For Thor - 11 - Vigil

I am a mother who has lost a beloved son, the child of my soul. Mourning your death consumes me. I wonder if I'll ever feel joy again, for real? Scattered moments of amused distraction here and there can draw a smile and even a small laugh, but it doesn't sing from a joyful place in my heart. I laugh because your dad and brothers, and even I, need to hear it. It's a signal that I am not so far gone into this journey that I can't be reached. Even false laughter has a purpose, I suppose. But it's weak and a little pathetic to my ears. It feels out of sync with where I am right now. My whole being is a House of Mourning. Is there room for joyful laughter in these hushed halls or must I abandon them?

The thought of moving out of mourning anytime soon is out of the question. I am rooted here, locked in position like a sentinel standing vigil. This is my privileged duty, to have borne, raised, love, and now, grieve for you, Thor. I will stay here until I can stay no longer. When the sun dawns one day and there is a new warmth, a new glow, shining on me that invites me to move, only then will I abandon this post and take up a new one.

Still, I wonder…can there be joyful laughter in this House of Mourning? Is there room for the deepest anguish and for happiness, too? Do I have to stop mourning you to have a smile reach my eyes? I tried so hard yesterday to muster a good effort for your brother's birthday. It was too soon. I crumbled under the effort and ended up in the bed hugging a stuffed dog. I was put there by your dad who suggested that I needed to take a nap. Grief is exhausting. Later, we did okay. We cooked a nice supper and enjoyed watching some shows together. I know they all notice that I am a little forced in my cheerfulness and a little desperate in my need to hug them tightly.

I say 'I Love You' to them all the time now and I hope they don't mind. Like an amputee constantly touches the remaining limbs to be sure they are there - our family has lost a limb - and so I constantly reach out to be sure they are still here. I touch your dad's hair or hand. I hug Chaz and Xan for a long time so I can smell their hair and sometimes cry on their shoulder. I am reassuring myself - and hopefully them, too - that we are going to be okay. Never the same, but okay as long as we are together.

Lemme tell you what, Thor. I am not even a little bit okay with all of this. But, I am trying my best to be real in each moment and to be open to how I can grow through this experience.

I am in a strange land. The terrain is treacherous. I don't know the way. I'm not scared because I know you are with me.

All I know for sure is that Love holds the key to it all.

The Love that unites us all cuts deep to sever the illusion of separateness and pushes me beyond my human limitations so I can see; we are all one. This is the Love of God. It calls to me to step into a greater understanding of how we are all connected. It can help us all bring more light to the world. This is the real lasting legacy of your life and passing, for those who are brave enough to take it up.

These are the pieces of insight I've gained from standing vigil over long days and nights, unrelieved. It is a sacred place.

Still, I wonder can there be joyful laughter here, too? What good is all this love and light if there is no joy?

Maybe it's too soon and I am not ready. I can hear you say, "Patience, mama. Have a little patience. It will unfold in its own time. Be gentle with yourself. I'll help you along the way."

Good to know I have such a badass angel on my side.

I love you,
Mom