Down. Up. Down. Down. Down. Down. Up. Up. Spectacularly down. Finally, I'm tangled in a ball of string spinning wildly, unable to adjust gimbal or see a guiding mark on the horizon.
I'm not even a good yo-yo, these days.
The only consistent thing in the world right now is that you are dead, and I am grieving. It's still inexplicable, unreasonable and unbelievable. It's utterly fucked-up that you are never walking through that front door.
Yesterday I moved your ashes into the new urn we bought. It took me a while to gather the strength to do this. It was intense to gaze upon this simple collection of ash and bone fragments that had been the most beautiful vessel for your bigger than life spirit. Once released from the hard plastic container, the bag holding the ashes gently unfolded and expanded allowing the ashes to rest, molded to my hands. I just held you for a while, feeling the weight -- the solid, tangible weight. It's amazing how similar the energy was to when I held you as a newborn asleep on my chest -- peaceful, restful and urging me to be still and sit, in the moment aware of all there is, and all there ever will be. I rocked you in my arms and held you close to my heart in death as I did when your heart first sprang to life, my sweet son. Your ashes are sacred to me, treasure, beyond words and value.
I mindfully went about setting you up - just so. Tucking you in, as it were, with care and devotion. Dad is going to build a shelf for a more permanent placement. For now, I am making do with candles and flowers and some of your special belongings to create a sense of being around the gaping hole of your loss. It is a simple homage to my boy, but one that brings me some peace. At night, when I can't sleep, I sit and rock in the warm glow of the ever-burning candle and gaze at this collection of items. I've gathered and arranged them to make you feel more here and less…gone. How is it that your life has been compressed, reduced to, this box of ashes, a few items carefully arranged on a couple of shelves, some pictures and our memories?
Along the line of homage, I am working on a new tattoo. We were supposed to go together to get our next ink in January. Now, we won't get that chance, and that makes me cry. This is just one of a gazillion regrets I have for your life being cut short. I am working on some art that will surely make you happy. It's a piece that incorporates all of us - you, your dad, brothers, and me. When I'm ready and the time is right, I'll get it inked, and then we'll always be together - all of us - right here on my body.
I'm using spirit animals stylized as tribal art to indicate each of us. While I'm not completely settled on the final version, for now, I'm an eagle, and Dad is the snow leopard - as ever. Chaz will be a raven - for intuition, acting, language and literature, and comedy. Xan is an otter - playful, loyal, fun-loving, friend of all. You, sweetheart, will be represented by a whitetail buck: the buck represents vitality, confidence, and pride and is a sign of spiritual or cross-dimensional journeying. It offers protection in times of transition or beginning.
On the night you died, Uncle Gopal drove me over to the crash scene. Just a little ways up the road, a big deer walked out in front of the car, forcing us to stop. It stared at me through the windshield and wouldn't move. I talked to her "Hey, sweetie, aren't you beautiful? What's going on?" Then she turned and danced a little zig-zag jig up the road right in front of us, finally turning off into the woods. I didn't know you had died at that point, but I knew without a doubt that deer was you. Unable to utter those words out loud, I just closed my eyes and swallowed hard, hoping that it was only my fear reading into things. Only later did I realize you had purposely come to tell me ahead of time, to anchor me in the truth -- that you are free and well -- before the horror of dealing with your earthly death hit me like a Mack truck.
I'm here somewhere between the ashes and the ink, Thor. Only time will tell how long I'll be here. I keep my heart open to see the signs you send - and they are many. There were four pink blossoms on the phlox last Saturday - after the temperature had been frigid for over a week. A tree-frog sleepily serenaded me one day from nearby a snow encrusted puddle as I strolled past. A huge grasshopper jumped out at me a few days ago - from the snow - only to light on a tree branch just above my head where he peered down at me with what looked like a grin on his face. And then the cardinals appeared like magic, a soothing balm when my heart was so very bereft.
