For Thor - 98 - Year 3 and VitaminSea

Three years ago today my life changed forever, Thor, and yours abruptly ended. Your truck careened out of control on a stretch of road you had traversed over the years by foot, bike, skateboard, and scooter. Maybe it was the familiarity with that curve that emboldened you further to take it too fast, too push it a little harder. No matter why you kicked it into high gear or what you were thinking at the time the end result is that your life came to a sudden gut-wrenching halt in a pile of twisted steel and tree limbs on New Years Eve 2015.

I can hardly get my head around this fact…that it's been three years since I've heard your voice or seen your face. Three full years have passed since you walked in the front door to join us for dinner. Much has changed in this time, Thor. Your brothers grow into wise and kind young men. Chaz will celebrate his 20th birthday in a few weeks, an age you never saw. But it's strange because even though he's now the oldest, he's still the middle child. It seems birth order psychology is persistent, even when a sibling is no longer with us in the flesh. And maybe that's the key, you are not with us in a body, but we all feel your presence in our lives in different ways.

As for me, my journey is toward spiritual healing and awakening which I pursue with a singular focus. It is the only lens that truly helps to process your death and my broken heart. Sometimes I hike or plant flowers or stare into the sky and send my love from my heart to yours on the wisp of a cloud. And sometimes I just cry, my heart squeezes so tightly that it catches my breath and breaks the dam. Tears are sacred and even if they make other folks uncomfortable, I let 'em roll. Admittedly, I have my days where I just want to drink whisky or wine and that's okay, too. This grief is big enough for all of these and more. Every day is a new opportunity for me to find my footing, shoulder this burden and walk on.

There are times when I feel like your death is a defining moment in my life. I am becoming someone different, living so wholly in a new direction, as a result of walking this path that I don't recognize myself from me that was before. Overall, I'd say the transformation is positive. I'm more open, more willing to see things and forgive them in myself and others. I'm more resilient emotionally, now, having tapped a deep reservoir inside myself at the very core of my being.

But there are times when it's just too much for me still. Christmas is one of those times. The first year without you we tried scaling it back, I bought a smaller tree. We didn't put up all the decorations. We couldn't figure out what to do with all the ornaments that are yours…do we hang them on the tree? Could we bear to unwrap them…wrapped as they were by Nana the year before in the aftermath of your funeral? Still, we muddled along attempting to keep things as steady as possible. That was really hard and left me feeling scraped raw. In Xan's words, "It sucked."

At that point, I knew we needed to find a new way to be together at Christmas that wasn't so difficult. I came up with the idea that we would go somewhere as a family for the holiday and floated it to your dad and brothers. They liked the idea but were non-committal. I think they were just following my lead, sweet fellas that they are. As the year rolled along, it got too late to book a trip, but I couldn't stand the idea of being in this house. So the second year, we accepted Nana's invitation to go to her home and spend the night and be with everyone in the midst of the kids and chaos and revelry.

It was definitely better to be elsewhere, we all agreed. But even being at Nana's house was too close to the precious and painful memories of that last Christmas we spent with you. We needed a new holiday plan, Thor. We needed to reclaim Christmas for the four of us, establish new patterns that would allow joy to reemerge.

This year I booked us a house in Folly Beach, SC, right on the oceanfront for the entire Christmas week. I offered up a prayer that the ocean and nearby Charleston with her warm southern charm would do the heavy lifting of holding the space for us so we can just BE with each other. No one had to drum up extra merriment for the sake of the day. The ocean was resplendent, reflecting, dancing, waving, moving, singing and giving us all the gifts she can offer; a place to rest a broken heart, and splash gleefully in the chilly water, to shed countless tears and smile at the antics of seabirds and passing dolphins. We drew calming strength and hope of renewal from her unceasing ebb and flow and vastness. VitaminSea is exactly what we needed this year. We played games and walked together taking small joys in finding shells and taking pictures. We each took long solo sojourns breathing in the salt air and unraveling our secret tangled emotions and thoughts; offering them up to a tangerine colored sunset and an outgoing tide.

I wrote messages to you in the sand, sending them to you on the breast of Mother Ocean from my heart to yours. You showed up in beams of light playing with me and my camera. It lightened my heart to have this time to play with you, too. I tried not to overthink things throughout the week. Instead, I let my emotions to rise and fall with the waves bringing them to the surface and then exhaling them on the next wave. As the week progressed and our time drew to a close, some insights started to come into focus.

