Flying Free

When Gregory was at Lieberman, I remember being at the Botanic Garden and crying. During good weather I go to the garden at least every other month, have lunch in the cafe, and visit my favorite areas of the park.

This activity was one of the things Gregory and I did together often and we both enjoyed being outdoors, nature, flowers, paths, trees, and conversation. One time we were caught in the rain without an umbrella, so we sat on a bench under a clump of low evergreen trees. It was not lightening so we felt safe and there were taller trees over us, but further away, so we felt safer.

On my visits alone, after lunch, I would seek a private corner of the rose garden, or the waterfall, or the Japanese Island and cry. At times like those I missed being with Gregory so much and the pain expressed itself.

I yearned to share again with him and grieved his inability to see what I was seeing, to be able to be out in this glorious environment which he loved so much. I fantasized about the impossible task of loading him into the car, getting him into a wheelchair at the garden, and sharing the wonder with him once again.

I grieved the so many things he could no longer, and would never be able to do again. Not only being out in nature at the Botanic Garden but also vacations, epicurean meals out, walks in quiet neighborhoods, museum visits, seeing a movie, the opera, riding his favorite: a ferris wheel, the larger and the higher the better!

Now that he is gone, dead, on the Spirit plane; last night drifting off to sleep, which is when I do my best thinking, I realized that my take on this has changed. Often I have grieved Gregory's not being able to do so many things but now none of this matters.

Gregory no longer needs to do things, to experience things, to enjoy things ... he IS these things. Gregory is everything and everywhere. He is the wind, the rain, the sun, the flowers, the trees, the benches under which one can sit during a rain storm without worrying about lightening.

Gregory now shares everything I do without any effort, without needing an invitation since so much of his spirit is present in me, in my thoughts, in my love. As I was walking down the path to the Miniature Evergreen Garden, still mostly covered in snow, I commented aloud, "Beautiful, isn't it?"

The answer was silent but it was immediate, "Yes, beautiful!"