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

For Thor - 19 - Weather

There is not a lot of energy small talk these days. I find myself at a loss when I get around other people. The normal banter and easy chit-chat that I usually conjure is silenced. I long for silence. Not lonely silence, even with someone by my side, the silence is so good that I am content to stay in it and just hold someone's hand. Like a Quaker, speech only comes if something rises up three times. 

Surely there's a big, blinking sign above my head telling folks, "This Woman Is Dealing With The Greatest Human Sorrow Imaginable." It must be apparent in my eyes or in my demeanor that I have been so deeply wounded. Don't I look like the walking dead? I feel as if a big part of me is dead; so disconnected from the so-called "real world" that I just am not interested in all the usual things. My attention is continually drawn inward to where grief has rented all the interior spaces and moved in; my new constant companion.

The inner landscape is where the work happens.

Anyone who knows me knows that meditation is not my favorite thing. For the past three weeks, I'm compelled to sit so that I can survive. Meditation, or even just quiet contemplation, is a lifeline. I have a few of them at the ready - writing, walking, hatha yoga, eating healthy, doing something that results in something beautiful like art or cooking, smiling on purpose, dancing, burning incense, feeding the birds, family time with your dad and brothers. All of these lifelines are strong and are braided out of strands of love - the love that was exposed when the world shattered, that moment when your heart stopped and my heart kept beating. The unfathomably deep cut made by your death triggered a massive explosion of love that is now pulsating around the globe. I am cut to the very core of my being which hurts so badly that there are moments when I can't imagine living one more moment. I'm cut and I'm bleeding but when I really look at what is pouring out of me, out of this pain, it's love. That's what the heart is made of, you know.

Every day, I sit in the weather. The sun rises and I am here with my heart still beating and life being breathed in and out of my lungs, and I sit in the storm spun up by the pain of loss. The air is sharp with ozone, roiling clouds brood blackly all around and ripping winds tear at the tatters of my heart. All I can do is tether myself with lifelines and sit in this weather. Pain rises up and batters me, but still I sit. Agonizing and gruesome thoughts of your death haunt me, but still I sit. The resentment that you've been taken from me and that life is moving on without you seethes around me, but still I sit. Guilt threatens to toss me into a sea filled with monsters, but still I sit. The worry for the well-being of your dad and brothers prods at me to jump up and take action, but still I sit. Antsy thoughts that demand to know where I am going and when I'll feel useful to the world again tug and pull at me insistent that I move; that I do anything other than sit here with this pain, in this weather.

Still. I. Sit.

The weather will change in its own good time. The gaping maw of this agony looms and I gaze directly into its heart and I ask, "What is feeling pain? Who feels pain?" The answer is… I am a mother with a mother's heart. I contemplate that for a while. Yes, I am your mother. You made me a mother. And I love you dearly. I've loved you since the very first moment when I knew you were part of me. You, who are the child of my heart, the child of my soul.

The part of that statement that feels pain is "a mother with a mother's heart." I know this is true. I have the shattered heart to prove it.

The part of that statement that is Pure Peace is, "I am."

Is it possible to have a deeper understanding of who I am, really? Is the 'me' that feels all this pain the real me, the only me? Perhaps I AM is all there is, really. I AM, the same I AM that came to Moses, is so much bigger than this pain, this loss --this weather. I AM wholly encompasses everything; all the hurt, all the stories, all the drama, all the human foibles, all the potential, all the love. Everything. I AM is Peace - at all times.

When stillness settles in, even if the weather is blowing all around, I feel you, Thor. The love that is exposed and expressed so strongly since you died carries and sustains. It is here in the bosom of I AM and surrendered at the feet of God that the mother's heart will heal and shine again, bigger than before and brighter than the sun. Thought by thought, minute by minute, the only way to do this is to sit in the weather, tethered with Lifelines of Love, and pray for Grace to part the clouds.

I love you,
Mom

For Thor - 18 - Bridge

Yesterday we were visited by your VDOT Bridge Crew, they guys you went out into the field with every day. They came here bearing gifts borne upon the love and respect they have for you, Thor. They stood in the entry just out of the pouring rain, since removing all those big muddy boots would take a long time and they weren't about to make me have to get out the mop.

