For Thor - 30 - Breath by Breath

I have found that your presence is everywhere. I see you diffused among the trees and how you are also the wind that sings through their branches. You are the inquisitive hawk that hovered in low-hanging thermals just above Aunt Lakshmi's and my heads the other day when we were walking. You are the serenade in the tree frogs chirping. You have expanded into the soft white light of the moon and stars that illumine the koi pond outside my bedroom window. You echo in my heart on the reverberation of the wind chimes in the garden.

Even as I feel you are everywhere, I miss the sweet face and cheerful laugh that belonged to you, my physical son. I miss the strong arms and the big bear hugs. I miss my sweet little boy, who you will always be, to me. I see you in my heart as that innocent, and yet wise, child. You came into this life with a vast depth of wisdom shining through those beautiful blue eyes. I am so profoundly sad that you will never walk in our door again. It's okay that I miss you and that I cry for you, Thor. I am not damaged or broken for the tears. Crying for our lost children, that's what we moms do, you know.

But now, I have caught a glimpse of the treasure that rewards the brave ones who will sit in the breathless deep. I have followed the breadcrumb path you've left along this trail of sorrow to the bottom of the well of grief. I sit here for countless, breathless moments open-hearted and fearless in the face of the pain. My heart wrenches and my eyes pour forth the tears that are the sacred waters of this well. Resting here, the query to the cosmos is pure…Who Am I?

You might wonder how I came to this query when so many other questions might be on the tip of my tongue. All of my other questions are answered. This is the only one left. The only one that matters. It is what sorrow is pushing me to embrace; a deep knowing of truth that transcends body and mind. It's beautiful and maybe a little ironic that death is what drives me to understand life.

Today, I feel less profoundly devastated than I have in a long time. I have accessed a deep, pervading peace, and I feel a calm assurance that All is Well. And this wellness is truly inclusive. It embraces all that I can think, dream, name, know or sense. And yes, it includes you and me, Thor.

I can't pretend to have constancy in this space, yet, but it is more present each moment, more accessible. There are still those spiraling emotions that wind deep into suffering. I am wretched over the loss of your life, and I lament over the fact that you won't be here to live alongside us in all the days yet to dawn. But now, I can appreciate this suffering as an expression of a mother's love. Nothing more. Nothing less. And once I've cried and dried my eyes, I can slip back beneath the stories of "mother" and "son" to rest again in that deep peace and love that connects us all.

And so I learn, day by day, breath by breath, thought by thought... how to live, again.

I love you,
Mom

For Thor - 29 - Deepest Deep

Mother Ocean. Being able to rest near the ocean is probably the biggest reason I agreed to come on this trip. The trifecta of sand, surf and sunshine would smooth the jagged edges of my heart and be a healing balm for the suffering I've lived with since you died eight weeks ago.

Waves crash on the shore with a steadfast constancy that predates our human race, there is an ancient knowing there. The mother of all the waters is big enough to swallow me whole into that still oneness that rests in her vast depths. The ocean's saltiness is proof, to me, that she is a repository of tears. All the tears shed from all the suffering in the whole eternity are pooled together in these primordial and wise waters. What better place to empty this broken bleeding heart?

When we arrived at Cocoa Beach, I could hardly wait to get my feet in the sand. My toes were itching to feel the water pull the sand from beneath them and the agony out of my soul along with it. I felt the ocean breeze like an embrace and the sound of the surf welcomed me with her song. "Come, my daughter. Rest your head. Lay down the burden of your heart. Sit a while. Tell me everything."

Existentialism is my great preoccupation when I am around the ocean. A chord deep inside is me is struck when I first hear the sound of the surf. It resonates throughout my being integrating itself into my thoughts, words, and deeds. I am more silent. More still. More in touch with the Truth. Creative dreaming is amplified. I register beauty with all my senses; have you ever smelled a sunrise or tasted the wind? This visit to the shore is no different except for one big thing. This time, I carry the burden of being a bereaved mother with me. I yearn to unpack the vast mountain of jumbled emotions and sorrow on the warm sand and let the sun and wind pick through them. I want to cast the questions that plague me out into the vast expanse of the sea - an SOS message in a bottle to the cosmos. I wonder about you. And me. And how I can learn to move again. I want to know where you are. What happened after you died? I want to write messages to you in the sand and let the waves deliver these notes to you as they wash across and erase them.