• The first is that I am still raw with grief and limping in many ways even if I have healed a lot. I also have a strong intellect and am able to think my way past strong emotions in order to get things done. This is good since I have a job and need to stay focused even if my heart is battered. 
• The second insight is that I need to remember to build time into my life to feel emotions, clear them and then breathe in fresh energy. I feel so much lighter, clearer and happier when I take time to Let That Shit Go… you know what I mean.
• The third insight is that your dad and brothers need me to stay open-hearted and to keep growing in LIGHT. There is an old saying, if mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy. So, my responsibility is to keep moving forward and healing and taking care of myself so I can be present and whole for them.
• The fourth insight is that I will always think of the day you died as the day a new me was born out of the ashes of that terrible tragedy. This day, three years ago, we each made a big change, Thor. This time around it's my turn to learn from the pain of grief. It was the starting point for an earnest exploration of Faith, Grace, Love, the very nature of God and my being in any of these. 

The biggest thing I am coming to realize is really complicated and difficult to swallow. Would I have moved this much spiritually if you hadn't died? As much as it pains me to say, I don't think so. That's a hard thing to admit, you know that some good could possibly come of something so horrendous as losing my precious first-born son. But there it is. I would not be in this place, like this, with this wisdom, grace, and willingness to soften my grip on what I think I know if not for my world being blown to bits on that dark stretch of road three years ago. I would trade all of this insight for the story to have gone differently, but we didn't get that choice (at least not consciously on this plane). You are Light, pure Light, Bubby. And my job here on Earth is to radiate LIGHT in sacred connectedness with others; like facets of a crystal, we radiate LIGHT together.

We shine like diamonds in the sun
Everyone of us
We shine like diamonds in the sum
Everyone of us
May all beings be happy and free

Oh, Thor. I miss you so.
On this remembrance day, I'm sending you a big Mama hug and a kiss on the bright rainbow that connects my heart to yours.
When I close my eyes, I can feel you hug me back…tears stream down my face and splash on my open hands. They tell the story of my love for you and my heart's longing to see you again, sweet boy.  Let 'em roll...

I love you, 

Mom

For Thor - 97 - Alchemy on the Anvil

This week the house looked like an Amazon distribution center exploded in the middle of the living room and then caught on fire. Thor's Hammer items are draped on the couch, all over the entry, in Xan's room and crowding Chaz in the camper. We've got piles of shirts and gift bags and chili sampling jars and on and on… And that's just in the house. Dad's barn is full of projects, too. He built an amazing Jenga set; the blocks are 22" long and weigh around 10 lbs each! There's an enormous leaderboard drying on sawhorses as we round the bend toward the 2nd Annual Thor's Hammer event.

It's so much work. It takes many weekends and nights and occupies so much of our mental bandwidth to put this event on in your memory. And sometimes the question is, "Why?"

Why do we feel the need to push so hard? What drives us to pull it all together?

What keeps us moving after long workdays, to fire up our computers and tools and work into the night?

Your dad came in from the barn one day with tears streaming down his face and he said something so moving, "All this effort is happening because of the worst day of our lives." And he's right. We wouldn't be doing any of this if you hadn't died that horrible night. Yet, here we are, finding our way through the rubble. Still picking our way along the path to reclamation. And doing the work for Thor's Hammer is part of that journey.

Grief is the flip-side of love. And for us, grief this big had to be transformed, reflected and shared AS LOVE outside of ourselves. But that doesn't mean it happens overnight. Each time we choose to work on Thor's Hammer, all of us are transmuting the agony of the loss of losing you into something different. Propelled by love and gratitude, we reach deep inside ourselves to give birth to a new thing, in your memory.

Transformation is hard. Ask anyone who's tried to make big changes in themselves. Alchemy occurs when we are brave enough to throw all the grief and pain and sorrow and suffering into the forge and let it cook. It's the fire of love that ultimately melts these our resistance down, burns away the impurities of misunderstanding and a new and better understanding is brought into being. We are changed, forever, by your life and death. And by the process of learning to live beyond our individual siloed pain and longing, but rather in a community, real healing begins to happen.