I was presented with a large bag which has all the gear from your locker including two pairs of your own big muddy boots, in addition to rain gear, cold-weather gear, socks, gloves and hard hats. They shared a story of how you stepped out under a bridge one day and the water came up over the top of our boot, so you stopped at the Dollar General to buy some new, dry socks. They came in a two-pair pack. Only needing one sock to replace the soggy one, we now have the remaining three. I told them that keeping your feet dry was a constant dilemma for me as you grew, but I was glad that you came to realize the value of it. It was a good moment to laugh.

The next thing they gave me was a brand new road cone that is signed by the whole Bridge Crew, the Residencies, and several folks in Lynchburg, too. This personal expression of their appreciation for you is truly heart warming. And as an added benefit I get to have my own traffic cone in the living room. This will come in handy when we have parties here and I need to keep folks moving in the right direction. Another good moment to laugh. I could see in all their faces how much they miss you.

Then I received a Virginia State Flag which was flown over the Capitol in your name, sweetheart. It has a certificate with your name on it from the Department of General Services. This made me cry with pride and sorrow, both.

And finally, there was a hand-written letter from the District Engineer, Chris Winstead. His beautiful observations about you, your life, and the rich value you brought to everyone who you met have me thinking deeply about bridges. Here are a few of his words that have touched me so. "…[Virginia's] bridges do much more than carry loads using concrete and steel. Bridges connect people. Bridges connect people to a better life. As I sat in Thor's funeral listening to the positive difference he made in the lives of others I was honored he chose to join us on the Dillwyn Bridge Crew as a VDOT employee. I also realized he had mastered the art of connecting people long before VDOT employment. Bridge building came naturally to him." More tears of pride and sorrow.

This is so very true of you, darling son. Your whole life it seems, short as it was, was rooted in connecting with people. All people. Age, race, and socio-economics bore no weight with you when it came to making friends and lending help. It has me thinking about this aspect of the legacy of your life and how we can learn from it. How can I establish better connections with others to help them cross over turbulent waters? Each day, I can choose to make a positive difference in the lives of others. Each day, I can consciously add another small stone of positivity to span the gulf of divisiveness and help pierce the illusion that we are separate from each other.

I am moving in a new direction, one that your life, and death, have set me on. Each day, I seek out the bridge that keeps me connected to you and helps me cross over these turbulent waters. Dawn by dawn and sometimes hour by hour, I move forward a little more. One step at a time, I find a little more footing across this treacherous terrain of grief. It's good to know there is a bridge and that I can access it. This heartens me and gives me the strength to not be afraid of the pain and confusion in this fall-out zone. It will come and it hurts like shit, but I am not afraid of it. It won't drown me. It won't kill me. It won't ruin my life.

There is a bridge…and it's name is, Love.

I love you,
Mom

For Thor - 17 - Wolf

Moonstruck is one of my favorite movies for many reasons, not the least of which is that love always wins. I also adore the part where Nick Cage's character, Ronnie Cammareri, laments about his ruined life because his fingers got cut off in a slicer after which his fiancé left him. He blamed his brother, Johnny, for this for years since Johnny was there talking to Ronnie when it happened. Cher's character, Loretta Castorini, has a heart to heart with Ronnie to try to convince him to forgive "the bad blood" and come to the wedding - her wedding - to Johnny. She points out to Ronnie that he actually sliced off his own fingers. Like a wolf caught in a trap, he chewed off his own foot to escape the trap of marrying the wrong woman. She points out that the part of him that is a wolf is not afraid to do what is needed to keep him from falling into the wrong life situation. He has to live with knowing that a big part of him is a wolf that could do that. He's lived in fear, cowering before his own strength, knowing and potential for years. Happily, love awakens him.

Thoughts, even those silent, subconscious thoughts, create our reality. I'm supposed to be living a purpose-driven life. Instead, I stalled out in a twilit land living a quasi-life. I've set-up housekeeping here, put up drapes and dusted the nik-naks. This is not how to live up to the highest calling. I've been asleep at the switch and on cruise, denying a host of signs and invitations to move to higher understanding. I've consciously avoided or minimized change, purpose and growth in favor of busyness. I lost the drive and fearlessness for living authentically in favor of living comfortably. I've strayed far from the path of auspiciousness and truth and have caused pain to others along the way in my cowardice and apathy.

