The Ankle Bracelet - Circle of Love (a short-short 2022 Birthday story)

This is a story of love. This is a story of a circle of metal representing many years of a marriage partnership well lived. This is the story of my ankle bracelet - the last birthday gift I received from my husband before he passed away. This bracelet has generated acceptant approvals, and at times judgmental disapprovals. I have never told this story, until now, for reasons I will not expound upon. But now, it is important for me to share with you this true story, and the reasons for which I cherish symbolism of a simple ankle bracelet.

 I have been so very fortunate to have shared a loving marriage with the most amazing man for 36 years. During the first half of our marriage, my man was the rockstar global business traveler and we saw little of each other. We knew this lifestyle involved sacrifice and I never wanted to hold him back. He reciprocated in my desire for independence, and our love was strong. Our respect for each other's independence far exceeded what others thought of our non-traditional arrangement.

The last half of our marriage gave us a few short, healthy years together and then, his failing health. My soul mate, my lover, my best friend, my husband was slowly fading from progressive health issues. I loved him more than ever, and some of our deepest, most difficult conversations came during the final three months of his life.

[Allow me to flashback to a balmy summer evening years ago as we sat on the screen porch by candlelight, drinking wine and watching fireflies flash in the darkness of the yard, hopeful that their blinking light display would capture the attention of a mate. Simply for a brief interlude of procreation. This distraction did not prevent my husband's words from piercing the very heart and soul of my being:“I'm going to die in this house,” he said. I was taken aback back and did not respond at first. And then I said, “Let us then die together.”]

 I did not realize at that time how prophetic his words would become.

The conversations we had in his last three months were particularly poignant. His thoughts about my life after he was gone seemed to focus quite a bit on the issue of sex. “What will you do when I am gone? Now is the time to start looking. I don't have much time left and I want you to feel free to fulfill your needs. I don’t want you to feel any guilt. I know how much you love me, and I know you will always love me,” he said. OMG - I was shocked! But at the same time, I was touched by the raw acknowledgement that my man would be so blatantly acceptant of his fate and voice his concern for my future of cultivating a potential, new, intimate partner relationship. His love for me was a deep, true, sacrificial love. I sometimes felt guilty that my love for him could not match his for me. He would disagree. “Shhh,” he would breathe, “it always has been more than I could ever imagine.”

I watched him weaken as the days and weeks passed. This, I felt, may be my last birthday celebration with him. (It was.) He made my day very special. A beautiful dinner of filet mignon with wild chanterelles and bearnaise sauce, roasted fingerling potatoes, green beans, an Oregon Pinot Noir from Cathedral Ridge, and dessert - a chocolate mousse with langues de chat. Yes, he was a great chef - a skill he honed over the three plus years as a house husband, and with inspiration from our many years of living in France. His illness had progressed to the point where work was too much of a burden on his body.

We cuddled on the couch after dinner with our digestifs and he gave me my present - a silver ankle bracelet - with the letters Y-O-L-O "You Only Live Once." He told me, “This is my message to you … “to live,” (as he loved to say) – “Your Hallelujah. Don't bother with those who judge you. Don’t bother with those who try to mold you into someone you are not. Always be the woman you have been ordained to be - free, independent, faith-filled, caring, joyful, driven, strong, (and as he always put it), a totally badass Chiquita!” This bracelet, this circle of love, has been on my ankle ever since. A remembrance of times when we were young, and in growing and aging together, saw the seasons pass.

As I write this so many beautiful memories of his life well-lived simply make me smile and I breathe in the beauty of this man. If he were here, I would tell him the stories of how his gift has initiated many conversations – some good, some challenging (to say it nicely), over the past 7 years. I would tell him how powerfully I feel his love when I wear it. I am proud and honored and I proudly hold in my heart the true special meaning of that bracelet – yes - unconditional love, forever respect, pure joy, amazing memories …  So every birthday since that last birthday with my husband, I reflect on that man's unselfish love for me. YOLO!

