Heal Me (Lady Gaga)

The ubiquitous Lion costume (clockwise:  Sarah and Colin... Eric and me: I was a Grandma (ha!)... Julia and Mari).  I can't even recall where it came from/how it originated, but I'd be willing to bet money that Mari wore it when she was a kid too.

"As gardeners, we know that seasons and cycles can be our allies. It's no coincidence that the Day of the Dead, Samhain, All Hallows' Eve, Halloween, and All Souls Day all create autumn ritual around honoring that which has passed.  Across cultures and generations, the fall of the leaf heralds in a time of letting go, a season of reflection, a process of going back to the root, and a bittersweet holiday for remembering the gifts of our deceased mentors and ancestors.  Perhaps even a season to renew and rekindle our own fires." ~ John Forti, The Heirloom Gardener

The healing continues/begins.  I stated previously that, after today, I'll be posting weekly instead of daily.  It's been equally cathartic and wrenching.  Now it's back to living/life in real-time, in a world without Eric.  It makes sense that my musings will happen every Tuesday, since that is the day E died.

Tonight we'll go to Sarah's ex's house (it's all very civilized) and trick-or-treat as a Pokemon group:  Colin will be Charizard, Sarah Butterfree, Me Oddish, Chico Snorelax, Rob Jigglypuff, Ryan and Meli Pokeman trainers, and 4-month-old Veda Pikachu.  Pics to follow, of course.

SONG:  Heal Me by Lady Gaga

BOOK:  Grief One Day at a Time: 365 Meditations to Help You Heal After Loss by Dr. Alan Wolfelt

POEM(S):  Boundaries by Hue Walker

In Celtic Mythology

This world and the Otherworld

lie alongside each other

nested together

like the layers of driftwood

or of a seashell,

Their boundaries shifting and permeable,

The crossings simple acts for gods and birds

and mythical adventures for humankind.

We guard these entryways with charm and ritual

And shiver at their mention,

whether in fear or in longing.

The worlds are stitched together at the edges,

Dawn, dusk, the first day of winter,

or summer,

or a life,

The edge of the sea, a riverbank,

the horizon,

the mouth of a cave,

or of a grave.

The stitches held by charm and talisman,

and words of power.

And the Borderland of human boundaries...

More familiar,

yet infinitely more mysterious.

The simple boundary of personal space,

The edge of "I" and "other,"

constantly shifting

in size and shape and intensity.

The border of sound and music,

word and poetry,

utility and beauty.

And there is something delightful,

and cherished,

and divine,

In the human heart,

which takes the bone from

a dead bird,

and shapes it into a flute,

and breathes into it,

and creates

a bird's song!

And in this sacred act

knows all there is to know

of crossing boundaries. 

Why You Might Be a Witch by Theodora Goss

Because sometimes you dream of flying

the way you used to.

Because the traffic light always changes for you.

Because when you throw the crusts of your sandwich

to sparrows in the public park, they hop close

and closer, until they perch on your finger

and look at you sideways.

Because as you walk down the street,

the wind plays with the hem of your skirt

so it swings dramatically around your ankles.

Because as you walk, determined and sensible,

your shadow is dancing.

Because a lot of people talk to cats

but for you they answer.

Because the sweetgum trees along the sidewalk

love to show you their leaves, sometimes even tossing

them in front of you, yellow veined red,

brown shot with green and yellow,

like children showing off artwork.

Because when you look up,

the moon is always smiling.

Because sometimes darkness closes around you

and you remind yourself that it’s all right,

you’ve worn this cloak before.

Because in winter you acknowledge

that snow is a blanket as well as a shroud,

and we must all sleep sometimes.

Because in spring you can hear the tinkling bell-sounds

that crocuses make, and the deeper gongs of the tulips.

Because the river waves to you in passing,

and you wave back.

Because even the brownstones of this ancient city

look at you with concern: they want to make sure you’re well.

You belong to them as much as they to you.

Because witches know what they are

and if I asked, do you remember?

You would have to confess that yes,

you do.