It was going to take something really big to blow this interior castle of bullshit to smithereens and then demand of me…what the fuck are you doing here? Remember! I have been given the wake-up call to trump all wake-up calls…my son is dead. And on some cosmic level, because I don't believe that Life just happens to any of us - I am integral to this storyline.

I could take this assessment and sink into a good long bout of abject self-loathing. That would probably feel better, and certainly easier, than what I'm being awakened to do. I can't change the past, worrying over that is just a waste of time. I need to find forgiveness within myself for myself for having fallen into this trap built of my own short-comings. We are only given that which is of ultimate benefit to us - that which will bring us closer to each other, closer to God. That is the whole purpose of life here, everything that occurs does so to return us to that awareness. It is all purposeful, even if it is painful. The most painful things may be the most purposeful of all, actually. If I am willing to lean into this pain to seek the truth and express it in my life then I can merge into that purpose.

All of us who love you, Thor, have been hit by dynamite and a big-ass wrecking ball. The castle walls are down. They lay in rubble all around. All the demons that lived in the castle are running wild and wreaking havoc. I am hurt, bleeding and bewildered in this fall-out, as are your dad and brothers, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends. I'm still in triage, nursing the acute agony of my wounds. But even now, my heart is scanning this interior landscape for clues on what's to be done to regain the right road - The Road to Truth. I'll not be rebuilding the walls with these same stones in this same place.

Each day since you died, I pray for Grace to intercede and make bearable that which cannot be borne. Today I am adding a prayer for courage and empathy; courage to face what has been and what must be and empathy to move with kind awareness of my fellow travelers on this horrific road. We are all being called to change and grow. This is scary as shit. We are already nerve-wracked and tired, but we Cant. Stay. Here. There is nothing left of the old life, the old me, the old us that was here before you died. It's gone. We have to pick up the only pieces that matter - our love for each other - and move along. We have to leave the rest behind.

I love you,
Mom

For Thor - 16 - Render

I find myself very serious, thoughtful and emotive these days. There is little or no room for joy. The emotions that encumber my attention are heavy like wet leaves. The words that used to come to help me articulate what is happening are choked because the feelings that emerge are so damned suffocating. I don't want to admit the harshness of how I am feeling even to myself, anymore. I've been depressed with anxiety before…this feels way too much like that and it scares the shit out of me. My little boat won't stay afloat. It slips beneath the waterline and hovers there beneath the surface. I am bailing like crazy with daily prayer and a healthy routine, writing, photography and movies…a lot of movies. Will I find my way back to peace again? Will I emerge from this cocoon with new wings and a new ability to fly? Doubt has gained a little toehold. What to do about that?

We had weekend featuring ever more chatter and busyness. All the activity plunged me deeper into this hole. I am trying to figure out why this happens. What about Life moving on around me causes this hyper-angst and sucking sadness? Laughter physically hurts and often turns to tears.

At the end of a noisy day, I lay down to go to sleep and that is when I am engulfed in the heaviness. The movie theater of memory plays the night you died over and over. The eyes of friends and family reflect back to me the horror, the truth; the one that my mind is still trying to absorb and can't, quite. If it's a good night, I hear your voice and remember your smile and I can conjure your confident swaggering walk and your great sense of humor. But often the memory movie dwells on how you were thrown forcefully out of that truck, hit your head and died right then and there on the ground. How I wish I could have protected you from your own volition, your own brash cockiness, your own date with fate. Then the movie moves on to that horrible moment when I saw you laid out in a casket. I held your hand and it gutted me that it was so cold. All I wanted to do was warm you up. I wanted to transfer every bit of life energy and warmth from my body to yours. I would give all of what I am to see you released from this terrible new story line.

We say, and I know this to be true, that the body is merely a vehicle for spirit to walk about and experience Life. Like a coat, the body is shed when it is no longer usable and the spirit moves on. I just have to say that I really, really liked this coat, Thor. Like a lot. And I really, really liked you walking around wearing it, sweet boy. So the physical Mom's heart is ripped to shreds and still bleeds freely. The spiritual MA, the one that is so connected to the Real You, expands and grows toward that Divine Love with each day and knows that any story of this plane is limited and subject to change.

I can't reconcile what is happening around me with what is happening inside me with what is happening at the soul level. I don't know how to move, how to talk, how to walk, how to think, how to laugh, how to work, now. The gulf is so wide and deep that I wonder if I can ever pull these pieces back together.