Gen C

I am Gen C

I love this world - this world of inconsistencies and contradictions. This world with its contractions and expansions, its daily recital that challenges us, inspires us. This world that we sometimes hate. This world of wanting and having and loving and dreaming. This world that causes us … to be.

We journey together through an in-between time. What was our known life was torn away from us in a brief second. It is a time of pandemic. An insidious pandemic that threatens not only our personal existence, but also the communal existence of our global community. This pandemic that shoots its arrows at us, cloaked in its invisibility, seeding us with painful depths of emotion, despair and physical longing. But this pandemic has also charged us with the challenges of what hope can look like in this midst of physical and emotional isolation, disrupted lifestyles and financial destruction. What do we want, what do we need?

We ask ourselves, over and over: Truly, who are we – as individuals, as a collective humanity? What will our history be? What will this world become? What will we contribute? What will be our legacy? Do we see obstacles or advantages? I have no simple answer, for I cannot divine the future. But my journey leads me through this bewildering narrative of life that will not end in despair. My choice is hope. I will persevere and defeat will not be my personal trainer.

I love this world, this world that reminds me that I am both vulnerable and precious. This world that agonizingly struggles with survival within all its inequalities. This world that strives to find answers to questions we thought we would never ask. This world that yearns for the day when intimate hugs and faces with smiles will no longer be hidden behind a pandemic curtain. This world that makes me question whether I have only this lifetime or many lifetimes.

This world is unfair. And I hope every day for a world where everyone needs everyone else. Perhaps this pandemic will be the catalyst to make the rich tear down their fences and get together with the poor. Perhaps the fed will feed the hungry. Perhaps the boundaries of nations will get torn down. Perhaps all the colors of our skin, and all our differing abilities will be celebrated. This world in which nothing is certain and there is so much to learn.

I want to be fully here. The beautiful and the ugly intertwined. I want to be in the future, pouring out  kindness, compassion and love to everyone. To be not only in this body, in this world, in this time and place, but to radiate forward into a future that will be better than before the cocoon of pandemic isolation, better than the person I could ever imagine to be. To spread my wings and embrace the birth of a new world where time and equal place and hugs and unmasked faces will again fully expose the beauty of our true humanity.

I love this world. I am Gen C.

©2020 beckedrake.com

How Time Passes By … Montreal

In the sense of human emotion, time is relative, time is unpredictable. It frames the moments of our lives, with laughter and joy, with burden, loss, and hopefully with a balance that allows for a fulfilling and meaningful existence.

I have returned to my magical city, Montreal, in an inauspicious moment in time for me, the fourth anniversary of my husband’s death. I feel inexplicably drawn to this city, as bees to nectar. There is a bitter sweetness of memory here, one that carries me forward, yet lassoes me, pulling me back in time with memories of the time my husband and I last enjoyed this city together four years ago.

Walking the streets of Old Montreal, I drink in the energy of a culture that embraces the humanity of each encounter. I feel, in many ways, safe and secure here. I feel free. I breathe in my true self. I peek through my mask and feel the freedom to reveal my true existence – a woman who is living with half a heart, seeking the other half buried deep inside of an identity not yet fully revealed. 

My walk takes me through the silence of the old cobblestoned streets, shadowed by modern architecture begging to co-exist as a backdrop to centuries of the brick and mortar that gave the city its identity. The old and the new, the past and the present, birthing a new song of generational soul.

Montreal is an intimate city. Its bustling streets emulate a resurrection quality. The synergy of its bi-lingual nature draws me close to its soul, its neighborhoods speak to my sensory memories and propel me toward self-revitalization. This city begs to swallow you into its joie de vivre. There is a deep intimacy of relationship here, a caring for the wholeness of a diverse community moving in its own purposeful rhythm.

I feel blessed to be part of this rhythm. That rhythm of life is a big part of my journey toward my personal wholeness. And as I reflect on the past four years, I have experienced much more joy than sorrow. My circumstances of loss may not be unique to me, but I have been privileged to be surrounded by caring and loving family, friends and colleagues who have followed and supported me in my journey. It is a journey that has a path that twists and turns and forces me to mask and unmask my emotions, sometimes publicly, sometimes in solitary silence.