I was awake last night as the full moon shone over the inky green and black surface of the sea. The silver white light twinkled off a million little waves as they sparkled and danced for a bit and then fell back into the water. Great swells gathered together to form the big waves that come ashore. It is easy to see how similar we are to the waves on the ocean. Our lives are like the water that rises into a wave. Empowered by an irresistible current and a life force that pushes us riding higher and higher, we ultimately crash upon the sand or roll back into the ocean itself. Some waves are big. Some are small. Some have spray peeling back from their crest in spectacular displays. Some pound the shore with a terrible force and others lap gently on the sand delivering seashells in their wake. No matter the size or the length of time the wave dances, or how much of a splash it made or how silent it was, all of them come to their end. All of them dissolve back into the sea.

Our lives -- and especially your life -- is fleeting, like these waves on the ocean. We are born and rise full of energy and potential. We live a while, dancing across the surface of the water with all the other waves. And then, when it's time for that energy to move in a new direction, the wave just falls back into the sea. Are we not like that?

So my questions of "where are you?" and "where did you go?" are answered by the sea. You are That. We are all That - the I AM of Moses. But what about that wave that was you in your short and brilliant life? Did it exist as something tangible and real? Was it ever anything other than the ocean? How can I follow this sorrow down into the depths to where I can know the truth? What does it want to reveal?

I can see that our tendency is to dwell on the surface, focusing on the waves and less on the deep expanse of power that rests beneath. We get confused when we identify ourselves as a wave. We are comical in our attempt to declare ourselves separated from all other the other waves and estranged even from the water itself.

I sat with this concept and followed it intensely since that is what sorrow is leading me to do. It began to be clear how easy it is to slip beneath the surface and live from the perspective of being the water, not the wave. We are all connected in the vast expanse of the sea of creation. The water that is in the wave is the same water that is in the deepest deep of the peace that passeth all understanding.

The memory of the wave-life you lived is beautiful to recall. It is a cherished and treasured story that we tell and savor for the love it brings up in our hearts. But it is not who you are. When you died, the wave you were riding rolled up on the shore and ended the story of your life, this life. But you belong, as ever, to the whole vast unknowable deep peace from which we all arise. It is here when I dive deeply beneath the busy currents on the surface; where I find you resplendent with the greatest love and light. I have found where you, as love, reside. This is what sorrow and the deep blue sea opened up inside of me...this knowing.

From the Deepest Deep of the Biggest Big, 

I love you,
Mom

For Thor - 28 - South

From now on, everything is a new experience; part of the new life that is happening after your death.

The big part of me wants to be still and silent where I can remain connected to you in that stillness. I want to sit only with this sorrow and allow it to flow through me like a river ribbons in and out of the crevices of a canyon. I'm slowly being woven back together in the deep solitude and silence that rests in the center of my soul. It takes time, but it might also be good to have some sunshine to help me along. Perhaps some rest and a small respite from the heavy, hard work of grieving would be just the thing.

So we piled into the truck and headed south. Our first destination was Savannah. As you know, a road trip is something I love. I take my place as the shotgun rider and cheerily chat about the scenery, local history, and random trivia. I make snacks and play music. I am the fun-maker. This trip I found myself mute, unable to carry on conversations. I am unable to remark on the passing landscape and interesting way-places. It's impossible to talk about you without tears, and it feels like avoidance if we don't. We are awkward and heavy with our clashing styles of grief. But it's okay. Learning to allow each other to grieve on our own terms is part of how the family gets knit back together. Another thing is 'us' learning how to be 'us' without you here. This is why we are on this trip. This is one of the reasons I said, "Okay, let's go."

Dad buoyed us along and kept a watchful eye on me knowing that leaving was going to be the hardest part. I had one anxiety attack just outside Appomattox. The thought of leaving you behind as we set off on this adventure - this family vacation without a member of our family - was more than I could bear. Note to self; I can quell anxiety if I breathe deeply and repeat my mantra with a set of mala beads. I was happy to find that this lifeline worked perfectly to restore peace when emotions get too big for my body or the cab of the truck.

As we moved south and the temperature gently rose, I could feel something inside me start to ease. I felt you were traveling with us, for one thing. You were right there in the truck riding along in all our hearts and with all our thoughts. I could relax a little and rest knowing we did not leave you behind. And I do need rest. I have never been so tired in my entire life. Grief has settled in my bones and exhausted me from the inside out. The warm sun is the perfect antidote. The soft sweet air of early spring in the south warms and fills the hollow parts of me with the energy from the stars.

