For Thor - 102 - Ofrenda

 Hey Lovely Boy, 

It's been a minute since I wrote to you here. As you know I talk to you in my heart all of the time. I'm grateful for the little signs around me that kindle a reassuring feeling that you are still with me in spirit. 

This week I find myself in San Antonio, Texas. I came down to the Lonestar state for work and stayed for a few extra days to hang out with Chaz who is at the Navy base here. He's well into C-school and will soon be a fully trained Navy Corpsman. You would be so ridiculously proud of him!  Xanny, well, I'll write about him in another post. He's wonderful and happy. :)

Anyhow, I found myself here in SATX during the time of Dia de Los Muertos  - the Day of the Dead. It's such a beautiful part of the Latino culture that they recognize and honor and remember and celebrate the lives and loves of our departed family and friends. 

There was a wonderful river parade on the first night I was here. At first, I was going to just wander down to stand in the free viewing area to see the colorful barges sail past and wave from afar.  I was asking directions to this place from a police officer when a kindly man from the restaurant I was standing in front of offered me the option to purchase a seat to view the parade from their riverwalk veranda. A chair and a margarita sounded like the best accompaniment for this event and so I took him up on it. 

I found my seat and before long I was joined by a lovely couple on my left. Christine and Paul are from Odessa, TX and we struck up a conversation. It didn't take long for us to touch on the subject of our departed loved ones...I mean this is the scene we were in, right? It turns out that Paul's son had died six years ago of suicide. We shared pictures and stories of our boys and laughed and cried a bit, too. 

Yesterday after work I went on another walkabout to see what I could see. The city is in a flurry getting ready for a full weekend of Dia de Los Muertos celebrations. Chaz and I are going to spend the day today immersed in them. I thought I'd scope it out ahead of time. Besides, it was a lovely night and I didn't want to miss out stuck in the hotel. LOL!

The path took me into the heart of where the Ofrendas were being set up by families and church groups and students. All of the sugar skulls and decorations and the pure emotion in the air brought me to tears thinking of you. You loved those sugar skulls so much. The tender, reflective and joyful expression of this culture for the departed beloved ones really got me. I could not stop the tears and eventually gave up walking and just sat on a bench to be with the feelings. 

It didn't take very long before a very kind woman came to ask if I was okay. I told her yes, I'm just remembering my boy. We had a good talk. She shared her grief and joy story and I shared mine. We hugged and she told me not to be sad...this is a day to invite you home. No one wants to come home to visit sad mom. That made me laugh! 

Throughout the rest of the evening, I felt like I had a sign on my forehead saying, "Ask me about my beloved departed one..." Because so many people did. They wanted to know your name and to hear your story. One woman cried and gave me a huge hug after seeing my family tattoo...the one with your ashes in the ink. 

As my legs grew weary (13,000 steps!) and I wound my way back to the hotel I went to bed with you on my mind. You showed up in a dream in the most peculiar circumstances. You were in trouble and were trying to keep it from me. Of course, I found out and together we vanquished the threat but not until we had some heart-to-heart talks about trust. I'm still sitting with this one. There is more to learn. 

I thought about the Ofrendas and how I could make one for you right now. So I did...it's a digital version but no less heartfelt in its creation. I hope you feel my love, wherever you are. I brought in some images of your favorite things along with the traditional Ofrenda items. The veil is thin and the door is open. I have laid a table and I hope you'll drop by to say hi to all of us who miss and love you so very much. 

Mamacita,
Love from San Antonio

 

For Thor - 101 - Fourth

How can it be...? Winter has melted into spring dancing with yellow daffodils that warmed to welcome blue columbines that, in turn, yielded to the dazzling display of zinnia and marigold and asters only to be swept up in the whirling color of autumn leaves which are then kissed by frost and snowflakes. Over and over, four times, the seasons have turned since you left us. It doesn't seem possible that 1,460 days have passed since we danced our last dance in the kitchen. I still can hear your voice calling, Hey Mama. I can still smell your sun-warmed skin after you had been playing soccer with friends. I can still feel your arms around me in a hug.