Samhain by Annie Finch

In the season leaves should love,

since it gives them leave to move

through the wind, towards the ground

they were watching while they hung,

legend says there is a seam

stitching darkness like a name.

Now when dying grasses veil

earth from the sky in one last pale

wave, as autumn dies to bring

winter back, and then the spring,

we who die ourselves can peel

back another kind of veil

that hangs among us like thick smoke.

Tonight at last I feel it shake.

I feel the nights stretching away

thousands long behind the days

till they reach the darkness where

all of me is ancestor.

I move my hand and feel a touch

move with me, and when I brush

my own mind across another,

I am with my mother's mother.

Sure as footsteps in my waiting

self, I find her, and she brings

arms that carry answers for me,

intimate, a waiting bounty.

"Carry me." She leaves this trail

through a shudder of the veil,

and leaves, like amber where she stays,

a gift for her perpetual gaze.

QUOTE(S):   "Heal yourself with the light of the sun and the rays of the moon. With the sound of the river and the waterfall. With the swaying of the sea and the fluttering of birds. Heal yourself with mint, neem, and eucalyptus. Sweeten with lavender, rosemary, and chamomile.  Hug yourself with the cocoa bean and a hint of cinnamon. Put love in tea instead of sugar and drink it looking at the stars. Heal yourself with the kisses that the wind gives you and the hugs of the rain.  Stand strong with your bare feet on the ground and with everything that comes from it. Be smarter every day by listening to your intuition, looking at the world with your forehead. Jump, dance, sing, so that you live happier.  Heal yourself, with beautiful love, and always remember... you are the medicine." ~ María Sabina, healer and poet.

"We approach the lunar eclipse in Taurus.  Some friendly reminders:  less words more feeling.  less knowing more dreaming.  less thinking more being.  less mind more body.  less tech more nature.  less talking more deep listening."  The Wild Matryoshka

"Now is a time to lay down your tools, the symbols of your productivity, and light a fire to honor not only what has been done throughout the past year, but also all that has preceded you - in this life, and in all the lives lived before. Now is a time to make space, in your heart and in your mind, for the stillness and silence of death." ~ Teo Bishop, Samhain: May The Silence Open Your Heart

“In the midst of darkness, light persists.” ~ Mahatma Gandhi

Family (by Pierce Pettis, covered by Dar Williams)

Thanks again for everyone's continued patience with me.  Maybe I'll just blather here for a while and, if you feel like commenting, that's great... but, whatever...

There are no good days, although there may be bright spots in an otherwise awful day.  Just about everything makes me cry.  Anything can remind me of Eric, in a random moment, sometimes unexplainable, and I just can't hold it in... nor do I want to.  At first I thought there were a finite number of tears and I would cry myself out, but it's become apparent they are unlimited, a bottomless well.  

It's awful that we are still dealing with logistical issues (believe it or not, we only *just* received the death certificates today), which means I have multiple people/businesses to mail them to.

Yes to countless ups and downs but... Nothing. Like. This.  This is big.  This is incomprehensible.  This is ongoing.  This is forever.  The part of my life that is Not Eric is detritus.  I do not care.  I cannot think about anything else right now.  I'm still not reading.  TV holds no interest for me.  Food seesaws between styrofoam and a means to keep me from blood sugar drops.  I cannot concentrate on anything.  My vocabulary/memory is all but gone.  

I am angry.  I am taking everything personally.  I am still in Denial... yet, when I read the Accident Report or the funeral home invoice, it is In-My-Face Real.  

Chico and I went looking for, and found, a box of DVDs of moments captured when we finally got a camcorder (Winter 2001; we were very late to the game).  We stopped time earlier today and watched a few (they're each about an hour), and we laughed and cried at the family dynamic, mostly our road trips to Atlanta, etc. for the Christmas holidays, another with all the kids' Santa visits spliced together (Perimeter Mall; thanks, Aunt Mari!).  Chico filmed my *ss a lot (ha!), but the footage of the kids is priceless.  We have decided we will take a few to my sister's house for Thanksgiving.  Healing or hurting?  Both/And.

