guest-a-thon day 2: the aftermath

I met Kat several years ago at a freelance job. I liked her immediately. Hard not to like the infectious laugh, the big blue eyes, the intelligence. She is smart, and funny and spiritual, and curious and very talented. She has a new website that’s coming. I’ll post it when it’s up. Cool girl.

Name: Kat Jaibur

Occupation: Creative Director/Copywriter/Coach

Seven weeks ago today, I was up at 6 a.m., excited to spend the day with one of my best friends, who was celebrating 24 years of sobriety. It was a gorgeous day, filled with laughter and hugs. By 6 p.m., we were sitting on the floor of my vet’s office, crying and saying our goodbyes to my beloved 12 year old golden retriever, Millie.

Two weeks ago today, at this time, I was in the procession of cars on the way to my mother’s funeral. In about an hour, I would stand in front of the lectern with my brother, look out at a beautiful sea of faces, and give her eulogy. I would tell people to take a deep breath, put their hand over their heart, and breathe in a memory of our mother, their nana, auntie, mother-in-law, sister-in-law, friend. That she would always be that close, as close as a heartbeat, a memory and a breath. At the reception luncheon across the street afterward, there would be so much laughter and happy reuniting with long-missed friends and relatives, so much joy introducing friends from Boston to my high school friends and all my cousins, so many stories being told, and so much excitement and noise that you would have thought we were at a party. I guess we were.

A week ago today, I left the beautiful sanctuary of a lake house in Vermont that had been loaned to us, said goodbye to my hometown, and sobbed my way down I-89.

Today, I sit at a desk in Rockport, Massachusetts with a front row seat to the show the ocean is putting on. The spectacularly blue sea, tiny whitecaps throwing themselves at the rocks like giddy schoolgirls chasing after Justin Bieber, the crashing of the waves and the whoosh of the wind are the only background music I need. The gift of this place is overwhelming. Everywhere I walk, every where I turn, another holy view. My heart almost leaps out of my chest. These last 5 days have been such a blessing.

And so it goes. Joy and sorrow. Laughter and tears. Mingling like the waves and the rocks, the sun and the wind. Do we have room in our hearts for both?

Two bombs went off at the Boston Marathon on Monday. I won’t pretend there wasn’t devastation. I won’t pretend that it wasn’t a bad thing, or that people weren’t traumatized, maimed, killed. I put my hand over my heart, and breathe in the breath of God that keeps us alive. I breathe out peace. I know my energy has the power to help heal the world. I know my prayers have the power to bless, comfort, soothe and encourage people I don’t even know. I know that every time someone intends to create havoc and misery, our incredible resilient spirits treat it as a call to rise to something greater. I know that the majority of us will see the good, and BE the good. I savor the stories of kindness already coming out into the light. THIS is who we are. We are better. We are bigger. We are more powerful and loving than we know.

Out of sorrow, we find what we’re made of. And it is good. In joy, we celebrate all that we are given. And it is good.

Here, in the richness of life, I know that this is what really matters. I know my heart can hold both happiness and sorrow, that I can turn from loss to thanksgiving. I will not stay down. I will not suffer in the darkness. I will turn the light on. And if I can’t find the light, I will be the light. And for this — all of this — I am beyond grateful.