Distractions are good, as they offer a much-needed respite for a weary heart. I am still not healed. Rushing headlong into the world full of whirling colors and sounds is overwhelming. The anguish of your death and my broken heart are so close to the surface at any moment. But, I know the world is not going anywhere. It will be there ready for me when the time is right. I can dip a toe in or even take a little swim and then retreat to rest once again.

Savannah was a pleasant distraction for us all. She was perfect for us with her laid back vibe steeped in southern charm. We wandered her streets like a band of nomads searching for, well, each other. We got lost amid the live oaks, Spanish moss, fountains and food and began to feel out the edges of the pieces of our family. I laughed, like actually laughed, for the first time since December 31. And there were tears, too. I cried in the breathtakingly beautiful St. John's Cathedral where I lit a candle for you and offered up my bleeding heart to Mother Mary. Of all the saints, she knows something about the pain of losing a beloved child and the transformative power of love.

The family had fun. For me it was poignant, but fun, nonetheless. We bought everyone hats in a famous river walk hat shop and then wore them the whole time we were in Savannah. We elicited many compliments and comments from our fellow travelers about our hats. We ate at small local and acclaimed eateries. We raised a glass to you over some amazing Cajun shrimp and grits in a brown roux that I know you would have loved. We rode on the prow of the river ferry back and forth half-dozen times from our hotel and marveled at the rising moon over this ghost-inhabited city. We laughed at how you would have rolled your eyes at the idea of wandering aimlessly around Savannah for 8 hours looking at fountains, trees, and cemeteries.

Bit by bit, we are learning how to walk again with one of our legs missing. It hurts, but it is possible.

With this knowledge we piled into the truck and pushed on, heading further south and deeper into the warm embrace of the sun. See you on Cocoa Beach, Bubby.

I love you,
Mom

For Thor - 27 - Ashes & Ink

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

For Thor - 26 - Walk

I was grateful for the cardinals yesterday. They haven't been here for almost a whole year and then when I was feeling so very low, my head throbbing from crying I spied a flash of red outside my window -- and there he was, bright, spry, cocky and beautiful. Just like you. As if that wasn't enough, his mate came to play and then they brought some friends. I know this was you showering me in cardinals to tell me you are here and that you are okay and that somehow, I'll be okay, too.

The weather was bleak, but I went out for a walk anyhow. I was compelled to take the Big Camera, not merely my cell phone. I walked and talked to you as I always do and felt you fall in step along with me. I swear you held my hand. My heart burst open and tears streamed down my face - as they always do when I am in the Biggest Big, the great outdoors and am talking to you.

Then something magical happened; you and I began to play. As I trudged along my usual route, subtle and unusual bits of natural beauty sprung up before me. You showed them to me, illumined with a special aura. All I had to do was listen and see through my heart, focus and snap the shutter. I felt a great calm and comfort settle over me after I came home. I looked through the photos, and it was like replaying a treasured conversation in my mind.

Today I was late getting up. I lagged and dragged butt just getting myself in gear - whatever that means these days. When I finally rolled over to look out the window, the spectacular display of sunlight dancing over and ice-encrusted world pulled me outdoors, in my pajamas. I didn't want to miss even one second of the fantastic show.

Later, I finally made it outdoors for our walk. Again I was rewarded with your presence, but today you led me off-road and down a new trail through the woods, over the creek and back up the ridge to our house by way of the spring. The whole time we moved in companionable silence through the snowy woods. I laughed out loud because you kept showing me dragons in the remains of rotting stumps that poked through the sun-sparked snow. It was a brilliant day of beauty and such a delicious comfort to discover we can interact like this.

As I topped the last hill before turning for home, the tears fell - not the tears of suffering, not even the tears of sorrow. These are tears of love. Looking up, I noticed a large old oak tree her branches climbing into the vast blue expanse of the sky. I rested my forehead on her bark and wrapped my arms around her stout trunk. A tree is a good crying buddy; all the ancient energy of the earth rises through the trunk and to offers a profound and soothing solace.

I'll not lie; I miss you terribly. My heart breaks at the thought of you not being here to live out your life and to share all those adventures with us. But today I have a glimmer of hope in my heart that I'll not only survive, but once again, thrive. It will take time, and that's okay. I'll not be the same as I was, and that's okay, too. I know you will help - and sometimes that means we just go for a walk in the woods and play with the light.

