven Gothic Tales, “The cure for anything is salt water – tears, sweat, or the sea.” Mana seemed to know that; she would tell us to “release the toxins.”

She not only honored the light in us – she honored the darkness in each of us as well, helping so many find their way through life’s challenges.

So, go ahead and cry. It’s good for all of us.

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Let Go

“Stop struggling,” she told me. “Let go. Relax.”

The same advice I’ve been given – and have given myself – for years. But today it sounded different. Her soft hands gently touched my tense, stiff neck. “Soft neck, soft face,” she coached. And later, “Soft fingers.”

“What should I do when I feel all tense doing these position?” I asked her. For even I knew it made no sense to be stiff as a board while stretching.

“Back off,” her reply. “Just back off. Slowly begin to let go.”

She didn’t necessarily say it gently; she had a no-nonsense approach to yoga instruction. And there was nothing magical about her words. But today, from her lips, they fell on open ears. Perhaps it was her style; perhaps it was my increased awareness. But today, I could conceive of actually letting go.

“Use this day wisely,” she advised at the end. “And forgive yourself if you do not.” She asked us to reflect on one thing that we were grateful for.

I chose this wise woman. And now it is her I must let go of.

***********

As presented in 2011 to Mana Behan, my yoga instructor and friend. The last sentence was added upon her recent passing.

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She is Not Holy

She is not holy.
She laughs.
She is not holy.
She swears.
She is not holy.
She makes mistakes.
She is not holy.
She doubts.
She is not holy.
She worries.
She is not holy.
She is sensual.

Such contradictions exist in us all. Yet, I feel her grace when I am in her presence. She emanates goodness and great compassion for all those around her, extending even to inanimate objects. While she struggles with her own humanity, she openly embraces ours.

She is human – and oh, so very holy.

*********

In memory of Mana Behan, my friend and yoga instructor, with deep reverence.

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The Privilege

I have the privilege of holding my almost 90-year-old father’s hand. I have the privilege of stroking his white hair and putting cream on his dry face. I have the privilege of seeing his face light up when I arrive and crestfallen when I leave. I have the privilege of knowing he loves me, and I love him. The past is the past; we have transcended that struggle.

I have the privilege of him calling me by my mother’s name. “You were a good golfer,” he tells her via my personage. And I now carry the burden that she carried of taking care of him. I share her joy and sorrow at the opportunity lost and gained.  Do I do this for her or for him…or for myself?

Posted in honor of my father, Nicholas J.Nugent, 1914-2004

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June 15, 2014 · 2:56 pm

Thunder Struck

I hear the night sky roar and crackle.
So does my puppy.
I don’t recognize the noise as thunder.
And we are both afraid.

It is as close as I have ever come,
To feeling the terror a mother must have,
Clutching her baby tight when she hears
Bombs falling out of the sky.

Patricia A. Nugent 

 

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Fifteen Days

He’ll be home for a full fifteen days, she said.
Her face so full of joy.
And they don’t count the transport time, she said.
A full fifteen days.
 
Her son will be returning home from Iraq.
His wife will join him.
They’ll all be together again.
For fifteen days.
 
She’ll sleep soundly.
She’ll laugh without hesitation.
Now she won’t have to worry.
For fifteen days.
 
I’m getting through it, she said.
The anticipation of him having to leave was almost worse.
But now he won’t leave again.
For fifteen days.
 
We get emails from him, that helps, she said.
Yet sometimes it’s better not to know.
But there’ll be no need to worry about his safety now.
For fifteen days.
 
They’ll too soon say goodbye again.
Their hearts will break once more.
But they’ll let him go, knowing he’ll be back.
For another fifteen days. 
                        ​                               -Patricia A. Nugent 

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May 24, 2014 · 1:33 am

Choose Peace

The meeting was over. Mark stood up and said, “I like your sign,” pointing behind me. I turned around to see the CHOOSE PEACE poster that I had picked up at a peace vigil.

I was surprised by Mark’s comment, surprised that he would resonate with that sentiment, as he didn’t seem “the type.” Because I so often face ridicule for my anti-war ​stance​, I said nothing​, waiting for the “But……”

“I’ve got a son in Iraq,” he continued softly. “And another whose unit is being reactivated. I’m all for peace.”

“So am I,” I responded. “I​’ll  keep working for peace to keep your sons safe.”

“Thank you,” said Mark, as he left my office. “Please do.”

​     Mark unexpectedly died a few years later. I sent this story to his widow, hoping his sons had survived to read it also.  ​

©Patricia Nugent

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May 24, 2014 · 12:59 am

Choose Peace

On Memorial Day, a ​time we honor those who died in uniform, let us collectively work toward a lasting peace, so that no more families suffer the horrific loss of a loved one to war. Over the weekend, ​vignettes and ​poems inspired by true accounts of those affected by war will be posted.
 
Please send healing energy to the affected families and to those who still consider war a viable option to resolve conflict. 
 

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Stone that Started the Ripple

The Stone that Started the Ripple is a humorous dramatization of a modern‑day reunion of suffragists, women who devoted their lives during the last half of the 19th century to fighting oppression. For more information on my play, click on the Suffragist Play tab above. Thank you!

 

 

 

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March 17, 2014 · 6:05 pm

Tired but Elated

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Thank you for your response. ✨

      His 95-year-old mother is home from the hospital after a two-week stay for a pacemaker and pneumonia treatment. I ask how he’s doing, and he writes, “Tired but elated that she pulled through.”

     I know that feeling – tired but elated. When in that caregiver role, you are perpetually tired. And each health setback that doesn’t take your loved one away is cause for elation.

Until. Until you realize that the living is hard. That you’re not going to outrun death forever. That the end is inevitable. That there are worse things than dying. That your mother is going to leave you no matter what. No matter what you do, she will someday be gone forever.

But now, in this time and place, I too am elated for my cousin and my aunt. They have more time – they want more time. It’s still worth it. And they’ll both know when it isn’t.

 

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