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Jimi’s Passing Wasn’t Easy

Jimi’s Passing Wasn’t Easy

(Warning:  this letter is graphic as it shares the experience of Jimi’s passing.    If you are sensitive, don’t read it)

Life isn’t that simple although I appreciate the simple way of life.  I wish death was simple. 

Life can be messy, tangled and torn.  Death can be the same.   It wraps itself around our beings so tightly that we can’t believe it when it actually comes.     When life is taken away it leaves us in a state of seeking, searching and questioning.  The question “what now?” arises.  There are different camps on the motion and movement of grief; some say 5 stages and others say 7.   Whatever is the way or the way for me, I found it doesn’t come in any linear and logical fashion.  I have been plopping in and out of the denial, mourning, anger, disbelief, acceptance, bargaining, depression and acceptance.  Sometimes all are present at the same moment.  Sometimes they tag team back and forth. The acceptance is slowing creeping in now…thank God.       

Although I had some anticipatory realizations, Jimi’s passing took me by total surprise.    I am not sure if  the surprise (shock) was the way he passed or that he actually passed.   I realized things were serious months ago and this is the reason I encouraged Jimi to connect with his family and loved ones.    My bargaining chip was “he is loved more than he realized.”  It worked.   But I never thought he death was so close.     I had a secret desire that Jimi connecting with loved ones would be a healing balm for him.

Truth, I have never really experienced death or loss before (up until the last 3 months).      As I watched and cared for Jim over the last months there were many moments when I admitted things were not good and we might lose him.    But, those thoughts were shrugged off with a determination that we could survive this.   But, I felt a need to prepare.  I attempted to ask the questions that I knew I would regret not asking.    Jimi’s response was always a raising of the eye brows “what the fuck are you doing Leisha?”    But, he held space and kept telling me he loved me even though I was the craziest women he knew.

I totally felt his struggle with life (disease and cancer.   Maybe this was a possible gift towards healing and we might come out the other side better – bettering.    I had actually said to Jimi “if we don’t get this right, you are not going to make it”.   Herein lies the grief stage of anger for me.   Why didn’t he listen..why didn’t he let me help him?  It was only in the last couple of weeks that Jimi actually submitted to my full help.   He said “I am in your hands”.  But, he couldn’t move.  I was his hands, feet, legs, movement! FUCK!

When Jimi entered his “passing over”, we were in a foreign country, culture and hospital.  Yes, i am angry at how this happened. The culture of death is very different here (I will write on this more later).  We had been moved from the ER ward to the backend of the hospital. This area is not the bright, beautiful shining ER section.  It reminded me more of an insane asylum – deary, despondent and draconian.  As Jimi entered his final fight, I was present to him.  We locked eyes and I tearfully said “it is okay Jimi, I am here”.  I told him to be tranquillo.  Our final words shared were  “I love you”.  His eyes had sunken and surrounded by black halos.  He pupils were expanding into what I witnessed as a mirror of reflection. I saw inside the world, his world and mine.   It was a split second that is lasting forever.    Then, the doctors told me to go.  I wish I didn’t listen.  I wish I had told them to go fuck themselves.   Compliant as I watched this crowd of strangers pound, prod and poke at Jimi’s body, I left.  He was growling and punching at the air around him.   Why didn;t I stay!  UGH!  I reluctantly went to the hallway…like I was in detention.  The door to the room kept swinging open and my eyes kept seeing a horrible sight of Jimi flapping, flailing and fighting.  I squatted down and just kept repeating his name.   “jimi, jimi, jim”  When they started pumping his heart, I knew.   He was gone.

Jimi was somehow floating now.  I kept looking up and into the ether.  It was rather unconscious but I wanted him to know I knew.  I even felt the prayer “my god, my god why have you forsaken me” tear through my being.    Can you see me honey?  Are you there?  What the fuck is going on?   I am sorry!   

It was then….then a short little indigenous man walked by and squatted down in front of me, close.   He looked me in the eyes and began a frantic and festive prayer in a language unknown.  All I was able to logically translate was “Gloria a Dios” and “Apu” but it didn’t matter in that moment.   That man was an angel, an unknown stranger telling me to be with God.  Jimi was going to God.   He invited others in the hallway (strangers) to join him waving his hands in “come here” and “lift up” motion.   These strangers sorta laughed uncomfortably…not at the invitation, but at watching me…the strange woman on the hospital hallway floor.

I am sorry this isn’t a perfect, peaceful, picture.    We often read “passed peacefully”.    No one shares the other story.     I will state that some of what happened was because the hospital did not administer pain medications on the final day.   I asked and begged over and over and was told “yes” without follow-up administration.    I actually went out and purchased the strongest non-prescription for Jimi…he was begging me.    It was “too little, too late”.

Time warps are evident for me as I remember this experience and carry it forth.    I am currently at the seaside a place I promised to visit after Daddy passed.   I couldn’t due to Jimi’s illness.    Kaya was also removed from our daily experience (actually we were (are) banned from even communicating with her).   So, loss is present to me right now.   Ya, this is difficult.  But, you are never given more than you can handle!

When life is taken away from us, it is like our breath stops and we have to consciously take the next breath.   The waves of the sea are reminding me. 

It has been two weeks since Jimi past.    What I experienced since Jimi has left has also been a shock to me.   I am taken by surprise at the physical manifestation of the swirling emotions.  My breath is often shallow and I have to remember to inhale, deeply.   My chest keeps tightening and hands shaking.   I catch myself gazing into nothingness.   Tears come alot.   My inner core keeps trembling and fluttering sending out waves throughout my body..   The waves of emotions keep crashing.  Those waves are calming now, but this experience has surprised and frightened me.   

Something else….I also can’t stop belching.  Don’t laugh…for me, as I was told many years ago by the teachers of the 13 Grandmothers that I belched to release negative energies.   Apparently this is a gift this isn’t just for me.  I can belch someone else’s dark energies away too.   Yes, it is embarrassing.   So, if I ever belch at you, know I am cleansing you.

Jimi once shared with me that when his late wife, Ruchel, passed the question in his mind was “what now?”  I realize this query now and understand its’ purpose.    What now for me?    Well, I will continue in Leisha fashion.   I actually do know what that means.  I have recently flipped over the 50 year mark and have acknowledged in that wisdom now what I am here to do.   The sadness lies in that Jimi also “saw” that in me…and encouraged that within me.    He gave me the foundation to play and “get on” with it.  So, now it is time to take that gift, the greatest gift that any human has given me and make it happen.      

It is a new platform now….I can rebuild and I will!
Once again, I share this song for me, for Jimi and for Jimi and I.  The words, now, are new…healing

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