Firefly

The other morning, I woke up with a burning in my chest. No it wasn’t a heart attack, it was a heartbreak. I jerked awake in a panic; that horrible feeling in the pit of your stomach that you’ve forgotten something hugely important. Or remembered something terrible.

I felt as if there was a glow in the pit of my stomach, a little firefly. Puzzled, I reached my hand over, and cupped it. It felt like a little entity in my hand, a ball of light, like Tinkerbell, pulsing and trying to tell me something.

I curled around it in a fetal position, whispering comfort. It had a very childlike feel as it touched my mind, little alien that it is. I began rocking and cooing to it, calming it as you would a frightened child.

I asked it what was wrong. My little firefly answered, “our family! They’re Gone!” and proceeded to wail a true cry of grief. The thing had roots into my very soul, and my spine felt pulled forward as we cried together. I SO miss my daughters, waking to a house full of family, that little silent time in the pre-dawn when my girls’ soft breathing could be heard as I made rounds to check on everyone. I miss my husband’s breathing next to me as well, his larger weight tipping the bed his direction that I had learned to counter balance as I slept.

Now I sprawl over the entire queen-sized bed. Much larger a bed than I’ve ever slept in alone. Feng shui would have me believe I should keep this larger bed, leaving room for possibilities. I wonder if I should get a twin, just to content myself with my smaller lot in life right now.

We sobbed and cried and grieved. Then I remembered, “Wait, they’re not gone, just far apart from us. And they’ve grown! Our family is bigger now, with grandkids, cats, dogs, boyfriends, husbands, college degrees, military rank; adventures galore! New houses, new states, all wonderful things, they aren’t here, but they are near, and connected in our hearts.”

Little firefly calmed down, but she’s still hurting. Yesterday morning she woke me again, and I curled around her, nurturing her, waiting for her message. This one was, “we’re in love with a man who doesn’t exist, never has, in our life!!”. Another round of panic, crying, heartbreak. This one is a bit tougher to answer. I told her, “We just have to have faith, and believe that he will appear. We thought the last one was, and maybe he was for that time. But he slipped out of that role, not able to see us for who we are, rather some image from his haunted past.”

She’s woken me with several messages, each one I treasure, and honor. Another message was, “We have a heart calling to act and write, not to be a paper pusher. I don’t want to go to work; it’s not heart-work!!” I agree with her on this one. Although mapping a career as an actor at 50 + years old is a terrifying proposition, yet even more terrifying is NOT trying. Then she wakes me with that one, “We aren’t on track, we’re not doing enough! We’ll never get there!!”

Sometimes these messages are truly important, and sometimes they are panic that is not helpful. Either way, they are indicators of a wound. I ask the divine to heal me each time. Heal us.

In the meantime, I live with a little firefly in my chest. I’ve learned not to quench her fire, rather cup it, breathe on it, let her light my passion. I believe she was sent to me from the universe to melt my frozen heart, thaw my frozen dreams. Like frostbite, the process is excruciating, but survivable. Thank you my little firefly. I love you.