I am currently trying to find the fine line between tiptoeing-out-into-the-world adventurer and nightgowned-and-fuzzy-socked hermit.  Sarah and I did make it to Rob's roommate's Halloween party last night and I basically wanted to leave as soon as I got there.  The music was too loud, the menu was meat-centric, and most people got very drunk very quickly.  Wearing my Mother Nature costume (the idea borrowed from Roxanne a bazillion years ago) for the first time in a while, I felt pretty (it's amazing what some lip gloss will do)... but I also felt as if I was having an out-of-body experience rather than being in-the-moment.

I am trying so hard to be Present; the Past leaves me stuck at the September 26 8:30 p.m. Line of Demarcation when E's proverbial David Copperfield tablecloth is yanked out from under the dishes... and the Future will forever be missing a chess piece that I took for granted would always be there (yep, mixed metaphors).

I need to say his name.  I say it a lot, because it keeps him front-and-center in my heart and mind.  Thanksgiving will be unbearable.  I believe December will be easier because 2022 was his first Christmas*not* with us, because Eric spent it with Duyen's family in a North Carolina cabin.  

So, I'm really just a mess masquerading as a wife/mother/family member/friend/citizen of the world; I speak in soliloquys of heaving sobs and brain blips, reading messages into random occurrences that may not mean anything, but that I'm desperate to believe (rainbows and owls and synchronistic songs, oh my).

How does this happen?  Why did this happen?  (rhetorical questions both).  Walking and breathing and speaking will be a conscious effort for a very long time... 😖

SONG:  Family by Pierce Pettis (covered by Dar Williams)

BOOK:  I Wasn't Ready to Say Goodbye: Surviving, Coping and Healing After the Sudden Death of a Loved One by Brook Noel, Pamela D Blair PhD

POEM(S):  Watching My Friend Pretend Her Heart Isn’t Breaking by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

On Earth, just a teaspoon of neutron star

would weigh six billion tons. Six billion tons.

The equivalent weight of how much railway

it would take to get a third of the way to the sun.

It’s the collective weight of every animal

on earth. Times three.

Six billion tons sounds impossible

until I consider how it is to swallow grief—

just a teaspoon and one might as well have consumed

a neutron star. How dense it is,

how it carries inside it the memory of collapse.

How difficult it is to move then.

How impossible to believe that anything

could lift that weight.

There are many reasons to treat each other

with great tenderness. One is

the sheer miracle that we are here together

on a planet surrounded by dying stars.

One is that we cannot see what

anyone else has swallowed.

Helium by Rudy Francisco

When people ask how I’m doing I want to say, 

my depression is an angry deity, 

a jealous god 

a thirsty shadow that wrings my joy like a dishrag 

and makes juice out of my smile. 

I want to say, getting out of bed has become a magic trick. 

I am probably the worst magician I know. 

I want to say, this sadness is the only clean shirt I have left 

and my washing machine has been broken for months, 

but I’d rather not ruin someone’s day with my tragic honesty 

so instead I treat my face like a pumpkin. 

I pretend that it’s Halloween. 

I carve it into something acceptable. 

I laugh and I say, “I’m doing alright.”

QUOTE(S):  "Sometimes, carrying on, just carrying on, is the superhuman achievement." ~ Albert Camus

"Forevers are composed of nows." ~ Emily Dickinson

“It is indeed a radical act of love just to sit down and be quiet for a time by yourself.” ~ Jon Kabat-Zinn

Coast (Eliza Gilkyson)

Today was a win on the Grief Scale, as I finally made it "back to the garden" after a month-long absence.  Thanks and love to my Hope peeps Amber, Claire, Tim, and Kiana for their strong hugs (and Jessica's, Alejandra's, and Joe's in spirit).  I cried a lot, but they were healing tears.  I am beyond grateful to them for allowing me to honor Eric in one of my favorite places on the planet.  As long as he is remembered, he lives... 🌞

"Don't know what I'm gonna be for awhile, don't want to try to understand", sings Eliza.  Who am I?  Who *will* I be after this life-changing event?  I am in need of a trip to the beach/the coast.  I am beginning again.  TBD.

