For Thor - 20 - Surface and Dive

Days, like today, I want to call out your name and demand that you come here, now. Quit this stupid-ass charade and come on, already! You can't be gone. It's Super Bowl Sunday! You and Starr are coming over for the party, to watch the game, and eat some fabulous food with us, right? The Broncos are playing and it's likely to be Peyton's last game. This means you would invite Travis, too, since he's a Broncos fan, and all.  It's times like these when you would normally hang out with us in these snapshot moments of life, that missing you cuts more keenly. There is a big part of me that still can't believe you won't be walking through that door to greet me with a casual "Hey, Mama." I long for a big hug from my Thorminator - from my Bubby.  Where the hell are you? Why aren't you here?

I'm tired, Thor. The rough and rocky journey that I've been on for the past five weeks is exhausting. I'm doing all the things I can think of to keep body, mind and spirit nurtured right now.  I'm in a marathon, wearing cement shoes while running through the mud, blindfolded and without full capacity of my lungs, mind or muscles.  The really shitty part is that there isn't an end to it. There is no finish line. The darned thing just keeps on going.

The marathon is Life, darling boy, and somehow I'm still in it.  All the weight and drag I sense is the result of your death and my grief over it. Life, well living, is so much harder these days. Just to muster the strength for basic self-care and caring for this family is as much as I can manage some days. I have made some baby steps into normalcy. Yesterday, I drove a vehicle for the first time since December 30 and I went to church. I scheduled a dentist appointment for your brother for next week. Dad and I are going to see the grief counselor. These sound like small, insignificant tasks compared to my usual Herculean capacity for doing, but they are meaningful signposts on the road to healing. They are signs that the crushing weight of your death is being assimilated, slowly, into the new me. 

What is a person to do when a part of their soul dies? How long will it take for my heart to stop hurting so badly that it's hard to breathe? Why can't I stay in the peaceful place that I know exists deep inside my being? How long will this agony of grief continue to erupt like hot magma from a volcano? There are so many questions from so many different parts of me.

It seems as if I am living in a video game where my avatar is in a mortal struggle on multiple levels all at once.  I rise to the surface and then dive like a whale, as I move from one level to the next, seeking out what is to be done in each. Physical, mental, spiritual, relationship; each level has its challenges and expression of potential. I must grieve and find the truth in each one.

Grief physically hurts and is draining. My body needs special care in order for it to sustain me through this experience. My mind plays a big role in how well adjusted I feel. I practice mindfulness to monitor my thoughts and with gentle awareness, train them to not linger too long on the morbid or morose, but to refocus on something beneficial. I must bravely allow anguish and sorrow to rise up and consume me in the flash floods of feeling that are part of my daily experience. I am learning to plumb the depths of the spiritual teachings I have been given to test their veracity in the face of this great sorrow. Can I experience Oneness, now? Can I open my heart to love, now? Relationships are all askew. Communication is spotty and I need to find new ways to connect with those whom I love. It is hard to see them and have the truth of your death reflected back at me in their eyes. Seeing the grief of others often triggers that hot magma eruption…it's cyclical and disorienting.  How will all of me ever get working, again?

The fact that I'm still standing - or sometimes crawling - is a testament to the fact that Grace has descended upon me to help me endure the unendurable. I shudder to think what would become of me if not for Grace. Grace engulfs me in a silken bubble so I may slip beneath the surface to the depths of grief; deep down to where souls touch. Grace removes the shades from my eyes so that I may see when the sun parts the clouds and smile into the warmth there. Grace flows through me like a river that keeps me moving, one foot in front of the other. It silently and softly drags me in its current when I really just want to sit down and never move again. Even in the lowest low, when I don't know if I'm coming or going, Grace is here. I know this because I have not stopped breathing. My heart is broken so profoundly, yet I know Grace is here because this broken heart radiates love.

All this. And more. The road is rocky and long. I am blessed with Grace. I am grateful for so many blessings.

Still, it's Super Bowl Sunday and I just wanna share it with you. I miss you.

I love you,

Mom