I love you,
Mom

For Thor - 25 - Breathless

Today, Mama is not okay. I woke up with an extra heaviness on my chest. Moving through my morning Yoga postures caused the dam break. Wracking sobs overwhelmed me, and an ocean of tears was let loose. Nope, Mama, is not okay. Not. Not. Not.

In the wake of Valentine's Day, which was very hard (I put a brave face on it for the rest of the family), I am flung back into the deepest part of the abyss. It hurts to be here where I can't breathe, and I can't escape. Each day that passes, and especially holidays, gradually concretize the fact that you are physically dead and are not coming back, ever. My psyche only permits acceptance of this horror a tiny bit at a time. The facts gain more solidity and weight as time ticks on. I cry a lot and hope in vain that this river of tears can wash away the horror. I imagine that somehow, my tears and pleas restore rightness; the rightness of you living and breathing among us.

My head can't get around the facts of this new reality. Am I backsliding into denial? It seems that grieving works, not in a linear expression of phases, but in spiraling cycles. I move through each step and do a little work on each, one at a time. Then I am back around to the beginning again, only up a level further on the spiral. Denial, sadness, anger, forgiveness, acceptance, denial, sadness, anger, forgiveness, acceptance….and on and on. Some days it feels like I am working on more than one at a time. These are hard days to handle.

Turning into the pain and facing these facts requires bravery. I am not shying away from writing the word "dead." Still, there is a big part of me that remains wrapped a protective bubble. I am only permitted to feel as much as I can bear and process each day. This shielding must be the work of Grace acting as a step-down transformer or governor switch. Grace actively throttles the pain and helps me to endure this unendurable anguish. It keeps me from losing my fucking mind. On this level, in the physical realm, Mama's heart is broken and hurts big time.

Meanwhile, I am finding new pathways into deeper consciousness. In the deep well of grief, I experience a hyper-expanded state of awareness. It is here that I can feel my way along the tethers that connect us all to Divine Source, and I can touch you. It is here that my heart, having been cracked open by grief, is overwhelmed with love and gratitude. The tears that flow are from a sacred pool that is sustained by the well-spring of Love. These are the same tears that Mary sheds for Jesus and that Quan Yin sheds for all human suffering. These are the same tears that every person sheds when their ripped open heart must learn to heal through compassion and love.

Reconciling the real mom with the existential, spiritual mom is hard. Yeah, I know the truth. I know you are okay and free beyond my understanding. I know you are still here with us in our lives and that there is good yet to come from this tragedy. I know that you are not the body and mind, but are immortal Self. You are my badass angel looking over me - over all of us.

However, knowing the truth doesn't mean we get an automatic pass on suffering. The work of grief results in reconciling two vantage points - the physical realm where suffering and sorrow exists and the realm where we are all connected in love. The one leads to the other if I can build the bridge and cross it.

The Well of Grief
Those who will not slip beneath
     the still surface on the well of grief
         turning downward through its black water
            to the place we cannot breathe
will never know the source from which we drink,
     the secret water, cold and clear,
        nor find in the darkness glimmering
            the small round coins
thrown by those who wished for something else.
-- David Whyte

There are great rewards for those who are fearless of being breathless and willing to dive deeply.

Your hurting, broken Mama needs refuge in the deepest quiet of the well of grief. Here can heal the acute anguish of the day. Here I'll find you, and hopefully, my Self, too.

I love you,
Mom

For Thor - 24 - Valentine

It's Valentine's Day. So, yeah, you should be here. You would have taken Starr out for dinner and done something over the top and amazing to make a romantic evening. And then hopefully you'd have dropped by for Sunday supper and to receive the little candy heart from dad and me. Instead, I am writing you a love letter by a blog and hoping that the angel realm has access to the internet.

In keeping with the traditional cheesy Valentine theme, I want to use the letters of your name to reflect on the awesomeness of you. THURSTON Lewie, Eyes of Bluey, will you be my Valentine?

T is for Tremendous
In nineteen short years, you managed to live a life with tremendous impact on a great number of people. I am so impressed by just how many people have told me that you were their best friend and that you always listened when they needed to talk or that you would unquestioningly help them out in times of trouble or distress. It is tremendous that you volunteered at every opportunity, helping others, the community, and your family.

