MindTravel

Tonight I went to a concert, and it was so cathartic and beautiful. I wrote a little piece that I submitted to social media, and I wanted to read it for you. Okay. Tonight I attended a mind travel concert, and the theme was a new chapter. A pianist sat at the center of the beach, surrounded by flowers and soft lights. We were each given headphones, allowing us to hear the music while still experiencing the sounds around us: the waves, the seagulls, and the quiet presence of everyone gathered together. Looking around at people's faces, I realized that one of us was carrying some type of an emotional weight. For me, it has been nearly three weeks since my beautiful Bombay Sapphire passed away, 19 days of crying, missing my soul dog, and learning how to live with her absence. I know I'm moving towards acceptance, but grief doesn't travel on a straight line. I still go back and forth. Could I have given her more time? Did I do the right thing? That was so much more than my brain could really wrap my head around. She was more than a dog. She was my best friend, the keeper of my secrets, my companion, my bed warmer, and a piece of my heart. Tonight, the beach became a safe place for all of us to listen to live music, journal, meditate, cry, reflect, and simply feel the emotions we may have been holding inside. I was overwhelmed by the amount of love present on that beach tonight. Jones Beach, Field Four, has an entirely new meaning for me now. You see, I've been coming here since I was eight years old, but tonight I experienced it differently. I left feeling hopeful, lighter, relieved. Hearing other people's stories reminded me that we are all healing from something, whether the wound feels small or enormous. And I believe the ones we love never truly leave us. White butterflies playing together like children, my camera suddenly going off when there was no physical presence nearby, little moments that may seem ordinary to someone else, but to me feel symbolic. They're a reminder that love does not disappear. Grief is a passenger. Sometimes it's loud, sometimes it's silent, and sometimes it's overwhelming. Maybe little by little we learn how to sit beside it instead of fighting it. We learn how to carry it, and we learn how to live again. Thank you for this beautiful experience. I cannot wait for the next concert. Maybe we will heal from the wounds that we carry, and maybe we will all find peace in our hearts. And to my sweet Bombay Sapphire, no amount of time, no amount of money, and not even another dog someday could ever replace the memories we made together. Until we meet again in heaven, I love you, Bombay. Goodnight, my sweet girl. Love, Mommy.

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