On a Monday like today, six years ago...

...Mamichi died. After months of struggle mixed with the unique opportunity to let go and seize every single moment to find a way back to peace, to her daughter, to her own light, Mamichi left in silence.

That day was not as sunny as today. It was colder.
I hadn't had a good night's sleep for months.
Camila could run and jump up high--unstoppable.
Sunari was not yet born--not even in our fantasies.
I still had a relationship with my siblings.
Margot was a meaningful name in my life.
I was at home at Fundar--my work, my family, my everything.
I had Waldo, my dearest brother, as a flatmate.
The racoon was already the light of my life.
My second mum was sitting by my side, like today.
My grand mum was still here, in silence, watching Mamichi slip away.

So much got into perspective during those months...
I learned that caring for your loved ones, and helping them to go, is an honor.
I learned that even our most informed ideas about what we think that we signify for our parents are often wrong.
I learned that you don't have to do anything just because it is your family.
I learned that love and trust are what makes you grow and develop as a creature of light.
I learned that all the stress and unhappiness of our every-day life is a futile waste of time.
That feelings like jealousy, the idea of love as a possession, make no sense.

I have been ignoring these learnings lately. Bogged down by conflict, lack of satisfaction, the longing for recognition and the imminent build-up of implosion, I have felt small and troubled. Judged. Incapable of giving. Locked up in darkness. Not free.

Today makes me remember that we all are so much more than this. I want to go back to the version of myself that is deeper, more connected, and more grounded in what matters.