You also loved tremendously, fearlessly giving your whole heart and rolling with it wherever it might take you. I was amazed at how one so young could go so far in love.

H is for Hilarious
Your sense of humor is legendary. Combined with a whip-crack sharp intellect you picked up Dad's and my joyfully irreverent streak and took it to new heights. When I get a chance to talk with your friends, they regale me with tales of how you would have everyone cracking up with your antics and quick comebacks. What I love is that you didn't hurt anyone's feelings in the attempt to make a joke, using yourself as the fall guy, instead. It was a great day for me whenever you came home and would cut-up with your brothers and dad. Blazing Saddles and Smokey and the Bandit would always get you guys going.

U is for Ubiquitous
Okay, I have no clue how the hell you were ever in all the places and with all the people you were in the waking hours of any day. It never appeared to us that you were in a hurry, but somehow you made the rounds. From one end of the county to the other, you shared your time, easy smile and kind heart with so many people. I've heard from your friends that they miss your presence; I take this as a recognition of how rooted you were in each moment, living it fully with each person. I never heard you say, I wish I were somewhere else, doing something else. When you felt it was time to move on to the next thing, you just rolled on with a cheerful, "See ya later, Hoss."

R is for Rambunctious
Rough and rowdy rambunctiousness ran in a broad streak in your life. From your youngest days, you were drawn to big trucks, horsepower, heavy machinery, high caliber guns, loud music and speed. A good day for you would involve any, and preferably many, of these with some added mud and grease to top it off. I had to laugh on those days when you would walk in the door muddy, greasy and covered in cockleburs and were surprised at my insistence that you drop trou on the porch. No greasy cockleburs on the couch, please. I loved how you were undaunted by, and maybe even called to, wet, cold, mud, snow, ice, grease, dust, heat, dirt, and loud, rowdy messiness. You would march right into it and do whatever it was that you wanted to do.

S is for Skillful
You know those people who can do anything they turned their hand and mind to? Yeah, that's you. From working on motors to carpentry, guitar picking and cooking your favorite meals, you learned how to do things with such ease. It was a natural expression of your Self to fix, create, sing, cook and share your talents with others. I always knew you had been to the house because there would be evidence of venison and gravy being whipped up on the stove. It was such a joy to hear you and your dad play guitar and sing together. I miss that a lot, I must say.

T is for Totally Gorgeous
Oh, my. Yep, Bubby. You are one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen since the second you were born. Blue-eyed and charming you won everyone's heart without guile from your earliest years. Your handsome and able body was a sight to behold as you grew to be a man, but through all your life it was your heart and soul that shone through. Allowing others to see who you are is what made the biggest impact. There are a lot of pretty people, Thor, but you had this extra magical air about you that captivated and endeared you to everyone.

O is for Ornery
And you know it, too! You had just enough orneriness in you to keep me on my toes. As frustrating as it could be when you were rascally and irascible, you weren't mean about it. I found myself bemused and tolerant in this rare expression of cantankerousness. I chalked it up to the growing pains of becoming a man…it's a hard thing to do.

N is for Notable
Your life is notable, Thor, and by this I mean extraordinary! The thing I hope that most people will remember is the legacy of how much you gave of yourself to others. It was incredible to me that an 89-year-old man would come to me and say how you two were buddies and the very next person who spoke to me was a 14-year-old girl who said the same thing. You cared for people and you cared about what they were going through. When you asked them what's going on, you wanted to hear the answer and would talk a while. This is notable.

The fire service requires a lot from its members; rigorous training, ill-timed tones that interrupt long-laid plans, a willingness to put others before oneself, these are just a few of the personal costs to serve. We need more young people shouldering these life-protecting roles in our community. I am beyond proud of you for walking this road and for taking up the mantle of community service and putting it as a top priority in your life. This is notable.

You are an unforgettable big brother for Chaz and Xan. They will forever inject your memory into their lives as they unfold. They will hold you close and remember the love, fun, kindness, wry humor and good times of your short, but notable life.

As for me, you are always my ultra-extraordinary first child. You are the one who made me a mom, defined a new role in my life and opened my heart to a new depth of love that I didn't know existed.  Submerged in the deep well of grief, I struggle each day since your death, Thor. Still, I wouldn't trade loving you less intensely for hurting less keenly, now. I will gladly pay the price of love like ours.

There you have it, Thor. My cheesy Valentine to you. I hope you can feel the love in my heart that sings to you each and every moment of each and every day. 