These are breadcrumbs left by you to lead me out of this dark night of the soul and into a new dawn. Your message is clear. "One step at a time, Mama. We'll get there. I'll light the way when it's too dark for you to see."
I love you,
Mom
Yesterday I moved your ashes into the new urn we bought. It took me a while to gather the strength to do this. It was intense to gaze upon this simple collection of ash and bone fragments that had been the most beautiful vessel for your bigger than life spirit. Once released from the hard plastic container, the bag holding the ashes gently unfolded and expanded allowing the ashes to rest, molded to my hands. I just held you for a while, feeling the weight -- the solid, tangible weight. It's amazing how similar the energy was to when I held you as a newborn asleep on my chest -- peaceful, restful and urging me to be still and sit, in the moment aware of all there is, and all there ever will be. I rocked you in my arms and held you close to my heart in death as I did when your heart first sprang to life, my sweet son. Your ashes are sacred to me, treasure, beyond words and value.
I mindfully went about setting you up - just so. Tucking you in, as it were, with care and devotion. Dad is going to build a shelf for a more permanent placement. For now, I am making do with candles and flowers and some of your special belongings to create a sense of being around the gaping hole of your loss. It is a simple homage to my boy, but one that brings me some peace. At night, when I can't sleep, I sit and rock in the warm glow of the ever-burning candle and gaze at this collection of items. I've gathered and arranged them to make you feel more here and less…gone. How is it that your life has been compressed, reduced to, this box of ashes, a few items carefully arranged on a couple of shelves, some pictures and our memories?
Along the line of homage, I am working on a new tattoo. We were supposed to go together to get our next ink in January. Now, we won't get that chance, and that makes me cry. This is just one of a gazillion regrets I have for your life being cut short. I am working on some art that will surely make you happy. It's a piece that incorporates all of us - you, your dad, brothers, and me. When I'm ready and the time is right, I'll get it inked, and then we'll always be together - all of us - right here on my body.
I'm using spirit animals stylized as tribal art to indicate each of us. While I'm not completely settled on the final version, for now, I'm an eagle, and Dad is the snow leopard - as ever. Chaz will be a raven - for intuition, acting, language and literature, and comedy. Xan is an otter - playful, loyal, fun-loving, friend of all. You, sweetheart, will be represented by a whitetail buck: the buck represents vitality, confidence, and pride and is a sign of spiritual or cross-dimensional journeying. It offers protection in times of transition or beginning.
On the night you died, Uncle Gopal drove me over to the crash scene. Just a little ways up the road, a big deer walked out in front of the car, forcing us to stop. It stared at me through the windshield and wouldn't move. I talked to her "Hey, sweetie, aren't you beautiful? What's going on?" Then she turned and danced a little zig-zag jig up the road right in front of us, finally turning off into the woods. I didn't know you had died at that point, but I knew without a doubt that deer was you. Unable to utter those words out loud, I just closed my eyes and swallowed hard, hoping that it was only my fear reading into things. Only later did I realize you had purposely come to tell me ahead of time, to anchor me in the truth -- that you are free and well -- before the horror of dealing with your earthly death hit me like a Mack truck.
I'm here somewhere between the ashes and the ink, Thor. Only time will tell how long I'll be here. I keep my heart open to see the signs you send - and they are many. There were four pink blossoms on the phlox last Saturday - after the temperature had been frigid for over a week. A tree-frog sleepily serenaded me one day from nearby a snow encrusted puddle as I strolled past. A huge grasshopper jumped out at me a few days ago - from the snow - only to light on a tree branch just above my head where he peered down at me with what looked like a grin on his face. And then the cardinals appeared like magic, a soothing balm when my heart was so very bereft.
These are breadcrumbs left by you to lead me out of this dark night of the soul and into a new dawn. Your message is clear. "One step at a time, Mama. We'll get there. I'll light the way when it's too dark for you to see."
I love you,
Mom
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