Good morning my sweet boy. Gosh, I've missed writing to you. Life is so insistently beautiful and demanding of my attention these days that I don't get as much time to send you these letters where I capture just a few the thousands of feelings that rise and fall every single day.
These three years since you died have been some of the most transformative of my life, surpassed only by the miracle of being your mom. I've learned so much about pain and how it can teach if I am willing to stay open to it's cutting lessons. It burns away the illusions of disconnection, discontent, and dis-ease of this world.
At last, your brothers, dad and I are emerging from the haze of trauma. The smoke has cleared, and the ringing in our ears from the screaming of our broken hearts is softened to allow us to see and hear one another, again. We were thrust in this terrible dark night of the soul together, but each alone, too. Blinded in pain, we felt our ways forward each one tapping into resources that resonated as we found our feet and took those first tentative steps toward healing.
I've come to a place where I could, at last, open my eyes to see what else is going on around me. Yes, it's taken this long. And even now I feel torn in two; the agony of grief beckons me to keep learning from that harsh cutting edge, and the pain of waking ahead, living on without you cuts just as deeply.
I see your brothers' eyes, hoping, pleading, wondering "Do you see me, now? I didn't die. Do I have to die to get your full attention?" Holy fuck sticks. Yeah, time for me to shift focus. For real.
They have carried a heavy load without much help from dad or me so great was our devastation.
We are a family, created in love and forged (for better or worse) in the crucible of grief. We are missing one of our number and it is a loss that is etched permanently into our story here. There is a Thor-shaped story stamped on each of our hearts, and when we speak them aloud, they take form to bring you to life. You walk among us in our memories and in deeply personal ways as we each grapple with death and what it means to be alive. Our perspectives are re-framed forcing us to find meaning in each day, in who we are and our purpose in this life.
The struggle to get to this place had costs, too. Chaz and Xander are crossing the barrier out of adolescence and into adulthood. It's not an easy thing to do, and they are struggling. Both have been on the precipice of crisis that sounded an alarm that spun me out pretty badly. This is a time when a person really needs to have their parent's full attention. And if I'm honest, I admit that I have spent three years doing my best to heal myself and grow through your loss. There were times when I didn't feel like I would ever come back from the abyss. And while there were many times when I tried to ease your brothers' pain, to let them know they can talk to me, it's so hard for them to unburden themselves when they see the raw agony of pain so clearly etched on my face and streaming from my eyes. So, I tried to put all that pain somewhere, so I wasn’t so raw all the time.
With the immense help and absolute blessing of so many family and friends, the searing agony of loss was transformed into something positive through Thor's Hammer. This memorial event has helped ease the crushing intensity of grief that threatened to engulf me daily. Having somewhere to put all this pain helped me find my footing to go back to work and to resume things that once brought such joy, like raising chickens and building a farmstead.
Now, my darling Thor, your brothers need me to channel that kind of intense energy into their lives. They need to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I love them as intensely as I love you. And they are here, living and breathing, needing me. You are free and are part of the infinite love that binds us all, and you don't rely on mom's day to day care anymore. The tears, rituals, candles, and prayers I do are for me, not you because you are beyond these day-to-day emotions. And Thor's Hammer has allowed me to unleash the sorrow positively and to share the love that bursts forth from my broken heart in a tribute that celebrates the community we love, and that loves us. And as amazing as it is, as much as this culmination of my artistic creativity and outpouring of gratitude and expression of love has moved me to a better place in this journey, it's time to let it go. I need to find ways to channel these energies into your brothers' lives. It makes me really sad since Thor's Hammer is so profoundly connected to my expression of grief and love. At the same time, it feels right to allow the energy to take a new course, to find new expression and a way to celebrate you through your brothers.
I'm scared that shifting focus will mean losing sight of you. You already feel so far away. One day Nana said to me, maybe you need to help Thor by focusing on his brothers and being there for him since he can't. Hmmmm.
And you know, your dad needs me, too. And I need him. We're coming up on 25 years of marriage and will be empty-nesters before I know it. Someone somewhere wrote about how relationships are like bank accounts. You need to make regular deposits into the account to enjoy compound interest and to be able to make withdrawals without bankruptcy. It's time for us to make a lot of good deposits into our account. We've come scarily close to losing it all as we careened and caromed into and around each other over the past three years. I want to focus on your dad, my partner, and our relationship. Whatcha think, Bubby? Is it an excellent tribute to you to save the love that brought you here?
When I look at the assembled circle of our family, the four of us here and the space shaped by our love where you once stood, I know that we are going to be okay. We each will find new truths and new discoveries inside that drive us to be braver than we ever thought we could be. We will walk with reverence for life because your death taught us that it is not guaranteed. We are learning that we can trust each other with the most tender and vulnerable parts of our hearts and they will be honored and cherished and tenderly nurtured with wholehearted attentiveness and interest. There is only love here even if we aren't perfect in our expression. But we forgive each other and ourselves when we misstep. That's what defines our family.
Our story in the wake of your death continues to evolve and it probably always will. Each day I learn more about vulnerability and love and what it means to be a human being on this planet. I learn more about what it means to be a mom who gives her whole heart to each child. Every. Single. Day. I'm learning what it means to have a child on the other side and how the specter of death can overshadow the land of the living if I am not more careful. I'm shifting my focus and shifting this burden, again so that I can walk ahead in life and take care of those who depend on me to be here, grounded and ready to engage.
Shift focus...what's in front of me now? Who needs me at this moment? This shit ain't easy. It's not easy to admit to being blind to much of my living sons' struggles and pain because my own has been so intensely encompassing and consuming. I am blessed beyond the worlds to have Chaz, Xan, and your dad here to live with and to love. And I'm grateful that I still have the opportunity to help them live their best lives like I wish we could have done with you.
There is still so much hurt. But now I must tend to someone else's wounds. Maybe in doing so mine will keep healing, too.