Happy Hearts Day, sweet boy!

I love you,
Mom

For Thor - 23 - Growth

We are marking six weeks since you died, today. How is it possible that I am writing these horrible words? How can it be true? Six weeks since I saw your smile and heard your laugh? Six weeks since you were a living breathing part of our family. Six weeks ago you moved on to another realm of being and we are here living out this hellish nightmare.

My mind rose out of sleep last night to find my thoughts preoccupied with you and your death. As usual. The middle of the night is when a lot of grief work happens, and I never know what will come up. As you might imagine, I was busily gnawing on a big wad of Mama Anger - the emotion of the day - when I threw myself out of bed in exasperation to stare out the window. Thought by thought I work to build an attitude of forgiveness. It's a struggle to dismantle the platform of anger and replace each plank with brand new planks of forgiveness. It doesn't happen overnight, and it only comes with diligent practice. I can tell you this; I am a reluctant forgiver at 2:30 in the morning, tired, shivering in my jammies and mentally roiling inside.

A car alarm suddenly went off in the driveway.

At first, I couldn't make sense of what I was seeing and thought it was Chaz's truck that had gone crazy. I woke Dad to stop it since he has that key. He looked outside and informed me that it was, in fact, my car that was blinking and blaring in the dark of the night. My car? What? My car alarm has never gone off. Ever.

In light of the conversation we were having when I woke and stared out the window, I took this to be you dropping by to let me know you hear me, and you are making damn sure I hear you. You know I'm mad, and I know you're sorry. I heard you implore me to find forgiveness in my heart. For all of our sakes. Anger is natural and has its purpose. I need to roar and yell at you and me and God and everyone. "This is some stupid fucking shit!" I scream into the abyss. Then anger must be returned to my back pocket. It is a catalytic force and is not supposed to be a state of being.

Used mindfully, anger gives voice to the deep hurt that lingers in the abyss of my soul. It amplifies and then burns away the anxious thoughts and regret I have about what "should be." It purges, clears and lays bare fresh ground primed for cultivating a new crop. However, before planting seeds, the ground must be prepared. And this is the role of forgiveness. It soothes and renders my heart ready to germinate the seeds of new life and unconditional love.

I see that this is not a linear journey. There is no direct path to take in this world colored by grief. I have been and will continue to be all over the map as I find my way back to wholeness. All my pieces are scattered, it is the only way to collect them all. I can be mad and forgive dozens of times over. As these circular cycles spin through my being they render my heart a little clearer and each time, a few more seeds are planted. I will be simultaneously mad, sad, happy, forgiving, cultivating and blossoming love for the rest of my life. This is the human condition, after all. Perhaps I'll learn to experience it with more awareness and compassion, now.

Thanks for the flashing lights and blaring horns, last night, Thor. I'm glad you came by to let me know you heard me roar and that you asked me to move beyond the anger. We are all worthy of love and forgiveness. We are all more than what we see on the surface. We are more than the story that surrounds us. We are all divine beings who have the potential to deeply affect each other's lives. You remind me of that, Thor. Everyday.

I miss you terribly. I love you deeply.
Forever and always, 

Mom

For Thor - 22 - Anger 2 - Imperfectly Perfect

The hearts and flowers of my last letter to you are set aside today. Anger is back. Maybe it never left. Maybe it just went underground in the face of the brazen, bold and determined attempts at making sense of this. Maybe I put it aside so I could deal with the urgency of not drowning in the absolute abject agony of this fact: you died on December 31st in a stupid, stupid, stupid, fucking car accident. In my conscious effort to wrap this agony in love and to cushion everyone from the wrath that seethes in me just below the surface, I have tabled my anger. Well, it's back and hotter than ever.

I've been deeply agitated the past couple of days. This morning as I was doing my usual routine, the one that keeps me afloat, anger rose up inside me, and it ROARED! And I'm not mad at God, Thor. I'm still mad at you.

The past weeks have been heartbreaking, soul-crushing and eviscerating. The whole family is torn up. Your beloved Starr is torn up. Your friends are torn up. We are all thrown into a helter-skelter new reality. A reality that doesn't make sense, one that hurts like hell, one that doesn't have you in it. And you know what? There is a big part of me that is pretty pissed off at you for making this mess. Our family - your whole family -, Thor, is gutted. Big time, and why? 