SONG:  Coast by Eliza Gilkyson

BOOK:  Lamentations of The Sea: 111 passages on grief, love, loss and letting go by BethAnne Kapansky Wright

POEM:  Wild and Precious Life by Jeannette Encinias

Begin again. 

Little moments. 

Tending to the flowers. 

Cutting the fruit. 

Opening the curtains so that the entire sky can greet you. 

It’s never easy but, no matter. 

Steam from the tea so quiet. 

An open book, and door, and arms.

You have time. 

Time to create a life that you can stand up straight in. 

Even though life may beat you down. Hard. 

Even though things, situations, and people you love may be taken away from you so that your arms can memorize the grace of letting them go. 

Even then, especially then, begin again.

Remind yourself that nothing really dies, rather, it transforms. 

Everything and everyone you have ever loved lives in the mysterious memory of your cells. 

Turning. Healing. Renewing itself. 

Until one day, a photograph of something or someone very dear, long gone, visits your mind and you bow your head with appreciation.

Meanwhile, take your pain to the sea and your trouble to the mountain. 

Leave it there and walk home clean. 

When failure knocks and rattles and quakes, let it. 

Watch it make a fresh canvas of you. 

Failure, that great teacher, is kinder if you thank her as you are getting up off the floor. 

She knows something that you don’t know: that she is usually the last face you will see before breaking through. 

Such a little light in the crack of the door.

But today, if you are wading through the waters of loss or confusion: begin again. 

Open the avocado. 

Draw the bath. 

Call your best friend. 

Gather the books. 

Play your favorite album. 

Write. 

Create art. 

Open your arms. Move your legs. 

Lovely, little blessings. 

Whispering to life that you won’t give up. Not ever.

QUOTE:  Trust the wait. Embrace the uncertainty. Enjoy the beauty of becoming. When nothing is certain, anything is possible.." ~ Mandy Hale 

“I do believe in an everyday sort of magic – the inexplicable connectedness we sometimes experience with places, people, works of art and the like; the eerie appropriateness of moments of synchronicity; the whispered voice, the hidden presence, when we think we’re alone.” ~ Charles de Lint 

"The only thing that makes life possible is permanent, intolerable uncertainty; not knowing what comes next." ~ Ursula K. Le Guin

This Is a Life (Son Lux, David Byrne)

Thursday was very productive (I felt I was turning a corner), and today somewhat (back in Molasses Swamp).  My friend Michele sent me a beautiful dragonfly journal a few weeks ago, and I decided yesterday that, rather than recording an endless To Do List (as I've done for the last month), I would use it to spotlight my Ta-Da! accomplishments.  I filled up an entire page for Thursday; today... three items.

I did finish the Caring Community Fall 2023 newsletter, and sent it out for proofreading/review.  Considering the fact it's four weeks late (no pressure from anyone at all), I'm still proud of myself for focusing enough to move it forward.

I had every intention of making it to a Reiki Circle this evening, but I just couldn't motivate enough to leave the house.  Maybe next Friday?... 🤷

It's not even 10 p.m. and I am so tired, and very sad.  Going to bed... 😢

SONG:  This Is a Life by Son Lux, David Byrne)

BOOK:  Life After Loss: Contemporary Grief Counseling and Therapy by Jackson Rainer

POEM(S):  Prayer to Be Changed by James Crews

I ask for just the slightest shift

in my thinking, the kindest sifting

of my busy mind so only wonder

and peace are left behind. So that

as I walk in sleet on this spring morning

I can see even these muddy ruts

made by careless trucks on the forest trail

as harbors of miracle, knowing they will

fill with enough snowmelt and rain

for tadpoles to swim in come summer,

until that sunlit instant when they feel

the flexing of legs in the water beneath them,

and leap out onto the ground, their bodies

having decided, by pure instinct alone,

to be soft and alive in this world.

The Paradox by Sarah Kay

When I am inside writing,

all I can think about is how I should be outside living.

When I am outside living,

all I can do is notice all there is to write about.

When I read about love, I think I should be out loving.

When I love, I think I need to read more.

I am stumbling in pursuit of grace,

I hunt patience with a vengeance.