 So, I continue my journey. I take my wounds of grief, wounds that leave deep scars, but also deep memories of love. I also rejoice, knowing that the memories of my deep, loving, relationship will always sustain me. And as I continue to grow in my personal, singular identity, the power of that love will always be present to sustain me.



Deep Waters and the Crashing Waves of God’s Love

“When you go through deep waters, I will be with you …”  Isaiah 43:2

I read somewhere that shallow waters are noisy and deep waters are silent. Sitting on a beach listening to the sound of the ocean waves crashing against the shore is a meditative holy moment for me. Wading into the deeper water, the silence expands, the view of the horizon shortens, and the waves undulate in their rhythm building from silence to powerful loud crashing water pulling the earth back into the sea.

There is a mighty power in that water. The continual crashing of waves can be deafening at times. As wave after wave crashes onto the sands, the relentless pounding rearranges each grain of sand over and over again. Just like the relentless crashing of the ocean’s waves, God pours out his love for us. Whether we are near or far from him, his love for us never ceases.

 Sometimes, God feels near to me and other times he feels far away. When I am in deep waters, I am reminded that God calls out to me on deeper level. He reaches into my very soul. His love is directed into those deep places within me that need it the most. When my soul is parched and weary, when I feel I cannot go on, his waves pick me up and carry me toward the shore.

 Can you hear the ocean waves? Will you let God pour that unending love over you? Sometimes, we need to step away to a place where we can hear God reaching out to us. One of those special places for me is the ocean shore.

 May the crashing waves of God’s love knock you over and submerge you and carry you away.

 Will you let God love you like that today?

Music: “Deep Waters” from “Nightfall” Jimmy Haslip and Joe Vannelli

2010 VIE Records

The Journey of 1,000 Days

It is a puzzle … life. I walked beautiful Crane Beach in Ipswich, MA this past weekend - my annual tradition on the anniversary of my husband’s death. April 28, 2018 ended my journey of 1,000 days, bringing me to the end of a three-year journey of loss. The waves pounded the shoreline depositing the remains of broken shells and stones at my feet. Broken sand dollars were scattered about, their symmetrical beauty still captivating me.

I was reminded of my first walk on that beach 3 years ago. I had turned away from the pounding waves for a brief moment, and in an instant, the beach was covered with sand dollars. I’ll never forget that moment. It was as if God sent a message to me that day that I was not alone. The memory of that event still carries me through the many hills and valleys of emotions as I grieve.

It is hard to believe that it has been three years that my husband has gone to God. I journey alone, as a widow, as a single woman now. It has not been an easy journey. Even so, it has been an adventurous one. A new life, with new purpose and sometimes confusing direction. So many times I have questioned God, and the purpose of the direction of my solitary walk. So many times, I have felt euphoric for the joys of friendships and family. Yet other times, the decent into loneliness for my man has swallowed my heart and nipped at the very essence of my existence.

Rediscovery of oneself is messy. It is confusing. I have floundered many times, and yet, I have managed to come back and land on my feet like a cat. I ponder the newness of life -starting out again. I am a strong woman. But there are days where dark despair burrows deep into my heart. And then there are days when I rise above the darkness and soak in the light.

I don’t know when those days will come. I live in the moment. I stroll Crane Beach and I drink in the beauty of the creation before me. As I walk, changes are being made with each wave. The sand at the mercy of the water. The landscape, ever-changing. I am like that, too. Forever being molded and changed as part of God’s plan.

Sometimes I feel like a clam shell just ready to burst open and show the world that I am present, even when I am not sure what that presence is. Sometimes that shell needs to remain tightly closed. I am not the person I was before. I am not the same woman. I am whole yet broken. Lost yet found. I am the sand dollar, broken by the waves, yet resilient in my journey. One thousand days. The journey continues.

Becke Drake

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