Dearest kind human,
I worry about things sometimes, like whether I can remember how tall my Grandpa was. He died when I was ten. I still miss him and so many other people that have left.
I worry about where my green eyes come from. Both my mum and dad have brown. Was it my Grandpa?
And sometimes I worry about why I test myself on these things. What meaning does it have if I get it right? Wrong? Or cannot find an answer at all?
When I bring kindness to this wondering, my best guess so far is simple. It is because I love. And I miss them. And I want to feel close and connected.
It is still hard for me to believe this life ends for all of us. I forget this shocking fact often. I get busy chasing my tail, questioning things, or pretending I am busy and important.
But at my core, I remember that this moment, this experience, this life, is fleeting. And because of that, I want to feel closer to what brings me alive, what offers meaning. So I wonder some more.
I wonder what my cousin Soni would look like now. Would she have grey flecks shining through that fiery red halo? It seems unreasonable that she is frozen at thirty five. I honour my wrinkles and growing greys for both of us. Not everyone gets this honour.
Sometimes I pretend my friend D is off on another trip up north. Just for a few breaths, I can rest easy and imagine him coming home to his wife and kids. New stories. New music. New art to inspire us all.
But this is not how life works. He does not live here in the same way. None of them do. They have all passed away. And some days life on earth is impossible without them.
We all lose precious people before we are ready. And grief, while it shatters all we have known, somehow seems to stitch us together in ways we do not even realise would happen.
Grief can feel lonely and isolating, and it is. But if we listen with courage, beyond the breaking, it also heals us and invites us into new ways of living and loving. It’s not pretty, or convenient. But it’s honest. And you can trust honest.
In time, I’m discovering I must learn new ways to love those who have left. And somehow, unexpectedly, this courage to love those that left in new ways, brings me closer to them again. Plus I’m also beginning to learn new ways of loving other people, things and experiences in this life that is still unfolding on earth.
We steadily learn how to keep loving when swallowed by heartbreak and grief. Even though it feels impossible. We need to stay patient with ourselves, because it isn’t easy.
Heartbreak, mine, yours, ours, reminds us we are not so different. It urges us to remember that we are much more similar than we assume.
A mother who loses her child in Palestine may face different hurdles than a mother who faces this loss here in the West. But I am fairly sure that mothers who have lost their babies, no matter the continent, know darkness and utter despair in only the way they can.
Of all the mothers I have met who were forced to farewell their babies, I’ve experienced a palpable almost other worldly love when held in their arms. They know the cost of love and loss, and somehow, at the same time, they embody the sacred gift of loving. They have learnt to befriend much, and when they hold you they truly welcome you into their safe arms.
It is the same with suicide. No matter our language, culture, or religion, when we lose our loved ones this way, we break, and we learn to love fiercely.
A colleague who worked as a counsellor in refugee camps in the Middle East once asked me what I thought the young girls talked about most.
I guessed loss and the atrocities of war. She told me yes, those things came up, but more often than not it was relationship challenges, boyfriend issues, friendship dramas. The same things she supported young girls with in Australia too.
It is easy to forget how similar we all are.
We use borders and countries, religions and cultures to divide us. We build walls, laws, judgements, and political parties in an attempt to gain safety. Judgement hardens all our hearts.
But if we are honest, we can slowly begin to unearth that we have far more in common than we do that seperates us.
It is a huge risk to remember this. It is scary to soften our edges. To consider dismantling our automatic, and at times life serving, rigid defences.
This is a daily wrestle for me. Softening where I want to hold rigid. Despite all my learning, growth and healing, I’m still desperate for safety.
All I need to do is think of Donald Trump and I am reminded what a beginner I am in feeling true unity or compassion with everyone. He is a powerful practice ground for me. As is Vladimir Putin.
I use them because my mind holds strong judgements about them. I want to cling to division, I want to feel safe and separate from them, protected by my rigid thoughts. But the truth is, I share some of the same capacities, fears, hopes and insecurities that they do.
I too want to be loved and feel special sometimes.
I too want to feel in control of my life, with power to influence others.
I too want to overpower people I disagree in the hope they will see or understand my view.
I too want to create safety and resources for my family.
I too want security, stability and certainty.
I too get afraid.
Yes, there are many ways that we are also different. But remembering what we share in common helps me keep these judgemental impulses in check.
Unchecked fear harms others. I share that capacity with them too.
Part of me wants to prove I am completely different from them. And while there are real differences, we also have much shared humanity.
We all love our children. We all want to support them to succeed in life. We all want happiness.
But unchecked, our longings create harm.
And as my daughter once said, when she was eight, it’s a slippery slope to the hell realms.
If we stop wondering.
If we stop grieving and learning how to befriend our grief.
If we stop keeping ourselves in check, or interrupting our own habitual thought patterns.
If we stop listening to wise counsel.
If we stop finding something in common with every single human on earth.
We are in big trouble.
Collectively, we need to start turning this separation ship around. Even a one degree change can land us on a completely different continent.
The way forward will often feel counterintuitive.
I cannot think of many people who willingly want to sit and find common ground with Trump and Putin.
And that is exactly why we must.
We have to start somewhere.
No one has all the answers.
But thankfully we do not need all the answers.
We just need one simple next step.
Homework invitation.
Next time you catch yourself judging another human, even if your judgement feels valid or protective, find at least one thing you have in common with them.
Soften the rigidity as an experiment.
See what happens over time.
I have no quick fixes for the chaos unfolding on earth. No secret shortcuts to bypass the pain.
All I can offer is the way I work with myself on the inside, with honesty and kindness.
You are free to take or leave any of my invitations.
For me, every moment, is simply an invitation to trust. Not with blind faith, but rather tiny informed actions.
I am a mama, a wife, and a student of life. I do not have fancy degrees or accolades. But I am willing to keep learning, healing and becoming the kind of elder this world needs.
I am the bravest scared person I know. And I show up as real as I can every single day.
To me, this matters.
This changes things.
It changes me.
And therefore it changes the world.
Remembering what we share in common is my stepping stone for now.
I’m praying you join me in this quest.
Take care brave human, remember we are all here together, we can breathe a little easier knowing we are not on this great adventure alone.
With safe soft hugs from my heart to yours,
kmf xo
© Kate M Foster. All rights reserved. An Invitation To Trust™
Ps, If something lands for you, brings a salve, or helps you begin to trust or question, please let me know. While I have always written to help myself navigate my way through the world, sometimes I wonder if it is really helpful for me to share these ramblings with others. When I hear from you, and you risk sharing with me back, it reassures me it is helpful to keep showing up, there is purpose and meaning to keep sharing with you each week. And if its not helpful, that’s ok too, you are welcome to unsubscribe, I would rather leave my words rest in the earth at my feet, fertilising and helping me garden in this little life i’m living.
There is already so much bombarding our beings and nervous systems every day, I never want to add to that noise.
Ways you can support: Share, Subscribe or drop me a note every now and then so I know you are here with me.
Take care.