On the mornings when my brother’s tired muscles

held to the pillow, my father used to tell him,

For every moment you aren’t playing basketball,

someone else is on the court practicing.

I spend most of my time wondering

if I should be somewhere else.

So I have learned to shape the words thank you

with my first breath each morning, my last breath every night.

When the last breath comes, at least I will know I was thankful

for all the places I was so sure I was not supposed to be.

All those places I made it to,

all the loves I held, all the words I wrote.

And even if it is just for one moment,

I will be exactly where I am supposed to be.

QUOTE(S):  “I had my own notion of grief.  I thought it was the sad time that followed the death of someone you love.  And you had to push through it to get to the other side.  But I'm learning there is no other side.  There is no pushing through.  But rather, there is absorption.  Adiustment.  Acceptance.  And grief is not something you complete, but rather, you endure.  Grief is not a task to finish and move on, but an element of yourself, an alteration of your being.  A new way of seeing.  A new definition of self.” ~ Gwen Flowers  

“The urge to transform one's appearance, to dance outdoors, to mock the powerful and embrace perfect strangers is not easy to suppress.” ~ Barbara Ehrenreich

You Can Do This Hard Thing (Carrie Newcomer)

Thanksgiving 2021

Email I sent to my sister Mari last Thursday (October 19, 2023, 12:26 p.m.):

"SUBJ:  Thanksgiving 2023: scathingly brilliant idea... or crazy as f*ck?

Dear Mari - 

This is going to be stream-of-consciousness, but hear me out.  Also, no need to decide anything now.  Ponder and let me know your thoughts... 🤷

You know Chico and I have always hosted Thanksgiving at our place with the usual cast of characters:  The MossFam6, Buck and Kathy, Nancy and Mark, and Duyen the last two years.  Even though Eric had moved to Atlanta, he and Duyen were definitely planning to come down to South Florida to participate again (she loved Thanksgiving at our house but, given that her parents are Vietnamese, they didn't really celebrate).

So, after Brad's wedding, which none of our kids were able to attend due to work obligations, Sarah posited (to me only) that maybe we could all go up to Atlanta for Thanksgiving, to get the extended family together again (this was two weeks before E died; little did she know, right?).

Would you be up for everyone descending on you (we could certainly *stay* elsewhere) and you and John hosting a Thanksgiving extravaganza? (I am not in any way suggesting this become an annual tradition; only thinking about 2023).  Not sure what traditions Joy's family has but she might be willing to make an exception; we can ask, right?  I would absolutely want to invite Duyen too!

We would all certainly help in whatever way needed:  cleaning, cooking, set-up, breakdown, washing dishes, etc.  Rob makes killer Stuffin' Muffins, using Mom's cornbread dressing recipe.

All that to say... Just. Think. About. It.  There is no wrong answer!

Love you so much, and I remain grateful for your continued love and support... 💗"

Mari and John's (her husband) response a short time later:  "Fuck Yeah!".

I was ridiculously excited that they were so excited!  The more we discussed, the more it sounds like *a lot*... but, again, I promised we will BOOA (Bring Our Own Aprons) as well as our helping hands and willing spirits.  The MossFam has always made a good team; why stop now, right?... 🎆

SONG:  You Can Do This Hard Thing by Carrie Newcomer

BOOK:  Empty Chair, The: Handling Grief on Holidays and Special Occasions by Susan J. Zonnebelt-Smeenge Ed.D., Robert C. De Vries (Contributor)

POEM:  Tumbling by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

When everything’s falling,

when everything’s broken,

when all is ravel and rubble

and ransacked and ruin

and the world is a stuttering,

guttering blunder,

a plundered and ravaged thing,

that is when wonder arrives on the wings

of forgiving, and living arrives

on the wings of the dead, and

devotion arrives in the wreckage

of loss. And if to love

is to risk being tumbled

and fumbled and wrung out

and sprawled, to love

is also to trust there are hands

that will raise us,

amaze us with kindness,

calm hands that will lift up

our hurt-heavy hearts

as if it they’re as light  

as red leaves in the fall.

