by Tessa Bielecki

Tuesday, January 10

This morning I woke up at 4:30 and felt the weight of grief so heavy again, I sobbed and sobbed, then went to breakfast and ate an unhealthy white flour waffle for comfort food.

Jessica is a world. I have only to say her name, and the very sound of it, or the thought of it, conjures up that world. I know that this will always be so, since there is really no death, only a change of worlds. (Did St. Paul say that, or Black Elk?) Because of my 35-year spiritual connection with Jessica, as well as the intimacy of participating in the holiness of her dying, I
expect to feel her presence beyond death more strongly than anyone else's, even Mary Brodie or my mother. After all, she is only on the other side of "the door." Yet, at the same time, being Tessa of the Incarnation, an EMBODIED spirit, I feel the loss of life-in-the-flesh more keenly each day as Jessica's flesh wastes away and I watch her drifting more and more into the
heavenly realm (not a place, but a state of being), when she will take her "body" with her and leave behind only her "corpse." (The difference between body and corpse is a great mystery and beyond my comprehension.)

I recall how Fr. William so often quoted this gorgeous passage from Shakespeare: "Oh, that this too, too solid flesh would melt, thaw, and dissolve itself into a dew." It seemed so lofty and sublime before. But now, I watch Jessica's flesh melting away more and more each day. And each day the smell of death grows stronger as the "ketones" build up as a toxic waste product of cellular decomposition. Shakespeare does not feel so sublime now, and the ache in my heart grows larger and more painful.

Jessica chose a lovely Celtic cross to cover her ashes. This afternoon Loren glued it on to a "perfect" wooden box that had arrived for Christmas. It was beautiful to look through the window and watch him work so lovingly. It's good to have such touchstones of the end.

Jessica is clearly on the other side today. She doesn't speak and barely moves, with her eyes always closed. No more nightgown. She lies naked, covered only with a soft blue blanket. Her heart has slowed down, and her lungs are filling with fluid. It can't be long now.

Tomorrow is Jan's birthday. Jessica brought her into the world at 1:30 am. Jan hopes that her mother will die tomorrow so that from now on she'll celebrate two birthdays on January 11: hers into this world, Jessica's into the next world.

Next Journal Entry || Fr. Dave Denny's Reflections on Jessica