For Thor - 52 - Flashback

A new level of peace, you could even say joy, blossomed in my heart in the past week or so. A new spring animates my step. I feel wonderment at the beauty of the world and how life is supporting me. The animals and birds recognized this new aura; I could tell because they would put themselves in my path and linger long. I tapped into something bigger than what my finite human consciousness can comprehend. So, I roll with it, staying open, soft, willing, faithful, kind.

One realization that helped me turn this corner, which is more like a deep knowing in my very cells, is that you are always with me. I feel your presence as surely as if you were still walking this physical plane with me. My mind visualizes this sensation as the purest, bright light that shines from inside, beneath and behind me all at once. You reside in this light where we are all connected to one another.

The delicious and sweet feeling of you right here greets me in the morning. I don't have to conjure your memory in my mind all the time to sense your presence. I began to think that maybe, just maybe, I had found some solid ground. Maybe each day wouldn't be shadowed by death, but rather an expression of delight in BEING ALIVE! I applied myself back to work with more zeal and at a higher level of commitment than I had in months. I greeted each new day with profound hope. What did I have to be sad about? You are right here with me.

This perspective refreshes my capacity and ability; it's energizing. But it's very precarious as it shifts and turns, becoming inaccessible at times. Tears come in sneak attacks of grief and they flow freely when I think about how many cool ass things we won't get to do together. I want you here, playing, living, laughing, loving with us! Regret over lost dreams tarnishes my newfound joy and shakes the ground beneath my feet.

It occurs to me that life is like a video game. We are all playing together but separately from our unique consoles. We each have a role, characteristics, resources and skills. We play our best, interacting with other players, trying to conquer whatever objectives we set for ourselves. You lost your life, Thor, and can no longer play the role of my son, here. But the energy that animated your life in the game is hanging out with me, watching as we all play on. Just like when you played Xbox with your brothers, and one of your avatars "died" in the game, the game continued, and the player who operated the avatar that "died" is still alive, in the room. For the players play on, our attention completely engrossed in the display before us. We are unable to see those other players who "died" but who are still in the same room.

And this is the dual vision that I live with these days. I know the ultimate, existential Truth that you are free, eternal and right here with me. I also express the deepest anguish from a mother's broken heart that you are not right here with me. I still play this game. When I realize it's a game and can soften my gaze and expand my awareness to see more, feel more, that's when I find you hanging out, just waiting for me to say "Hey, Bubby."

Glenmore Fire Department had a chicken barbecue fundraiser yesterday. Your dad was there all day, and I popped in to help for a bit. I enjoyed volunteering, laughing and chatting with the ladies of the auxiliary and the firefighters. This is the team you were planning to join in January if the cards had dealt differently. The fine men of Glenmore VFD are the ones who responded to the scene of your crash. It's one of the hardest aspects of being a volunteer in a small community; first-responders likely know the victims of fires and accidents, the families of the wounded or deceased share your church pews and your kids go to school and play soccer together.

It was the first time many of them had seen me since that horrible night. They are our neighbors and now are your dad's brothers in service. We are tied together in many ways, but they will always be the ones with us on the worst night of our lives. It's a different kind of intimacy and vulnerability than I've ever experienced. As the chicken was cooked, tables set and drinks put on ice, everyone bustled about and joked with each other. I couldn't help it; I kept looking for you. In my mind's eye, you were right in there, making a joke, hauling buckets of chicken, passing out dinners, making all those who came in feel welcome with your cheerful, fun-loving countenance. It was a "You should be here!" moment. I didn't realize until later how much it gutted me.

I slept fitfully, last night. Anxiety and sadness kept me agitated and held sleep at bay. On top of that, your brothers went to see a movie and were not expected home until 1 am. We got a phone call from Chaz telling us that they planned to be home and were not spending the night at their friend's house. I kept half an ear turned to listen for a car on the drive and their footfalls on the step. At one point, in a frustrated attempt to get comfortable I rolled over and noticed that the porch light still glared. In my sleeplessness, I had not real idea of time, surely it was earlier than it felt. No. It was 230am. I went to see if Chaz and Xan were in their beds. No. I went to see if there was an update text message telling me they had changed their minds. No.

Time stopped. My knees shook.

I went from sleepless angst to a full-on flashback of that terrible night in a nano-second. All I could see in my mind was flashing lights on a dark road. I went all the way back there like I had never left. My heart pounded in my ears and my heart raced. I took a deep breath and punched a text into my phone; don't sound too freaked out, don’t assume anything, sometimes no news is good news, right? Hit send to Chaz and Xan. I dug my fingers into the bedcovers as I waited for a response and tried to curb my reeling thoughts and emotions. After a few minutes that seemed like an hour, Xan responded to let me know they had decided to stay at their friend's house after all. The movie ran later than expected; they didn't want to wake us. I responded with only a hint of the devastation I felt, but mostly I felt flooded with relief and said my goodnights with several kissie-face emojis. I washed the sweat off my face and filled a cup with cool water. My mouth had gone dry.

Restoring sleep continued to elude me. At one point my flailing around actually knocked Lady off the bed.

This morning I awoke to a jumbled mind, a troubled heart, anxiety coursing, tears falling. I avoided the news again today, as the horrific shootings in Orlando would only stab this already bleeding heart and push the anxiety through the roof. I had to get my shit together for a critical meeting and product demo today. I ran through all my lifelines in an attempt to find my core peace and reserves of strength; meditation, Hatha Yoga, listening to beautiful music, sitting in the garden with my coffee and Lady by my side. I fed my fish. I called my mom. I started writing you.

When the boys finally came home, I didn't yell. I told them they were not allowed to do that to me; I can't be left in the dark not knowing. And I cried. Chaz immediately hugged me and was sorry. Xan, being unconvinced that he'd done anything wrong, was less appreciative of the direness of the situation, but he came around. I am trying so hard not to suffocate them under the anxiety that losing you produces. I want them to live their lives and feel me supporting them as they learn to fly. All I need is for them to text me. Often. I need hyper-texting. And they know this. They had been doing so well with texting me, that the lapse in judgement last night set it up for me to believe that something really could be wrong. Gah! What a fucking mess.

The Universe, as ever, looks out for me and provided me some space. I got a call to ask if I can reschedule the meeting for today. I felt my whole being collapse in relief. More tears. I have some time to get my feet back under me, again. I'll seek out that connection with the light and you, Thor. That's the work before me for now. Return to that feeling of peace and that glimpse of joy that I had last week. Whatever it takes.

I love you,
Mom