Today is the anniversary, again, of that last day, and my heart feels like it's been through a cheese grater. There's a bleakness that sits heavy on my chest and makes it hard to breathe. I'm a walking pile of contradictions today. I feel anxious and fratchety, wanting to run and curl up in a ball all at once. I'm neither well nor unwell. I'm grateful and also longing for something I can't have. I feel too much, and but I am also numb. I want to be with people, but I can't stand the idea of mindless chatter. My heart is sore with loss and full of love. I smile while I'm crying. I am a mother grieving a beloved son trying to walk around like I don't have a hole blasted through the center of my being.

There is a new beginning that I can also mark on this day - a new memory to associate with December 31st.  We took delivery of the new studio building this morning. It's a wonderous start in a chapter of creative expression for me. A designated, dedicated, and consecrated space where I can explore and dream and challenge myself to express what is in my heart. Dad and I have a bit of work to do to get it ready, but that will be fun for us to work on it together. Aren't you proud of me, Bubby? 

I found a piece of rose quartz, heart-shaped and shimmering, nestled in the limestone gravel we had delivered for the building site. I'm going to place it over the door as a talisman to remind me of how important it is to keep my heart open. I won't lie…it's hard to rise above the agony of the day even with this tremendous gift. But there is Hope. And Grace. Along with Love, they will carry me through this day of remembrance and into the start of another New Year. And even though I will inevitably face the fifth January 1st without you here, each new day brings an opportunity to live and love. 

I went out for a walk yesterday. It was 74 degrees, and the woods smelled intoxicating with the scent of dried leaves, pine needles, and moss. I felt you with me on that hike and especially as we sat in the sun-dappled by beech leaves. I was grateful for the peacefulness of the wood, which did two things; I was able to take the time to circle down into the root of grief and find where it is grounded in love and reconnect there. The privilege of loving you of being your mom is one of my life's greatest blessings. And too, as I learn to glean the precious lessons your death has to teach, I continue to be blessed…

The gift of what was given,
Can never be taken away;
I am altered completely;
Carved like a canyon
By the river of your being.
From <https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?rinli=1&pli=1&blogID=595199526631150838>

I love you, baby, more than words can say. But then, you already know my heart, because that is where you live...

Always, 

Your Mama

For Thor - 100 - Honey For My Heart

The cursor on this page declares what my heart knows intuitively, it's your birthday. The fourth September 8th that finds me crying and smiling through the tears, clinging to memories and the warm sunshine feeling that loving you brings to my heart. You would be 23 today if fate hadn't cut your thread short and called you home after only 19 years of living. There's a Kenny Chesney song that I hear often and it brings me to my knees every time, the truth of those lyrics repeat over and over in my head…

Sunny days seem to hurt the most
I wear the pain like a heavy coat
I feel you everywhere I go
I see your smile, I see your face
I hear you laughing in the rain
I still can't believe you're gone

It ain't fair you died too young
Like a story that had just begun
But death tore the pages all away
God knows how I miss you
All the hell that I've been through
Just knowing no one could take your place
Sometimes I wonder who you'd be today

Would you see the world, would you chase your dreams
Settle down with a family
I wonder what would you name your babies
Some days the sky's so blue
I feel like I can talk to you
I know it might sound crazy

It ain't fair you died too young
Like a story that had just begun
But death tore the pages all away
God knows how I miss you
All the hell that I've been through
Just knowing no one could take your place
Sometimes I wonder who you'd be today

Sunny days seem to hurt the most
I wear the pain like a heavy coat
The only thing that gives me hope
Is I know I'll see you again someday


I'm amazed and so grateful for the gift of music and poetry and art and nature…they find ways to show me the beauty in the sorrow, the love inside the grief, the tragic blended inexorably with the triumphant…and I find hope. Hope that I can eventually really live again. Truth be told, I'm still heartsore and emotionally exhausted in many ways. Sometimes I can hear the call of life stirring in my solar plexus like a faint drum thrumming along. The beat of life is coaxing me to reconnect to my creativity, to my art and poetry, to life. I feel like I've made great strides in the wake of the total devastation that your death brought me. I'm functional, mostly. I'm open-hearted and can smile easily. I've recently started laughing again with the full-throated from the gut laughter that is an elixir of life. And even with all of this, there remains a piece of me that is constantly reserved, held back, in pain and flat-out exhausted. The fact that this ball of sorrow rests in the middle of my heart and has enough weight to create its own gravity means that I'm still being steered by grief. My toes are in the water of life, but most of me remains on the shore, shattered and uncertain about, well, everything.

