Remembering Verla

My favorite aunt transitioned out of this life last month.  

(Fuck you COVID!)

I began pondering life, death, and the overwhelming relief of ascension while she was sick and in the hospital, which is where last week’s blog post, Gravity vs. Lightness of Being came from.

I know she’s not gone.  I truly believe we are all eternal, and every time I am connecting to my highest vibration – unconditional Love – I have access to Verla right here and now.  These thoughts ease my heart, but does that mean I don’t feel sad?  

Fuck. No.

I miss Verla.  I am sad that one of the most positive influences of my life is physically absent.  One of my sources for unconditional love is less accessible to me.  I am still fully supported by the Universe, but for the moment I feel like someone stole one of the legs off the chair I am sitting in.  Balance takes effort, and I occasionally hit the floor.  

(And it is nobody’s business but mine, how long I lie on the floor eating Hershey bars before I get back up!)

Just because I am able to relax into uncertainty and embrace the eternalness of myself, and the eternalness of Verla, does not mean I am not angry at fucking covid, and hurting from loss – of course I am! 

I’m beautifully human that way, and feel the entire spectrum of emotions available  to me.

But my beliefs hold me up, so that my grief cannot drown me.  When I feel I’m going under, my beliefs rise like the life preserver they are to save my ass.  

In order to help transform my grief, I decided to share some stories of Verla here.  After all, our stories are what carry us after death.  

I met my aunt Verla when I was 6 months old.  She took me in her arms and called me Tuffy Duck.  I took to her like a second mother, and we were close my entire life despite how many miles lay between us.

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When Grandma bought my sister and I our first bicycle, Verla drove the five of us to Des Moines – Verla, Grandma, Mom, Laura & me – five incredible women. 

We got the bike at Sears, and before we could push it to the front door, Laura and I started arguing – the way sisters will – about who would get to ride it first.  Mom and Grandma tried to stop the argument, but Verla mounted the bike, training wheels and all, and peddled right out the front door of Sears, assuring that she got to ride it first.  

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In 1977, Mom took us to visit Verla in Baton Rouge, and we all went to the hottest movie released that summer, Star Wars: A New Hope.  None of us had ever seen anything like it.  Thus began my love affair with Han Solo (and – let’s just admit it – Harrison Ford), the Rebel Alliance, and the Evil Empire.  Three years later, Verla was in Iowa and took Laura and me to see The Empire Strikes Back.  I still love the Star Wars Universe, and remember fondly attending the first two movies with Verla, and calling her after viewing the third to revel in the triumph of the Endor Moon.

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A couple of years ago, Verla broke her leg.  After more than a year of being mostly immobile and trying to save the leg, she chose to have it amputated above her knee.  I have never seen anyone as positive as Verla in the face of such a challenging recovery.  She called her leg stumpy, or sometimes Bob, and threatened to tattoo a smiley face on the end of it.  She joked with the techs who were making her prosthesis that she would like to have a pogo stick. 

She was a wonderful example of not sweating the small stuff, and apparently to Verla, losing a leg is small stuff, cause it sure didn’t dampen her spirit.  One of her church friends said Verla had fantastic sass, a lively spirit, a cutting wit, and a heart of gold.  I would have to agree on all counts.  

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Verla was smart, funny, and full of life.  She was easy to talk to and put people at ease.  She loved Willie Nelson, and my uncle John.  She loved my mother in the way that only a fierce, protective sibling can – deeply and without condition – the same way she loved me and my sister, and her entire family.

She called me on her last day to tell me she was flying out.  I thanked her for all she had been to me, and all the love she had shared.  I assured her that I would continue to communicate with her, and follow her wisdom.  She assured me from her death bed that if I didn’t, she would kick my ass.  

I was her Tuffy duck, and she was mine.  I will think of her whenever I see a turtle, a monarch butterfly, a barking sea lion, or a royal red cardinal.  I will connect with her and listen for her wisdom every time I am plugged into Source energy, because if I don’t, I do not doubt that she will find a way to kick my ass.

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My friend, Bekka May Curtis, gave me the most important reminder for which I thank her. “Verla will shine eternally in every universe and every sparkle of sun.” 

It’s true!  I feel it in my soul, and I see her in every sparkle of sun.

The intent of my blog is to empower the reader, so write on!

Optional Journal Prompts ~
How much do your beliefs buoy you up, or weigh you down?
What do you believe about the transition called death?
How well is that belief serving you?
What would you like to believe about death?
How do you want to be remembered?