Thor's Hammer is about you, sweet boy, and your firefighter kindreds. And it's about us, too. But mostly, it's about love and how we come together as a community to lift each other up and celebrate what's good about life and living. We do this with the memory of your bright smile and sparkling eyes and the endearingly mischievous streak that ran right down the middle of your personality because it is the natural continued expression of our love.

My heart hurts but is also light. I get choked up and tears fall, but I also smile. The burden of grief is heavy, but it's easier to carry because all those who love you, too, are right here with me.

It's Hammer Time and after what feels like weeks of rain, the sun is shining! The sky was beautiful, soothing and inspiring me as I drove home from setting up the event site all day. 

I miss you so and love you more, sweet boy.

Mom

For Thor - 96 - What would you wish today, sweet boy?

It's your birthday today. You would be 22. And I wonder how would you look as you age into your twenties. What accomplishments and experiences would you be celebrating in your young life? Would you be a daddy? What would our day look like today if we didn't have that other day, you know, the day you died. I imagine I'd be vying for your time, trying to figure out when dad and I would get to celebrate the day with you. But like most 20-somethings, you would have a million other places to be and people to see… I would wait and hope and be so grateful for you to swing by Mama's for a hug and birthday dinner. Today it's a pork roast with all the trimmings. There are not enough words to express how much I wish you were here to share this meal with us; to laugh and play music among us again.

It is funny how we are so brash and unconcerned with time when we are young. My lens is different now. Life has seasoned me in her crucible and ground me to dust. Each passing year the clock ticks down, moments slip by, and so many infinite possibilities melt away unrealized, unlived. And then our heart beats again, and here we are in THIS now with all of its possible experiences. What will I choose to see, feel, do, to be…what now?

As it is your birthday today the moments are heavy; pregnant with memories and longing, grief and love. And this is okay. The burden of loss that I carry is woven into my being, wholly integrated. Everywhere I go, it is with me. And I have learned to walk with it well. Most of the time.

Tsunami waves still rise up and crash into me. When I neglect to tend the interiority of self and have gotten too distracted with the busy baubles of the world and forget to listen and live from my heart, that's when I am shaken until my teeth rattle to wake up! Wake up and see! Wake up and love! Wake up and smile from my heart.

The perennial lesson of grief is one of love and remembering to prepare a place in the heart for the One Love to be experienced - to be lived. This is where you reside in eternity, my bright, beautiful being of love and light.

The what-ifs and would-of-beens are painful, but also poignant and bittersweet. I want to hold the memory of your face and voice close. I want to breathe in the echo of the way your hair smelled when you were a boy when you'd been out in the sunshine. What I remember of your nineteen birthdays I hold close in my heart. I replay them with a mental caress, a conjuring and with a mind to be grateful that we had those nineteen at all. There was a long anxious period of time when right after you were born that we weren't sure you were going to stick around. But the Grace of God interceded, and you took that first breath and quickly turned from blue to pink. 

We are in the throws of planning the 2nd Thor's Hammer, and it's a beautiful labor of love for me. So much more than keeping your memory alive, it's a way to share the One Love with the whole community. We heal and grow and thrive in such a love and who doesn't need a little more of that in their life? I feel you near helping me get tasks done and making things easier. My job is to not get in your way too much. Today Starr is coming over to help roll tee-shirts and put up more signs. We plan on remembering you together through smiles and tears, alike.

I was thinking about your first birthday with the Winnie the Pooh cake and the fun party we had at Nana's house. And subsequent Hot Wheels, Monster Truck, GI Joe and cammo cakes… each one was a reflection of your current explorations in life. How innocent and clueless I was… I took so much for granted thinking we would just keep getting to have these special days together. I want to remember every detail now, yet so many memories have dissolved out of the reach of recall. It's a cruelty that we don't realize until we are older how precious each moment really is. How each NOW is the only thing that matters and how present we are with the people who are there with us determines how much we will remember later. Busy, multi-tasking, keeping half an eye on eight different things at once; I have whole years where the memories are patched together haphazardly.