What do I want to do? What calls to my soul? Am I going to settle in for a 9 to 5 and be content with a social-media life in my downtime? Do I want to start a business? Do I have that kind of energy…it sounds exhausting. Should I write a book? What the heck would I say? I feel my heart sinking into a depression, Bubby. The irony of all of this is that I'm so scared of missing out that I'm actually missing out. I can't make decisions because none of them feel right. Go left…nope. Go right…nope, again. Sit and ponder some more. To my credit, I keep showing up. Every day I show up with a grateful heart and a query asking God to use me in the best possible way each day. And still, there is so much ambivalence and despondence clouding my mind and chronic pain in my heart that I feel pretty well stuck. I've reached a plateau after surviving your death and the way forward is less urgently focused on breathing in and out, on simply not going insane. Now, I'm well enough, functional enough, happy-ish enough that continuing to strive forward doesn't have the same intensity. I've stopped hemorrhaging and have healed for the most part, but upon closer inspection, I can see that I'm still bleeding out…just at a slower pace. Only this time I don't know what to do to stop it.

The last time I wrote to you I talked about the need to shift focus to your brothers and dad and to find my way to a contented, purposeful and joyful existence. It's been a good shift and there is some ground gained. Not as much as I would like, but considering how I feel inside, I'm gonna be grateful.

The hummingbirds are here today feeding on late summer nectar in preparation for their journey south. That's what I feel like I need, some honey for my heart and a light for my path to help me get to the next level. I don't know what that could be, I just have a sense that I'm still not where I'm supposed to be. That I can't rest here too much longer but I don't know where to go or what to do.

I could really use some angel power right now, okay. If there's a light you can shine on the path and make it extra bright so I can't miss it. As for the honey for my heart, gratitude is the best way to tap the sweetness of life. So I'll double down on that practice for a while. Keep an eye on your brothers, they really need you right now. Especially Xander who is running a little fast and loose and scares the crap out of me.

I wish I was baking you a birthday cake and planning dinner for you. Wait, hold that…I'm so very grateful that I got to be your mom and bake you 19 birthday cakes! Each one was a unique expression of whatever you were into at the time. I greeted birthday cake-baking mornings with such anticipation! It was my favorite gift to give you boys. Still is. Gosh, we had some fun times together. I'm so very grateful for those. Memories that are sweet, like honey.

Still, I wish I was baking you a cake today. Sue me.

Happy birthday in heaven, Bubby! I hope you're hanging out with all our family and friends who are in that spirit realm and having a high time.

I love you,
Mom

For Thor - 99 - Shift

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. 

I love you!
Mom

For Thor - 98 - Year 3 and VitaminSea

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I love you, 

Mom

For Thor - 97 - Alchemy on the Anvil

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mom

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'll just sit here a while and listen.



Love, mama. Just love.


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

I love you,
Mom.

For Thor - 95 - Three Little Birds

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chaz moved out.

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

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

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

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

And Xander is not far behind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I love you, Bubby.
Mom

For Thor - 94 - Tilling Deeper Earth

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mom

For Thor - 93 - Bless Us All

It's Christmas Eve, Bubby. I'm sitting in the multicolored prismatic twinkle of the Christmas tree in the early morning hours. It's peaceful and still. Here in the quietude that is all too rare these days, we can have a chat.

We've been putting one foot in front of the other. Dad and I are getting by. Doing what we can. Finding scraps of joy, fragments of smiles, seconds of insight and perspective along the way. We can allow good friends and good music to lift us for a spell, like at the Dillwyn VFD Christmas Dance. That was such a heartwarming night. I was wholly not in the mood to do anything for Christmas, but being there with so many friends -- and your friends, who have become my friends over the past two years; my heart twists, expands, breaks and shines all at once when we look into the other's eyes and see the Thor-sized hole that shines back at us. We are drawn to each other like magnets, each one with a piece of a broken heart and a story to tell. We conjure you in those moments, speaking your name in stereo and paging you to drop by and embrace us. I can feel you there, in those moments when we bring you to life with our words and stories, memories and love.

