I have lived a strange life, both in and of this world and also in and of the higher world. To do this, one must want the new life very badly and I fall into that category. Some of you do as well.

Suffering the loss of a child deepened my interest in the path and when my husband fell fatally ill himself, I had no choice but to witness how weak I was. His diagnosis devastated me. I did not think I could survive another long bout of caregiving when the end would be death.

I became terrified and angry. I cried and shouted and felt totally drained of any energy. Nevertheless, I caught hold and nursed my husband for over four years. After his death I had no more to give. And so I rested. That is, when I was not doing paperwork in order to settle his estate.

I had no companions in this struggle. My son was living at home but working the night shift as a medical transcriptionist. He, too, was devastated by the losses we had suffered. To this day we are not celebratory at birthdays or holidays. We move through them quietly, resting in the knowledge that acceptance for us means that the new normal does not call for hats and horns.

I deepened my inner work while sometimes going to programs at the local cancer community. I visited the library a lot and we tried to eat out on a regular basis. We were both angry at the loss of my husband and there was a great deal of tension between us. How could it be otherwise? We were burnt out and all we could do was lick our wounds.

Writing turned out to be my salvation. I was able to pound out essays by the dozens, hitting the keys, turning paragraphs into essays. Sometimes in the middle of a serious paragraph, I would pound some humor into the essay and that was quite healing for me. I had begun as a humor writer. I had a poem in Good Housekeeping and one of the editors had her eye on me. I was encouraged. But when the issue came out, my four-year-old daughter was bald from chemo and I never returned to writing humor.

I found my calling as a spiritual writer and my interest has never flagged. I know the territory of awakening. It calls for everything you have, just as cancer and grief does. I would not give up on becoming enlightened. That is, until I reached a higher state than that. If you are wondering what it is, I would call it realizing the powerless of the mind. I don’t have to be enlightened. I just have to surrender. And then grace kicks in. With its forgiveness. And with its acceptance. And grace wraps itself around me as I type these words. Not so bad for someone who has lost so much.

Vicki Woodyard