But maybe the actual memory is less important than the emotion of each moment… I recall perfectly how I felt on all of your birthdays. As the gathered guests raised their voices to sing Happy Birthday and the warm, flickering candles dripped pastel colored wax on the cake, I watched your face. I delighted in the light and happiness in your eyes. I was overjoyed, proud, happy, in love, adoring, grateful and hopeful. I always wondered what you wished when you blew out the candles, and I said a little prayer that it would come true.

My heart asks your heart, reaching out across deep time to find you in that still quiet, peaceful place, "What would you wish today, sweet boy?"

I'll just sit here a while and listen.



Love, mama. Just love.


Okay, boyo, I can do that. Happy birthday in heaven, my darling.

I love you,
Mom.

For Thor - 95 - Three Little Birds

I woke up yesterday groggy and grainy-eyed. I slept okay but maybe not long enough. You know me, Thor, I'm part of the "gotta get my eight" crowd. 5:30 am saw me yawn and stretch and groan my way to the sofa where I took my spot to meditate. This morning ritual is so important to me as it allows the subconscious mind to arise and be gently cleared, one mantra repetition at a time. I liken it to cleaning glass and that each time I engage in meditation it's the same as wiping the crusty stuff off the mind's lens.

I never know what's going to come up. The subconscious mind is unpredictable, unscripted and unrehearsed. The myriad of impressions that are stored there show up in rambling jumbles without linear, timebound logic. My job is to sit in the weather and allow the thoughts to rise and then lovingly maintain focus on the prayerful intention of the repeated mantra. And it is a lot like sitting on a mountain-top totally exposed with nothing between me and the observation of the weather. Sometimes, my mind tries to latch onto one of these passing thought "clouds" and dwell on a remembered experience and I find myself mentally retelling stories and feeling regurgitated emotions. Steadiness here is important. I pull my focus back to the mantra and let the story go, recognizing it for what it is…just a thought. That thought is not ME, it's not MINE. It's just passing by. My attention is the only thing that can give it the energy to affect anything. And even then, what is really being affected? And this is the process toward peace. One thought at a time. One breath at a time. One prayer for grace at a time.

Grief, however, feels different. Its inherent relationship to Love puts it out of the realm of fear and passing fanciful thoughts. In the years I've been processing the intense emotions and rollercoaster responses to your death, Thor, I have come to learn a few things. One being that grief is not an expression of fear of loss - that is actually anxiety. Grief is an expression of Love that is crying out because of the misbelief that we are actually separated. Ultimate understanding of truth would free us from grief as we come to know that separation is not possible. Here in the dream that is this changing world (the heavenly world of the Creator cannot be anything other than changeless), we are destined to feel pain and suffering over the separation that our own minds have caused and continue to believe in.

Yesterday grief welled up in my heart and would not clear. It needed to be expressed, like a festering wound. A hectic work schedule and a frenzy of activity to make life plans had me swallowing my emotions. Not just around the pain of losing you, but for several other huge shifts in my existential understanding of this life; and a few actual big life changes that have me reeling. Shit is moving and changing fast, Bubby. I felt your energetic presence nearby as this wave of emotional intensity crashed in, on and over me. It was clear you were trying to help me "sit in the weather" and feel what needed to be felt so I could regain steadiness in these changing moments.

I haven't had a day like that in a while, where I found it hard to focus. I couldn't make decisions or think through problems with a clear head. I kept blinking tears back and swallowing hard…only to find myself in the ladies room crying my eyes out. It was hard to take a full breath and even harder to let it out. The sea of suffering had whipped up into a storm that seemed hell-bent on capsizing my little boat. I should have taken the day off, but no. I soldiered on; raw and free-falling back to the bottom of the well. The one in which I've spent so much time.

All change triggers the sensory perception that is around your death. This is because that experience eclipses everything else, without exception. There is no pain, stress, sorrow, suffering, anxiety, worry, concern or any of the counterpoints to those that are not permanently altered in my experience of them as a result of grieving your death. I am different. The lens is different.

Chaz moved out.

He packed a few belongings, the things he thought he'd need as he set sail into the world, and stepped away from the shore of his childhood home. He's nineteen years old, Thor. And is older than you having surpassed you in age, waking one morning to a dawn that is one more than you ever saw. Chaz is a remarkable young man, his intellect and natural curiosity seems to beckon the Universe to bring him an opportunity. This is a byproduct of saying Yes to life, even if we are scared. He likes to say yes but is choosy about when and where. Discrimination is a good thing.