Lately, I spend a lot of time at work. The job has escalated to a new frenetic pace which is a good thing - the company is doing well. What I didn't realize is how I depended on work to help keep the pain of this whole holiday season at bay. That is until we closed shop on Friday and I was faced with it all at once. Without the pressure of the work deadlines and accountability to the team, I was suddenly unmoored. My mind was unoccupied enough that the looming and ever-present agony of grief rushed into that void. Dread. Why do I have to do this? Every holiday season starting after Halloween ramps up in excitement and expectation, higher and higher until we get to Christmas Eve, Christmas, Day After and then….WHAM! We slam headlong into the brick wall of the dreaded day. The worst day of my life.

What. The. Fuck?

So this year we needed to shake it up a little. Neither Dad nor I could hang with our usual routine and all the energy it takes to make it happen. We put up a small tree, it's just four feet tall. But it's sweet and doesn't feel forced. There is an authenticity expressed in its diminutive branches. We are doing Christmas, but maybe just a little less. We've made it a little easier. We'll spend more time at Nana's enjoying the wonder and innocent, wide-eyed Christmas excitement of little Kai. It's good to have the little ones around to keep our hearts lighter. I want to read him stories and play with toys like I did with you and your brothers. Just the thought warms my heart…which usually means tears are merely a blink away.

I got to spend some time with Starr, yesterday. Which made my day. She and Diane gave me a glorious snow globe that lights up and twinkles around a beautiful cardinal. When I look at it, I imagine your presence is like that…sparkling and shining all around us. That the love we have for you sparkles in our eyes and shines forth. We had dinner and just spent the day together. You would have liked the stuffed shells. You probably would have been impatient with our sappy rom-com Christmas movies and would have wandered out to the barn with dad.

There are many memories to hold onto and cherish, the ones that keep your voice alive and let me see your face in the movie in my mind. Sometimes I rewrite the script, you know, to change the story. I take the raw material of memories and weave them into a new tale. What would you be doing right now? Would you and Starr be married? Would there be a baby? Would you be a supervisor at work? Would you build a house on our land? Would you have bagged that buck you were always chasing? Would you get a transfer to live near the beach? What would you be doing if a longer life had been granted to you? I like to dream up alternative storylines. They always include you outliving me in a long life full of joy and experiences and love and challenges and victories. I know the story I'm living too well…I don't need to think about it so much as your death is the daily backdrop to my every breath.

Christmas symbolizes many things for many people. For me, I've always felt it to be a recognition of the light returning to warm the earth, which is symbolic for us to recognize the Light of the God which illumines our hearts. This is further symbolized by remembering the birth of Jesus who is the light of the world for so many. I am trying to focus on the Light this season. Since I know that is where you are; you are a light being, free of these mortal coils, but still able to be here in the form of light energy. I see you in a sunrise and in a ray of light upon the water. I feel you in the warming sun that streams through my windshield when I drive. My heart recognizes your playful nature when rainbows and sundogs appear in the strangest places.

We watched my favorite Christmas movie of all time - twice now; The Muppets Christmas Carol. Every time I hear the song "Bless Us All," I cry. It's one of the best Christmas songs ever written. I hum it a lot lately.

Life is full of sweet surprises
Every day's a gift
The sun comes up and I can feel it lift my spirit
Fills me up with laughter
Fills me up with song
I look into the eyes of love and know that I belong

Bless us all, who gather here
The loving family I hold dear
No place on earth, compares with home
And every path will bring me back from where I roam
Bless us all, that as we live
We always comfort and forgive
We have so much, that we can share
With those in need we see around us everywhere

Let us always love each other
Lead us to the light
Let us hear the voice of reason, singing in the night
Let us run from anger and catch us when we fall
Teach us in our dreams and please, yes please
Bless us one and all

Bless us all with playful years,
With noisy games and joyful tears.
We reach for You and we stand tall,
And in our prayers and dreams
We ask You bless us all

We reach for You and we stand tall,
And in our prayers and dreams we ask You,
Bless us all


I miss you more than words can ever say, sweet boy. It's Christmas time, and the absence of your physical self is more keenly felt. My heart is shattered but gloriously alight with love. The rainbow that connects my heart to yours is vibrant and alive…so you'll hear me loud and clear when I say, Merry Christmas, Bubby! I am hugging you tight in my heart and imagine holding you in my arms.

I know you know, but I'll say it anyway;

I love you,
Mom