The Pagan Heart
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March-June 2006 Issue
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Endless Night
By Katya
Oma died. Such a little thing on paper to encompass such an immense thing in my life. In the later part of last year the doctors told her she had cancer of her bowel. They were not confident that she would live through to this year. It seems she had avoided seeing her doctor for some time despite having discomfit and now it was too late. I still do not fully understand why she left it so long. When we talked she clearly knew what she had done and had chosen it to be that way. She said it was easier. And now she is gone. Oma was my link to my birthland. To who I am. Almost all of my memories involve her. Gray hair twisted atop her head, white lace collar starched and perfect. Pearl earrings. And a smell of powder and lavender water. Always she was in the midst of whatever was happening - even when she sat in her chair at the side only watching. Because she never only watched. She directed and explained and told stories. She taught me how to weave straw, cook potatoes and beets, cut snowflakes from paper... She taught me about my heritage. My links to my ancestors and my homeland. She told me the stories of the gods that led me to the path I follow today. And despite her Catholic faith, she supported my Pagan beliefs. Oma is why I do not need to whisper in the dark about what I believe. Yet I feel that I am whispering into an endless night at the moment. Everything I say seems to vanish into nothingness. It was Oma that convinced my mother to move to America when we had so little to keep us in Lithuania. Little except for family and that is everything. But Oma told my mother that family cannot be broken by distance. My mother had employment opportunities in America that would mean a new life for us all. With Oma's blessing we left. And some years later Oma, and then some of my aunts and uncles, followed us. She was right. Family is not broken by distance. It was Oma that introduced me to Josh and convinced us that we should be ourselves. Despite her desire for me to have children she was the one that stood up and defended our choice to remain childless...our choice to remain unmarried...our choices. Oma always said that there is no joy in life if lovers are caged just so they can be like everyone else. She was right in that too - and eventually my family came to accept this. And even, one day, I too accepted this and shed my guilt and fear over being different. Difference too creates a distance. A distance of the soul that is as isolating as the distance between myself and my homeland. A distance I craved to destroy and in doing so almost lost myself. Oma knew this and would not let me. She said that some distances are necessary to let us be ourselves, no matter how scary it may seem to be alone. Now I face the greatest distance. Death. How do I find her through that? When I need advice will I hear her voice? I don't know. This time I really am alone. Even surrounded by my family and Josh I am alone in this as we all are. Little bubbles of silence that drift randomly through the days. We pass in the hallway and smile a distant smile. Oma would not approve. But we cannot help it. She was our matriarch with all that that means. And the one person in my family who accepted me always as I am. I am so alone now. And my Oma knew this would come. For the last month of her life I spent hours of every day keeping watch at her side. There to comfort her. Ease her passing. This is what I told everyone. "I go to keep Oma company as she faces death." The truth is I was there for me. Knowing how soon she'd be gone I couldn't bear to not see her every second I could. Just sitting and watching her sleep, sunk into the pillows to be a shadow of herself, was the most precious gift. A gift she gave me. Oma has always hated being ill. Hated having bedsitters to watch over her. But for all that time she let me stay. She only grumbled a few times. And we talked. We talked about all the memories we had. The things we'd done. And also about death. I thought I was ready. That death held no fear for me. But I was so wrong. I found that month so hard and without Oma to hold my hand I would not have gotten through it - which is silly since without Oma I wouldn't have been facing that month in the first place. But I came out of it a different woman. I think a better woman but I am still not sure. My Oma has died and I can say that without crying. I miss her beyond words yet I am at peace with her death. It was her time and she knew that better than any of us and she made it so easy. There was nothing we needed to do except love her. I spent my time with Oma in the night. My mother and aunts sat with her as the days passed but I had to work. So I took the night shift. Most of the time I sat in darkness. The darkness of prebirth and of death. It can be very isolating or very intimate. Holding her hand and listening to her breathe is the most intimate I have ever been with another person. I felt stripped to my soul. And yet completely safe. I love you, Oma. Journey in peace. |
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2004-2006