The day I found out the magical, otherly-abled deer who adopted me was pregnant, something in me quickened, too. Mother Nature is my most excellent teacher. My human teachers always echoed what I’d heard before in the forest. My human teachers are of Nature, too–as I am, but it’s tempting to get lost in the machinery of my mind that likes to separate me from the elements of my Nature. The messages that permeated my life’s depths to my roots that needed nourishing always made sense when in the context of Nature that has been untouched by “progress” that seems to take me away from my sensitivity and feelings.

I am blessed and aware now, as the messages from Mother Nature keep coming.

I struggle with grief. I pray constantly in the trees and under the stars for answers to my wondering: “Why this pain?” On certain days, in certain moments, grief brings me literally to my knees. I hit my knees when Tripod’s precious, playful babies Blackberry and Blossom did not appear several weeks ago. Tripod walked my driveway, back and forth, calling in distress for two days. She would not eat. Her head, which had been held high in pride for her family, was hanging low. My heart broke. Why would a God Who Is Good impregnate a beautiful creature who had been through so much, only to steal from her the babies that brought her so much joy?

An answer to this question floats to the front of my mind when I think about my late husband, Jon. Why would I get to know a Great Love only to lose him so soon after we met? I feel the answers, gifted to me by the wind in the trees, Tripod’s shining eyes as she stops by to say hi, and the bees buzzing constantly on my sage, are three-fold:

1. Love never leaves us, even when we feel like it does. In some ways, I feel closer to Jon now than when he was dying. His life was not only about being in a body. In her strength and speed despite her previous dire injury, Tripod is even more vital now for losing her twins. Her life force vibrates with the power that brings life, primarily through loss.
2. When I lose something that never leaves me, I am more grateful for the times I do not feel lost. The feel of Jon’s hand on mine is burnt into my memory forever. Blackberry, with her precious inside-out-right-ear that had not yet straightened out from the womb, and shy little Blossom, looking into my window and bouncing, bounding, playing, playing, playing while I watched from my kitchen table will always bring grateful tears to my eyes. These experiences of tangible love make the feelings of loss bearable when they occur.
3. Life and love are much bigger than any individual Being. I don’t think Tripod knew any better how long she would walk with her head hung low than I knew how long I would walk through life grieving, seeing things, but not. The process of healing is for life to take care of. This God process is not mine to control the timing. I cannot protect anyone or anything from it–including myself. Grief is part of who we are–but far from all. Grief is a dark, scintillating color along the stream of life. Its darkness makes all other colors glow more brightly. Its reflective surface encourages me to turn, over and over, to the light that helps me know I am not alone in my tears. 

How does this relate to singing?

Singing is a great gift of life. To live is to sing, and to understand Life’s Mystery, even a little bit, is to be free to sing. It’s a never-ending Melody. ;-).

©Rebecca Fromherz August 2023