Then, on May 13th of this year, an hour after I had landed in Hunstville, Alabama for an event that I had been helping to organize, I was standing in Whole Foods when I got the call from my daughter. With an enormous smile on her face she excitedly shared with me that the visas finally came. I stood there, in front of the refrigerated drink section and didn’t know what to say. I did my best to share her excitement but all I could feel was nothing. Just an emptiness that sucks the life out of you. Someone who has sat with another who is dying knows what this feels like. At the moment of death the room is both empty and full. It is one of the oddest paradoxes to experience. And so was I, filled with both nothing and everything. The nothingness of not knowing what to feel and the fullness of feeling it all. The paradox of human emotional capacity is immeasurable.
Tag: family
Don’t fence me in
Last weekend I traveled solo for the first time in 20 years, and by solo I mean single. There was no one waiting for me at home except my cat.
Old Ghosts
I needed to drive and clear my head. I went north to a place filled with memories of summer sweetness, especially that first summer I spent there, a summer that in my memory was perfect.
I found myself on a mountain
If you had asked me in October of 2025 if I’d be skiing this season my honest answer would have been, “I don’t know yet.”
Shedding the snake
My intention for this journey was twofold: close the chapter of my life that revolved around fertility and monogamy (two marriages that did not serve me), and open a new chapter of chosen infertility (I had my fallopian tubes removed on February 6th) and non-monogamy. A very important part of this ritual would be feeding the marriage certificate from my abusive second marriage into the fire.
Into the Unknown
I lost a client this week. I lost her suddenly.
The Great Divide
There have been many times in my life when mothering has been in direct conflict with my ability to support a client. Most of the time I’m able to let it go pretty quickly. This time was much more difficult though.
Sometimes we’re too late.
Sometimes this happens. Sometimes we are too late. Sometimes no matter how much we’d like to be there in someone’s final moments their schedule is different from our schedule.
Dear Granny,
I have memories of a magical childhood stitched with love, pot roast, perfectly crisp sheets, and the twinkle of her blue eyes. I love you Granny, I miss you.
A letter to my daughter knowing someday I will die.
What the final outcome of this death will be remains to be seen. Right now we are orbiting in the liminal space of waiting.
Lindsay Hargis Post — Shamanic Touch Therapist 