Sage, Ruin, Bits of Bone

This poem was written by my friend and neighbor Paula Sayword. It is a tribute to her granddaughter Ashley who died of a heroin overdose on December 11, 2012. Mark and I spent a lot of time with Ashley when she lived in Boston from fall 2009 until spring 2010. We often drove her to and from the city as her family lives up the dirt road from us out West. We spent many hours talking about all kinds of things, mostly her hopes, aspirations and romance heart-aches. She taught us how to text! She sat in the back seat, texting a mile a minute while she chatted away with us. She was lovely and we really enjoyed out time with her. I still can't believe that she's gone.

From what her family can piece together, she was introduced to heroin at a party in April and by December she had a serious addiction and died of an accidental overdose. I haven't written about this yet out of respect for the family. But Sayword just sent this amazing poem and said it was fine to share it.

Sage, Ruin, Bits of Bone

by Paul Sayword

We wanted to give you something you could not lose

something that would stun you,

tear the blue wide open,

take you in so you could begin again,

this time with your sadness washed away.

But it was not to be, clouds too thick,

sodden with an anguish you could not part with,

an anguish sitting just inside the door to yourself,

a door we could not unlock.

Ruin, rock, sky.

We found ourselves driving on a dirt road

in the middle of nowhere.  Grazing land

on either side, nothing but denuded earth,

occasional cattle and skinny horses, relentless

wander in search of something sustaining.

In the back seat your ashes lay in a soft deerskin pouch,

a photograph of you in my left breast pocket.

Our grief hard and long with the loss of you.

It was your twenty-third birthday and you were dead.

Wind, weeping, bits of bone.

Steep climb up an ancient stairway

to the top of a mesa, parched hike  

above a pueblo empty of life for a thousand years.

A harsh wild beauty, but oh how you loved it there,

just a year ago, before you found the brown horse

you could not stop riding through rivers of blood.

We carried you against our hearts,

made a circle of stones on a shelf of rock.

We gave you to the four directions, to those who

had gone before.  We gave you to the wind.

Sage, corn, tobacco, dust.

Can you renunciate suffering?

Last night was the last class in the spring series at the mediation center.

We have been working with metta since last fall. Last night after our usual 45 minute sit and 15 minute walking meditation, Narayan invited any who wished to speak about their experience with metta. It was really beautiful to hear what others had to say.

She always gives "homework" and she asked us to ponder the following question over the summer:

Is it possible to renunciate suffering?

She had to give the question a few times, as some misheard it as, "is it possible to renunciate 'something' rather than 'suffering'. That caused a lot of laughter. Of course you can renunciate eating chocolate [not me!] or something like that, but suffering itself?

Now that is a radical path!

Get on your bike!

Yesterday I went to the local bike shop to pick up the biking skort I ordered. [I am trying to minimize online buying and maximize buying from local stores as much as possible. And can I say how fantastic biking skorts are??] Anyway, for whatever reason I had on my sports bra and tight biking shirt but not the prosthetic. I figured I really wasn't going to see anyone other than a quick stop in the bike shop. The prosthetic is hot and sticky when exercising. So I'd just as soon not use it.

The back story is that the bike shop owner, had brain cancer last fall with surgery followed by a lot of rehab. It is a miracle that he survived and is able to work, function and bike. He knows that he has difficulties now but he tries to live as normally as possible. He's a great guy.

On my way out, he said, "Lola, you are the cutest thing ever, especially in your skort." Sweet. He knows I have had breast cancer. Then he stepped up close and said, "I notice that you continue to wear tight biking shirts as always. My wife had breast cancer and now does not want to bike anymore. I sure wish you could talk to her and let her know that it is not a problem. I don't care. I didn't marry her for her boobs" I was kind of embarrassed for a minute and asked if he noticed the lack of the prosthetic. He said "yes". And then the conversation got really interesting.

He talked about how depressed she has been, how difficult it has been to return to "normal". I offered to meet with her and perhaps do the next group ride together. This is exactly why I am inspired to go into private psychotherapy practice with a focus on breast cancer.

Maybe I can help others feel good about their body, and get out there on their bike!