The last couple of days were full. I went to Nana's house for several hours on Wednesday and while I was there your urn was delivered from UPS. It's really beautiful, but it broke my heart. Again. We took a walk down the LOTUS road and I meditated a while at Chidambaram Shrine, pleasant but intense. I visited with Mimi who, at 94, always offers such sage wisdom. She misses you, too. Starr sent me the last pictures ever taken of you. The ones where you and I are dancing in the kitchen. I didn't dare show them to anyone that night. Your dad was so tired and needed to end his night without emotional upset. So, I stared at them and wept, alone.
Yesterday, I had a shiatsu massage, talked with Aunt Elena who called to check in on me. Nana and Grandpa drove me to town, we went to the grocery store and then to your Dad's office. Dad and I had our first counselling session. We went out to dinner and engaged in some pleasant conversation and even shared a laugh or two.
After we got home, Dad and I played Shadows over Camelot with your brothers. I am not sure if anyone else is marking the Thursday nights at 9:45 like I am. I kept silent vigil as that moment approached. You have been dead for four weeks, my sweet son. I inhaled slowly and deeply to ride the cutting emotions without causing alarm. It would have been cruel to yank everyone away from the small flotilla of joy we were sharing, to make them stop the game and fall into that painful memory.
Your presence in the room, at that moment, was very strong, Thor. I clearly sensed that you are happy for us to be making new memories. I felt the love you have for us and how sorry you are that we are in such pain.
It was a lot to take in.
After we successfully saved Camelot from the Picts and Saxons and we settled into bed, I realized I was deeply troubled. There are cross-currents pushing me in too many directions at once, the pace is too fast. There must be time to absorb what is happening around and inside of me. There is too much talk and too many questions. The world is drawing me back into its rhythm and I can't possibly match it - and I don't want to. The solo-walk and chat with you under the wide-open skies, that is an integral part of my routine for healing, hasn't happened for two days and it is eating at me. It is just as I feared, the busy, noisy world will just traipse along chatty and restless as ever. It will pull me into its heedless pace to where I cannot take this time to grieve for you, the way I need to.
There is no linear progress on this trek. What is progress, anyhow? Today, I think it means I don't feel so acutely horrid or like a refugee all the time. One step forward, three steps back and a big slide to the side. Not so much progress today.
Some mornings I want to scream "Fuck off!" to the sun - like today. I just want to cry and not worry if someone is worried that I am crying too much, or that my tears of anguish cause them angst, or that I don't want to leave the house, yet, or that two days of being out exhausts me, or that I have strayed too far into the deep-end of grief and am approaching the edge of reason.
Yeah, this is life in the deep-end, alright.
It feels as if I am splintered into several distinct pieces and each one has a different need. I am at once a grieving mother who has lost a son, a mother to living children who are grieving and need their mom, a wife to a husband who is also grieving, a daughter/sister/friend who mourns with and receives from, and a spiritual being who is opening to a bigger understanding of divine love and the greater purpose of life. The pieces of me that are an employee and community member are still darkened and haven't begun to function, yet.
It's going to take time and Grace to weave myself back into wholeness. Like Grandmother Spider who patiently weaves the web of life, I need to settle into the deep, reflective pools of time and peaceful spaces to pull these pieces of myself back together. To weave them into a new design. My life will be forever changed by your death, Thor. I'm never going to be the same me that was before. That's okay. The rich beauty of your time with us and the asteroid-like impact you have on our hearts is being woven into this new pattern. In this way, and a myriad of others, you are always with me.
It feels as if I am splintered into several distinct pieces and each one has a different need. I am at once a grieving mother who has lost a son, a mother to living children who are grieving and need their mom, a wife to a husband who is also grieving, a daughter/sister/friend who mourns with and receives from, and a spiritual being who is opening to a bigger understanding of divine love and the greater purpose of life. The pieces of me that are an employee and community member are still darkened and haven't begun to function, yet.
It's going to take time and Grace to weave myself back into wholeness. Like Grandmother Spider who patiently weaves the web of life, I need to settle into the deep, reflective pools of time and peaceful spaces to pull these pieces of myself back together. To weave them into a new design. My life will be forever changed by your death, Thor. I'm never going to be the same me that was before. That's okay. The rich beauty of your time with us and the asteroid-like impact you have on our hearts is being woven into this new pattern. In this way, and a myriad of others, you are always with me.
One step forward, three steps back and a big slide to the side... Progress on this new weaving is going to take a lot of time.
I love you,
Mom
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