I've been reading some pretty deep stuff lately to help me come to grips with you dying and how to greet each day that passes. There is solace in spiritual texts, memoirs from others who have traveled this road and even some of the very wise social media memes that pepper my content feeds daily. These gems of wisdom invite me to take heart and seek the immortal spirit where you are whole and hale. While others remind me to be gentle with this earthly mother's heart. They remind me that grief is a process that will slow and ease into something bearable - given time. I have some advice on how to ride the waves that rise up to capsize me. There are many offerings to remind me that you are with me every moment as a bright, shining angel and that you will walk with me as long as I am on this road. I have been told I will never get over it, nor through it.

It's too much. I am overwhelmed with everything, and yet I need everything that is being offered just so I can get by. This is grief work and it fucking sucks. No wonder my little boat is willing to simply slip away quietly into a gray and numb place. Depression offers the illusion of rest for a weary heart. It is not rest, it is a life-sucking energy vampire that lays in wait for me. I have to keep paddling, bailing, striving for --- something. I don't even know where I am going anymore. I thought I had a some coordinates to guide me on this journey. I thought that the discovery of Divine Love would help me find you and would offer an answer and maybe it will whenever I eventually get there. Right now that seems a far off destination when I am in the middle of these ripping gale force winds and crushing currents.

The truth is, this is not answerable. This is not solvable. We are different now. More different than I ever imagined we would be. We are on new headings to places I never imagined existed inside the human heart. I'm gonna get the crap kicked out of me on this road. In this crucible I'll be purified, but not until I've melted and softened in the fire. On this raging sea, I will have to learn to sail and sometimes swim for shore. It's exhausting and consuming to be on this journey of spirit, fire, water, blood and bone.

I fervently pray for Grace to intercede and help me endure what is not endurable. I pray that I can render unto God what is God's; You and me - all of us, really. This surrendered state will offer real rest if I can do it. Render unto God what is God's…

Gah! Like I said, Thor, these are heavy, heavy thoughts. I need a break. Movie, anyone?

I love you,
Mom

For Thor - 15 - Weave

The last couple of days were full. I went to Nana's house for several hours on Wednesday and while I was there your urn was delivered from UPS. It's really beautiful, but it broke my heart. Again. We took a walk down the LOTUS road and I meditated a while at Chidambaram Shrine, pleasant but intense. I visited with Mimi who, at 94, always offers such sage wisdom. She misses you, too. Starr sent me the last pictures ever taken of you. The ones where you and I are dancing in the kitchen. I didn't dare show them to anyone that night. Your dad was so tired and needed to end his night without emotional upset. So, I stared at them and wept, alone.

Yesterday, I had a shiatsu massage, talked with Aunt Elena who called to check in on me. Nana and Grandpa drove me to town, we went to the grocery store and then to your Dad's office. Dad and I had our first counselling session.  We went out to dinner and engaged in some pleasant conversation and even shared a laugh or two.

After we got home, Dad and I played Shadows over Camelot with your brothers. I am not sure if anyone else is marking the Thursday nights at 9:45 like I am. I kept silent vigil as that moment approached. You have been dead for four weeks, my sweet son. I inhaled slowly and deeply to ride the cutting emotions without causing alarm. It would have been cruel to yank everyone away from the small flotilla of joy we were sharing, to make them stop the game and fall into that painful memory.

Your presence in the room, at that moment, was very strong, Thor. I clearly sensed that you are happy for us to be making new memories. I felt the love you have for us and how sorry you are that we are in such pain.

It was a lot to take in.

After we successfully saved Camelot from the Picts and Saxons and we settled into bed, I realized I was deeply troubled. There are cross-currents pushing me in too many directions at once, the pace is too fast. There must be time to absorb what is happening around and inside of me. There is too much talk and too many questions. The world is drawing me back into its rhythm and I can't possibly match it - and I don't want to. The solo-walk and chat with you under the wide-open skies, that is an integral part of my routine for healing, hasn't happened for two days and it is eating at me. It is just as I feared, the busy, noisy world will just traipse along chatty and restless as ever. It will pull me into its heedless pace to where I cannot take this time to grieve for you, the way I need to.