Sure, I can rationalize that there is an aspect of destiny. I tell myself that nothing happens that isn't for our highest purpose. I tell myself that your moments were both quantified and qualified by some Higher Power. I tell myself that the Great Hand put something in motion that neither of us could have avoided all to enact a greater scheme than either of us could ever hope to see. I tell myself that you and I will meet again and that we are connected in new ways so that I don't go insane wondering where the hell you are and if you're okay. I tell myself to look for and even to cultivate some good to come of this tragedy. HA!

I don't know anything for sure. There is not one damned thing that I can prove beyond these concepts constructed of human thought. We don't know anything about what happens after our loved ones die. We just guess and rely on faith. We wrap the story up in hopeful fairytales that have a happy ending. We cling to these fairytales so that a crazy world can make sense. These fairytales emerge from our deep-seated fear of the unknown, of our mortality -- of death. Right now, I have little faith in fairy tales. Right now, all I know for sure is that you are dead and that all of us who love you are in a world of suffering and sorrow. Right now, I am aware that on this level, the level of this earthly tale, you made choices, Thor. You made choices that killed you, nearly killed your friend and blew the whole damn world up. Epic fuck up, son.

There, I said it.

Do you know how gut-wrenching this is to say? Do you have any idea how guilty I feel for even feeling this way? What kind of mom lays blame on her dead son for the choices he made that killed him? And the crappy thing is that I saw this coming and I couldn't do a damned thing to stop it. I saw you running hell bent for leather toward the cliff, and you wouldn't slow down. You wouldn't change your course. You heeded no warning and accepted no advice. You just ran and ran until you ran right out of your life. Out of my life.

We are all imperfect, and we all make choices that hurt others. When I look back at my youth, I have to say that Nana & Grandpa could very easily have been laying me in my grave at age 19. I was wild as a March hare and wily as a fox. My friends and I drove too fast, and we drove impaired, we never wore seatbelts, we drank and smoked and didn't go where we told our parents we would be. We skirted the law and colored outside the lines because we felt alive and free when we were defiant. We made wild-ass choices that could have killed us at any time in any place. Somehow, they didn't. Somehow we were protected from our stupidity. Somehow we were lucky enough to survive teenage insanity and grow to build productive lives.

Reflecting on my choices and the mindset that made them - I was completely and utterly unconquerable - gives me some perspective. It is here where I can start to forgive you - and maybe me, too. I could have done a thousand things differently that may have resulted in something different happening. But we'll never know. What we have instead is a story that looks like a typical statistical occurrence; male teen driver, going too fast in a jacked-up truck, while under-age drinking, wearing no seatbelts…these are the facts. These facts added up to the combo-punch that took you. You rolled the dice, and the house won, son. Game over.

I can't hold it against you that you weren't as lucky as I was. I can't keep being mad at you for making choices that have caused so much pain. I made the same dumb choices. I survived. You didn't. I don't know why.

There is no why.

It just is.

I am left to deal with the shitty end of the stick, as they say.  Hence the anger. No one wants the shitty end of the stick, my boy. No one.

Don’t get me wrong, this anger doesn't lessen my love for you. But you know that, don't you? We've done this dance together a few times, huh? My ire was always hard for you to face because I knew you so well and could see into the core of your being. You couldn't bullshit me on the stuff that matters. I am intimately aware of the firm and softer places in your character. Everyone who saw us knows that we are twin souls. I knew your heart and mind better than you did and because we're so much the same, and I had already been where you were. I have experience reconciling all those internal compass points that you still grappled with. While I could see that you had so much moving in a good direction, I could also see that you were in mortal peril as you rocketed toward the horizon, rudderless and wild.

No pretty pictures here today, son. Grace is hanging out on the periphery until this anger blows itself out. And it will. I can never stay mad at you for long. Especially after we've had a chance to talk about it. Which we just did.

Forgiveness starts here. For everyone. We are all imperfectly perfect. Each one of us has screwed up royally, and we will do so again. We are here to live, love, and laugh, to make mistakes, cry, mourn, and to forgive each other. We are designed to feel everything and through these feelings, we are called to push beyond our tiny selves and into each other's arms. We are imperfectly perfect. We are here to love each other through the storms and rejoice in the sunny days together because nothing is guaranteed. Clearly. 