I'm impressed with Chaz's determination and can see how the gift of his innate moral fortitude will serve him well. He is honest and insightful and kind. I'm so proud of the man he is growing to be. Just like I am proud of the man you became, Thor.

It's interesting how life, in its dogged insistence to be lived, constantly intertwines experiences of the past into the breath of the present while simultaneously challenging me to drop the past in order to experience the present…which will become a new past. There is a forward propulsion that has a trajectory, a heading, but the way ahead is all blue sky. I can't have a heading without a point of origin; this is the past. It's a moving marker, built moment by moment into successive nows and thens. Memory strings each moment like dew drops on a silver wire, reflecting the light and evaporating into the cosmic consciousness of experience.

I've been thinking deeply about as you brother looks to the horizon, gathers strength in his young wings and spring from the nest into the life that awaits him. You, Chaz, Xan, your dad…me. We are tied together. The silver threads of our lives are interwoven, but also separate. Yours was cut so woefully short. Chaz' life path is beginning to diverge, marked by his interests, desires, and will. It's exciting to see where he chooses to fly.

And Xander is not far behind.

He took off in his Jeep with a pocketful of paychecks to go see his girl in North Carolina. He'll be gone for two weeks. Independent and competent, strong and kind. He's building relationships with the world and figuring out what he likes and who he is.

The house is quiet. Just me and dad rattling around in here trying to figure out how to be just the two of us, again. My boys are grown and gone. This is the trigger that got me yesterday. My role as a mom has changed to a supporting role, not the pivotal position in their lives it's been all these years. But more like, it's my identification that is being challenged to shift to a new way of being…but it hurts. Once again, life pulls me farther away from my experience with you. Another chapter is closing, a new one is opening and you aren't here to be a part of it. At least not in the physical realm where I can hold your hand, share a laugh, talk through your ideas and help you realize your dreams. I get to do that with your brothers, but it's clear to me that I raised independent children. This is a great thing for the world, but it can be a little jarring to this mama's heart. I can see how some mom's try to bake-in a little dependency to stay important in their kid's lives. I could never do that, it's just not the way we roll. But it does mean staying on the shoreline and wave as each of you casts off on a new heading… You've taken the most dramatic and permanent course, which frames my response to these changes now.

I take some more shaky breaths and keep sitting in the weather. They haven't left the planet, they've just taken the first steps into their lives here. I can only pray that your brothers stay a little closer than you, Thor.

I think about you boys, my three little birds, and the words of Bob Marley come to mind:

Don't worry about a thing
'Cause every little thing gonna be alright
Singing' don't worry about a thing
'Cause every little thing gonna be alright

Rise up this mornin'
Smiled with the risin' sun
Three little birds
Pitch by my doorstep
Singin' sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true
Saying', (this is my message to you)

Singing' don't worry 'bout a thing
'Cause every little thing gonna be alright
Singing' don't worry (don't worry) 'bout a thing
'Cause every little thing gonna be alright

Yeah, Bob. That's just what I needed to hear. Thanks, man.

I love you, Bubby.
Mom

For Thor - 94 - Tilling Deeper Earth

Something happened as New Year's Eve tick-tocked past this year, marking two years that I've been grieving your death. Days, weeks, months of processing and learning to live with the fact that you are dead has transformed me. The first days of this journey were fraught with bewildered agony and utter devastation. The sun continued to rise and the seasons turned on their wheel, one melting into the next. The breath of life moved in and out of my lungs. My heart pumped, and my inner gaze, fixed on my heart, saw that the most significant work I could do in this life is to grow and learn and expand beyond what I thought possible. This is how I survive losing you, Thor.

I spent some time re-reading these letters I've sent to you. They are breadcrumbs that remind me of how far I've come and of compelling insights that came to me. I am grateful I took the time to write down the song of my heart in each moment and send it to you. But on the anniversary of your death, I read them over, and something shifted. The inner work I've been doing took a turn to a deeper place calling me to look more closely at life. Not death. Not grief. But life, and how it is being lived through me. I felt your presence change in nature to be less binary mother/son to one of a spirit guide and traveling companion. I heard a query in my heart asking me if I am ready to LIVE? It came to me in your voice.