There is no linear progress on this trek. What is progress, anyhow? Today, I think it means I don't feel so acutely horrid or like a refugee all the time. One step forward, three steps back and a big slide to the side. Not so much progress today.

Some mornings I want to scream "Fuck off!" to the sun - like today. I just want to cry and not worry if someone is worried that I am crying too much, or that my tears of anguish cause them angst, or that I don't want to leave the house, yet, or that two days of being out exhausts me, or that I have strayed too far into the deep-end of grief and am approaching the edge of reason. 

Yeah, this is life in the deep-end, alright.

It feels as if I am splintered into several distinct pieces and each one has a different need. I am at once a grieving mother who has lost a son, a mother to living children who are grieving and need their mom, a wife to a husband who is also grieving, a daughter/sister/friend who mourns with and receives from, and a spiritual being who is opening to a bigger understanding of divine love and the greater purpose of life. The pieces of me that are an employee and community member are still darkened and haven't begun to function, yet.

It's going to take time and Grace to weave myself back into wholeness. Like Grandmother Spider who patiently weaves the web of life, I need to settle into the deep, reflective pools of time and peaceful spaces to pull these pieces of myself back together. To weave them into a new design. My life will be forever changed by your death, Thor. I'm never going to be the same me that was before. That's okay. The rich beauty of your time with us and the asteroid-like impact you have on our hearts is being woven into this new pattern. In this way, and a myriad of others, you are always with me. 

One step forward, three steps back and a big slide to the side...  Progress on this new weaving is going to take a lot of time.

I love you, 

Mom

For Thor - 14 - Floe

Normal life. I admit, I resent it and its persistent knocking at the door. How the hell is it possible that the world is still trudging along like nothing happened? I get my fair share of advice from people who may or may not have traveled this road, many of them offering the same words of encouragement; a return to normal life, whatever the heck that means, is going to help me. Help me do what, I wonder? Get through? Get past? Move beyond? Live with? I don't know what or how it will be for me down the road. Is it wrong to say I can't "do normal"? At least, not yet?

I have been testing out ideas to resume my "normal" schedule. It's a dicey business. I poke and prod the notions of work, responsibility and community service like an explorer in the Arctic testing the stability of chunks of ice in a floe. They are not stable enough to stand on, to take action on. Not yet. They would flip me off and into the icy sea in a second if I put weight on them. But like a floe, these pieces of my life, these pieces of me, move along a gentle current. They spin and swirl in eddies of pragmatism and life-affirming need to serve and love others. They gather piece by piece and knit together into new forms. These new forms just may be able to bear weight…

I tentatively test them with a mental probe. Am I ready to take this on? Not yet.
How about just a tiny piece of it? Maybe. This is progress toward the regular pace of normal life. I suppose it's good. I still resent it.

Each moment that passes takes me further away from the you that walked here on this Earth with me. Each moment that passes pushes us deeper into a new dynamic, the one where I don't get to hold you in a hug or share the ups and downs of this life with you here on this Earth. Each moment that passes takes me further away from the warmth of your smile and the sound of your voice. The everyday actions of normal life will accelerate this terrible time slippage. It will distract me as time ticks by and when my attention again turns to reach for you, I will find that you are even more ethereal than before. I resent the shit out of this. I know it's inevitable. I know I must rebound and re-engage. I know…I know… But damn, it's hard to step out into my life when I know you will be left here, frozen in time, forever nineteen. I'll become an old lady, a grandma to your brother's kids. But never for yours. I hate moving forward and leaving this you behind.

The daily ritual that I do each day helps. Hatha Yoga, a little meditation, hot coffee, write to you, sweep the floors, make the bed, walk outside where I can talk to you. Love up your brothers and your dad. I cry when the waves crash over and through me. Each day I gain strength and perspective as I learn to live with your death. The totality of what it means to body, mind and soul is gradually integrated into my being. If that's not a testament to the resiliency and strength of a human heart, Thor, I don't know what is.

New ideas for living a life replete with love, joy, and happiness surface once in a while. Like tiny colored fish, they dart across the sea of my mind and draw my attention for a second before they are gone in a flash, back into the subconscious. It is there that they will continue to grow and bring new patterns for living into my heart. They are not ready to show themselves for long. Not yet. For now, it is enough that I know they are there. They are hope, Thor. Perhaps you sent them to help me find my way back to 'normal' and maybe even, to once again, experience joyful laughter.

