For Thor - 6 - Sunbeam

Dozens of little dark-eyed juncos are scampering for seeds on the frozen ground, their feathers puffed up to insulate them. I can relate. I need insulation from the frigid cold finality of your body's death; of your departure from the life we shared. I admit it, it's painful and horrible, and I want to go back and rewrite the script.

The new story would have me being more for you; more fun, more present, more loving, less judgy, easier to laugh, less caught up in stupid crap. It would have you on-stage with us, still, playing the part of the bigger-than-life beauty that we all love so much for a few more decades.  I did my best and wish it could have been more. For you. For all of us.

We are so precariously perched on this planet. Nothing is guaranteed. There is no promise of anything except now. This moment is the only one we have, for sure. And even it could be the last one. Remorse and regret and even a mother's longing for a different story have no place here. They are thieves bent on stealing away the gift of the present; Peace and Joy. 

Just. Be. Here. Now.

The sun is shining in the window at that low, winter angle that cuts through the trees and sparks on the front-door glass. It's warm, even if the air is frigid. You reached out of the sky to touch my heart with a single sunbeam. You are here. I know.  My sore heart opens to what is possible; to where this journey will take me - us.

It is enough to know that you will help me along this road. I'll pack light and look for the signs you send. Those signs reassure me that It's All For Good and It's All for God. That is wasn’t a waste, as I lamented yesterday. Not one second of the precious time I had with you was a waste. I need to hold onto the Big Picture; we cooked up a potent life plan, one that was daring and bold and scary as hell. One that would push us all beyond what we think we know and into what is Real Knowing. Into Real Love.

Keep sending me these sunbeams and little birds, Bubby. They insulate and lift my heart. They ease the way when I am cut by a million shards and am bleeding on the path.  I'll call on them when those tsunami waves come crashing - and I know they will. This is a marathon. Not a sprint. Just like when you were a little boy and were scared and would reach for me, I need to hold your hand, okay? Please, don't let go.

I love you, Mom.