Life gives as life gets. Or is it we give as we get? What does it all even mean anyway? Maybe nothing, perhaps something, or it might not matter at all.

            I came across the words of a Buddhist monk just when I needed to hear them. They went something along the lines of, “You will lose people you love… Pets you love will die… There is nothing you can do to change that. It’s just the way it is.” Tears sprang to my eyes as the passage so deeply resonated with what I was going through. My very good friend of thirty years, Molasses, was worsening by the hour, unable to stand squarely on her four beautiful legs. Legs that had carried us both for so many miles over mountains, through gullies, across meadows, into streams… Her strong bay body exuded the scent of sagebrush from her decades of roaming loose in the canyon. My heart and gut wrenched.

            I just wanted to run away, but from what? You can’t really ever get away from yourself. All I could do was to live through it, be with her, and try to make the best decisions I could. I love her so much—and now I miss her immensely. The heartache is as real as it gets. I’ve been used to glancing over in the direction of the field multiple times a day, looking for her. And I still do, except with a one-second delayed shock when I remember she’s gone. Never again.

            For the two weeks before Mo’s passing, we spent the hottest days so far this summer finally hauling everything out of the storage barn to sort, donate, recycle, throw away, or decide to keep. Our hope is that when we die, the kids won’t have quite as much junk to deal with. We acquired a lot of it (tools, letters, old furniture, pictures…) when my dad passed away in 2008. The barn also contained wedding paraphernalia from both our daughters’ weddings which we hosted here in the canyon. And, of course, the basic things that families tend to accumulate over time. This kind of purging feels good. A lightening of life’s physical load. The Swedish refer to this practice as death cleaning, beginning shortly after passing middle age, in order to organize and declutter the home before you die to lessen the burden for your loved ones after you’ve passed.  

            For us, the Cedar Fire of 2003, coming only months after my mom’s passing, provided the maximum cleanse. Still reeling from the huge loss of the woman who was both my mother and friend, the fire ravaged through the canyon we call home, taking with it our house and outbuildings. It also destroyed our other family dwellings back here as well—five houses in all.

            I suppose death can be looked at as a sort of purging as well. After all, they’re gone. But it doesn’t have the same after-feeling as getting rid of stuff. The fire taught me to not get as attached to things. You know, here today gone tomorrow. It’s not really all that important. I’ve never been one to have the slightest interest in ‘keeping up with the Joneses’ or wearing the latest fashions. Heck, I don’t even know what’s in or what’s out. And I really couldn’t care less.

            What I do care about are my relationships with friends and family, trying to live in peace and harmony with our surroundings, and making choices in life that don’t harm our community or the natural world. Life on all levels is precious to me. Who am I to pretend to lord over our plant and animal neighbors?

            But what I think we all need to purge—and to purge ruthlessly—is our steadfast and hasty judgements. I could gaze for long periods of time into my horse’s eyes. She had the kindest eyes. It was as if I could look through those windows right into her soul. A benevolent one. She was a natural ‘lead mare’ who took her position gracefully, never bullying. The way natural leaders are. What an honorable spirit she had.

            One conscientious purge I try to do once or twice a year is a cleanse, eating only fresh fruits and vegetables with no seasonings or sauces. Those nine days can be a bit of a challenge, but at least I’m eating actual real food. This practice provides a bit of a reset of my digestive system. During this experience I take more time than usual for artistic endeavors, insightful reading, and breathing in the present moments, which help bring about a deeper sort of cleanse.

            The whole purging thing involves so many different levels. Of course, the death of a friend or family member isn’t exactly what we consider “purging”, however they both involve the act of “letting go”. Sometimes voluntarily, other times solely as a way to survive.

            It’s hard to let go, it takes effort. Do we get too attached? Should we not? But to love deeply also requires us to let go—both in allowing the other to be their own person as well as when we move on, either from a death or the end of a relationship. Staying in touch with the nature of our relationships with ourselves and others requires vigilance, I believe. Arriving fully at the table of life rewards us with all that life has to offer. For better or worse—this is what we get.

Chi Varnado has published six books including fiction, nonfiction and children’s books. They are available on www.amazon.com. Her collection of essays, Quail Mutterings, can be found on www.chivarnado.com or www.dancecentrepresents.com.