I love you,
Mom

For Thor - 13 - Biggest Big

I went for a long walk through unbroken snow yesterday. The sun was bright and the sky offered a beautiful display of clouds that danced across that blue expanse. The wind gently tugged at my scarf and kissed my cheek. I was pulled by a deep need to find some high spot along the road where I could see the rolling lay of the land. I was called to stand on the same ground as you did on your last day. You know where, coming up the trail from the creek, right where Chaz came to "rescue" you and Travis after you two knuckleheads had been "lost" on a long hike in search of a deer.

Home is my restful cave, a sanctuary to recuperate and reflect. Nature is where I am able to move and shift these heavy feelings as I work through them. I told Aunt Lakshmi how all I want to do is lay on a beach and soak up the sun and let the ocean absorb my tears and pain. The ocean is big. A beach is big. A wide open sky is big. I need big nature where I can wail from the depths of my soul and it doesn’t feel overwhelming. If I do that in the house it's too contained, the energy bounces off the walls, echoing and reverberating endlessly. So I seek big nature. On some days, I need the Biggest Big Nature I can find. I would go to the moon and pour this anguish out into the deep abyss of space and let Mars and Jupiter know just what it means to be a human mother.

Eventually, I found that spot where I could see over the hills and the creek valley that is your backyard. I felt you so close there in that moment. So, we had a chat, didn't we? I wailed to the cloud-studded sky, to the sun-dazzled snow; to you.

I would like to have been able to say goodbye to you. I mean if this was really the deal we made, and clearly it was, then it seems only fair that I would be allowed a chance to say," Oh, is it time for that already?" I wish I could have known that you were going on a really, really long trip. And that I would be put on a new road; a new journey, as well. I would have stopped what I was doing, wiped my hands on a tea towel and taken a moment to look deep into your eyes where our souls could see each other. I would hold your sweet face in my hands and kiss your brow and tell you how very much I love you. I would ask if I could pack you a lunch because that's what mothers do when our kids go on long trips. You would remind me that it is okay, even if it sucks epically, and that this is all part of a greater Life Plan. (Who the fuck thinks up plans like this, huh?) We would know with a deep understanding that we'll see each other again, sometime down the road. That the anguish won't last forever, although the transformation will.

We are in this together, Thor. I would not be walking this road if not for your death. You are complicit in this current state of things. As souls that have work to do together, I hold you to the contract of our partnership, sweetheart. You may be a badass angel, but I am still your mom until I depart this life, dammit! I hope that you don't leave us too quickly in search of new adventures. Walk this road with me as my angel guide. Let me feel you near when I have to navigate the rough patches along the way. Let me feel you near when there is joy, again. Walk this road with your brothers and your dad, too. We all need you to help us with this sudden plot twist that has left us all bewildered and unsure.

All this I said, and more. Then I closed my eyes and waited. I heard you in the wind and felt you in the warm sun that dried my tears. You're here with me, with us, for the long haul. Your love is all around me, every moment. Have faith.

I'm glad we found time and a place to talk, Thor.

I love you,
Mom

For Thor - 12 - Sorrow

This shit is deep, Thor. The currents here are deep and wide, slow-moving and powerful. These are not the choppy waves at the surface of this sea of grief. I am sinking into new levels, closer to the heart of the matter.

There is a lot of suffering here. Everything is exposed and everything is moving. Nothing will ever be the same, again. 

This is one scary-ass notion. Fear causes suffering.
I sometimes don't want to expose and feel all these emotions. I don't want to admit you are dead. Resistance causes suffering.
I am wracked with guilt for not doing a better job as your mom and protector. Guilt causes suffering.
I am to blame, even if my logical mind knows there is no one to blame. Blame causes suffering.

Gradually and sometimes with excruciating slowness, these deep currents push me into these painful places. They say this is a natural part of grief, to confront one's own inner blocks. They say that all my "stuff" will surface. I think of a seawall where waves crash against it and are amplified to great heights when they hit that resistance.

Well, Thor, I have a good raging sea crashing the shit out of about a dozen seawalls all at once. Deep currents push and pull me in many directions at once. It is spectacular and exhausting. The spiritual teachings I've been given are helping me pray for and access the tools to dismantle these blocks - Grace being the main one. I pray hard for Grace to intercede. This is so deep and so wide I must have help. Help has come. I am not alone in navigating these tractor-beam currents that could easily destroy me.