For two years I did a lot of healing, seeking, listening, observing and praying. But was I LIVING? Had I hit the pause button at some point in my life, given up on living my dreams? All the intense inner work of processing the loss of my beloved firstborn brought me to a new place; one where I could set sail to live intentionally, with an open heart, vibrant with all the gifts gleaned these two years. So what was stopping me?

Your Aunt Radha turned me on to a beautiful exercise where you take time to write down all the things that are important and the quality of things you want in various areas of life; Relationships, Career, Vacations, Friends, Finance and so on. I listened to the man introduce the exercise and explain the reasoning and purpose of creating a life plan in this way. Then I started writing out my plan. As the practice went on, I became blocked and sad. The vision I had for my life was okay, it had all the aspects one would expect in a "good life plan." But it was non-specific and not actionable. My "goals" were more like lofty mission statements, not a blueprint for making something happen. I tried to think of things that were more grounded and specific, but nothing would come to me. What was keeping me from even dreaming the vision of the life I want? How come I couldn't see it, even in my mind's eye, let alone begin to manifest it with a plan?

I sat with this in meditation for a few days when another gift appeared. I was introduced to the concept of self-love being the key to first envisioning and then building the life I want to live. Okaaaayyyy…self-love. Now what? I know a few things about self-love, but really it's just the psychobabble stuff we all hear about self-esteem as teens and what not. I didn't feel that this was where I needed to look. Fortunately, a little book showed up about the same time. "Love Yourself Like Your Life Depended On It!", 60-ish pages of pure, first-hand experience on how learning to bring self-love to the equation can transform the inner dialogue. The internal dialogue is the one that governs my entire life experience and is the channel through which life manifests. What was my inner dialogue saying? What lies, truths, half-truths or alternate facts was I telling myself and why did I believe it?

Well, Bubby, this became a seriously deep dive into a whole-lotta-stuff. Recognition and remembrance of old hurts unintentionally inflicted by family, seriously bad bullying incidents at many of the schools I attended, questionable teen behavior that signaled deep pain and a desire for self-harm came floating to the surface of my mind. I discovered that I've been walking through life feeling like I was never adequate or good enough, feeling like I could never be loved. The crazy thing is that without grief beating me up for two years to soften me up I wouldn't have come to this place. I was able to dredge all this up, bringing it to the light of day where it could be examined and tested for truth. Where I could begin the journey toward self-love. I started with daily meditations attesting "I love myself." As this practice went on for a week or so, I felt there was some other work to do, too. I would need to embark on a journey of forgiveness. I had a whole lotta of forgiving to do, mostly forgiving myself for giving up on me. For causing hurt and harm to others as a result of hurting and harming myself. Holy shit…this was a deep ass hole. But you are here with me, Thor, walking alongside and cheering me on, helping me bravely face what was and what is and what will be.

We are so blessed to have a family that is willing, and even eager, to process and talk things out with each other. Nana and Grandpa helped shed some light on things. Perspective is important, perhaps more important than facts. The emotional lens we view things through is what creates our unique versions of the truth. If I can forgive whatever triggered the emotional response to the situation, I can reframe it with self-love and be free.

Life wants to be lived through me. It calls and beckons and dances before me in a dazzling array of possibilities. I have choices, too. I can choose to live life worried that I'm not enough, pushing and propelling myself forward out of fear that others will discover my obvious inadequacy. Or I can choose to live life knowing that I, like everyone around me, am enough and that we are all dancing our way through this world as sparks of the Divine - each one God's favorite.

Living face to face and heart to heart with grief, as an aspect of love has taught me much. But ultimately, I feel like it's time for grief to take a back seat as my great teacher so I can embrace and learn from the Master, Love. Grandpa gave me an excellent book that is the best book I've ever read on the subject, "Discovering Love" by Dayananda Saraswati. What grace to have all this help appear right when I need it!

My to-do list:
Till deeper earth. Plant seeds of love. Let life be lived through me, intentionally, joyfully.

Oh, my sweet boy! I love you, so! I miss you tons, and I know you know that I cry when I hear certain songs. My heart soars to greet you on the rays of a sunrise and on the wings of our crows that caw, good morning! Our story together is not over, it continues to unfold and flow and it will last for as long as there is Love to share.

Mom