I love you,

Mom

For Thor - 21 - Believe

I am consciously trying to stay in touch with you. I pay attention to the little signs and senses that there is more going on than what is happening on the surface. It's in this subliminal layer, shimmering beneath the outer shell of this reality, that our angels can talk to us.

Yesterday was a day full of messages. All morning, I felt extra raw. I cried at any moment and was just deeply missing you. This stretched out across the whole day as Dad and I moved through the motions of a Sunday at home. But it was a special Sunday and I missed you even more keenly. Dad and I worked together to make some shareable snacks and went to watch the Super Bowl at Radha and Dick's house. When we got there, I found out that others felt the same way all day; like you were really close, but still far away. It's like I can smell a delicious dish of food, but I cannot see, touch nor taste it. Your presence is relegated to the more ethereal senses. This is frustrating as hell, to not hear your voice, or hug you or feed you or dance with you in the kitchen.

I have to train my senses anew to be able to tune in to where you are. It's only fitting, I suppose that you send messages using music and media to reach out and touch our hearts.

Message #1 - Love.

The football game was really good (mainly because the Broncos won!), but it was the halftime show that got me. As Super Bowl halftimes go, it was a truly atypical attempt to pull together the past, present and future. It boldly blended genres and all but sang Cumbaya to us in a message of unity and peace. Then the fans in the stadium raised their colored cards in unison to create a visual message for us all unified multicolored, multifaith world to see. "Believe in Love," it said.

Love is what my lifelines are made of, Thor. Love for you. Love for your Dad and brothers. Love for family and friends. Love for the world. Love, pure and unqualified. Yes, I believe in that. Tears of sorrow flowed when that message appeared, but also with a little joy. Believe in Love is a strong message of hope and happiness and I felt your presence so strongly in it. You delivered straight to my heart.

Message #2 - Yeah, it sucks. It's okay to miss me.

Later when we headed home, I got in my car and was immediately hit with Cole Swindell's song You Should Be Here. It's really hard to drive with tears streaming down my face. Yes, my sweet boy, I wholly agree with Cole on this one:

You should be here, standing with your arm around me here.
Cutting up, cracking a cold beer, saying cheers, hey y'all it's sure been a good year.
It's one of those moments, that's got your name written all over it.
And you know that if I had just one wish it'd be that you didn't have to miss this.
Aw you should be here.
You'd be loving this, you'd be freaking out, you'd be smiling, yeah
I know you'd be all about what's going on right here right now.
God I wish somehow you could be here.
Oh, you should be here.
Yeah this is one of those moments that's got your name written all over it
And you know that if I have just one wish it'd be that you didn't have to miss this.
Aw you should be here.
You should be here.

I really felt like this message was you acknowledging to me that your death really was a shitty accident. Bad things do happen to good people.  It's okay for me to mourn and wail when I need to. And yes, you should be here!

Message #3 - I'm sorry.

Then, you woke me up this morning at 4:42 with the sound of Adele singing Hello. I have to admit to being a little amused at your choice of harbinger since I don't really hear this song much in daily life, nor is one that you would have put in a playlist. I only heard part of the song. This was more than a mere earworm because I truly felt you sing it to me, waking me out of a dead sleep. I sobbed silently in the dark before dawn, at the same time of day that you were born. I felt your big angel wings settle around me in comfort. Tears pooled in my ears as grief ripped my heart wide open, again.

Hello from the other side
I must have called a thousand times
To tell you I'm sorry for everything that I've done
But when I call you never seem to be home
Hello from the outside
At least, I can say that I've tried
To tell you I'm sorry for breaking your heart

Oh, Thor! I hear you telling me you're sorry. I know that my sorrow and all the suffering causes you remorse. I want to tell you I'm the sorry one. I'm so sorry that your life is over. I'm so sorry that I couldn't prevent your death. I am so very, very sorry that you won't get to share the myriad moments of life with your brothers and dad and all your family and friends. That you'll miss out on so much. That we'll never get to know how full your life would be. And you had such a beautiful life, such a beautiful mind and a strong, capable body and a huge helping heart. In my mind's eye, I kiss you on the forehead and place a hand over your sweet heart. I'm sorry, baby boy.

Message #4 - Believe!

One more time I felt and heard you as I drifted back to sleep. Your voice was clear as a bell… "Mama, I'm okay. Believe in Love! I'm here, in Love." 

I woke this morning with a tear-stained face, and with hope budding in my heart.

Okay, baby. I hear you. I believe.

I love you,
Mom