I had a great spark of clarity this morning. Suffering is not the same as Sorrow. Sorrow feels good somehow. It's right and appropriate for me to feel deep sorrow. It hurts deeply, but it's the same way it hurts when a broken bone knits back together. It's a healing hurt. I can feel you and the love for you in this sorrowful place. When I am caught in a suffering current there is only agony which causes more damage, and worse, I do not feel you close, at all.

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.
T'was Grace that taught my heart to fear.

And Grace, my fears relieved.
How precious did that Grace appear
The hour I first believed.
Through many dangers, toils and snares
I have already come;
'Tis Grace that brought me safe thus far
and Grace will lead me home.
The Lord has promised good to me.
His word my hope secures.
He will my shield and portion be,
As long as life endures.
Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
And mortal life shall cease,
I shall possess within the veil,
A life of joy and peace.

My earnest prayer is that we will all be free from suffering. That we will all be free to feel that sweet sorrow as we mourn your death. And that we will all awaken in a state of Grace and be filled with Peace as we take steps forward on that new day with you ever in our hearts, dear boy.

With all my love,
Mom

For Thor - 11 - Vigil

I am a mother who has lost a beloved son, the child of my soul. Mourning your death consumes me. I wonder if I'll ever feel joy again, for real? Scattered moments of amused distraction here and there can draw a smile and even a small laugh, but it doesn't sing from a joyful place in my heart. I laugh because your dad and brothers, and even I, need to hear it. It's a signal that I am not so far gone into this journey that I can't be reached. Even false laughter has a purpose, I suppose. But it's weak and a little pathetic to my ears. It feels out of sync with where I am right now. My whole being is a House of Mourning. Is there room for joyful laughter in these hushed halls or must I abandon them?

The thought of moving out of mourning anytime soon is out of the question. I am rooted here, locked in position like a sentinel standing vigil. This is my privileged duty, to have borne, raised, love, and now, grieve for you, Thor. I will stay here until I can stay no longer. When the sun dawns one day and there is a new warmth, a new glow, shining on me that invites me to move, only then will I abandon this post and take up a new one.

Still, I wonder…can there be joyful laughter in this House of Mourning? Is there room for the deepest anguish and for happiness, too? Do I have to stop mourning you to have a smile reach my eyes? I tried so hard yesterday to muster a good effort for your brother's birthday. It was too soon. I crumbled under the effort and ended up in the bed hugging a stuffed dog. I was put there by your dad who suggested that I needed to take a nap. Grief is exhausting. Later, we did okay. We cooked a nice supper and enjoyed watching some shows together. I know they all notice that I am a little forced in my cheerfulness and a little desperate in my need to hug them tightly.

I say 'I Love You' to them all the time now and I hope they don't mind. Like an amputee constantly touches the remaining limbs to be sure they are there - our family has lost a limb - and so I constantly reach out to be sure they are still here. I touch your dad's hair or hand. I hug Chaz and Xan for a long time so I can smell their hair and sometimes cry on their shoulder. I am reassuring myself - and hopefully them, too - that we are going to be okay. Never the same, but okay as long as we are together.

Lemme tell you what, Thor. I am not even a little bit okay with all of this. But, I am trying my best to be real in each moment and to be open to how I can grow through this experience.

I am in a strange land. The terrain is treacherous. I don't know the way. I'm not scared because I know you are with me.

All I know for sure is that Love holds the key to it all.

The Love that unites us all cuts deep to sever the illusion of separateness and pushes me beyond my human limitations so I can see; we are all one. This is the Love of God. It calls to me to step into a greater understanding of how we are all connected. It can help us all bring more light to the world. This is the real lasting legacy of your life and passing, for those who are brave enough to take it up.

These are the pieces of insight I've gained from standing vigil over long days and nights, unrelieved. It is a sacred place.

Still, I wonder can there be joyful laughter here, too? What good is all this love and light if there is no joy?

Maybe it's too soon and I am not ready. I can hear you say, "Patience, mama. Have a little patience. It will unfold in its own time. Be gentle with yourself. I'll help you along the way."

Good to know I have such a badass angel on my side.

I love you,
Mom