QUOTE:  "We are blowing out candles on third birthdays. We are falling off a bike into a rose bush or a gutter. We are watching wide-eyed and terrified at our dad coming home drunk. We are taking the trash out and having it spill on our feet. We are breaking our favorite coffee mug. We are the adrenaline rush of crashing a car. We are our first kiss. We are not getting to kiss who we want. We are making art or food or mistakes or love. We are screaming angry grief when someone goes before their time. We are a shitty diagnosis. We are putting a pet down. We are watching a bomb drop. We are eating cake. We are eating no cake. We are waiting for the summer sunshine. We are hunkering down for winter. We are getting married or getting divorced or never finding that one person to believe in. We are birth and death and the cosmic wheel of life. We are mending all the broken hearts or breaking them.  We are so so much more than political parties. We are made of stardust." ~ Raina Rose

Bluebird (Paul McCartney & Wings)

My days are aimless.  I start out with the best of intentions to Get. Sh*t. Done. and about this time in the evening, 9 p.m.-ish, I realize I have Gotten. Nothing. Done.  Well, that's not totally true.  We have accomplished much but, since yesterday was four weeks and tomorrow will be one month, I am more consumed by the landmarks than the benchmarks.  I am trying to write two or three thank-you notes a day, in addition to putting one foot in front of the other, but I am weary and sad and unaccepting of my circumstances.  

It seems that neither side of my brain is working:  the analytical (left) nor the creative (right).  I am forgetting words... I haven't read anything of import since Eric died (not even the NYT e-newsletter, once my Gospel)... I have lost my drive and focus.  I have regained my appetite, but for crappy foods.  I am certainly sleeping better, but morning is still my enemy, and I am napping again in the early-afternoon as avoidance therapy.  Floundering, Listless, Wallowing.  What is the f*cking point?

Melanie sent me a link to what looks like a gorgeous grief sanctuary (imagine that!) in New Mexico.  Tomorrow I will use the Google to see if there's anything similar in South Florida and, if I can't find something local, I will create it for myself, maybe starting Monday:  stretching, meditation, yoga, walking, grief support groups, therapy, massage, AquaFit classes, healthy eating, music, blogging/journaling, etc. (you know, like *normal* people do).  Maybe by going inward, I can use external means to heal.  Boot Camp for Lost Souls (that would be me).  Thank you for the idea, sweet friend... 💗 

I am attending a Reiki Circle this Friday night and, since it's in a New Age store, I might even look into having a private reading done in the near future.  I was experiencing so many signs in the first few weeks (rainbows, an owl, songs) and, although I am still paying attention, it seems as if the visitations have stopped for a while.  I miss him and I want him to come back and reassure me that he's there, even if he's not here.

SONG:  Bluebird by Paul McCartney & Wings

BOOK:  The Comfort of Crows: A Backyard Year by Margaret Renkl

POEM(S):  The Wild Iris by Louise Gluck

At the end of my suffering

there was a door.

Hear me out: that which you call death

I remember.

Overhead, noises, branches of the pine shifting.

Then nothing. The weak sun

flickered over the dry surface.

It is terrible to survive

as consciousness

buried in the dark earth.

Then it was over: that which you fear, being

a soul and unable

to speak, ending abruptly, the stiff earth

bending a little. And what I took to be

birds darting in low shrubs.

You who do not remember

passage from the other world

I tell you I could speak again: whatever

returns from oblivion returns

to find a voice:

from the center of my life came

a great fountain, deep blue

shadows on azure seawater.

Some Days by Philip Terman

Some days you have to turn off the news

and listen to the bird or truck

or the neighbor screaming out her life.

You have to close all the books and open

all the windows so that whatever swirls

inside can leave and whatever flutters

against the glass can enter. Some days

you have to unplug the phone and step

out to the porch and rock all afternoon

and allow the sun to tell you what to do.

The whole day has to lie ahead of you

like railroad tracks that drift off into gravel.

Some days you have to walk down the wooden

staircase through the evening fog to the river,

where the peach roses are closing,

sit on the grassy bank and wait for the two geese.

Invitation by Mary Oliver

Oh do you have time

to linger

for just a little while

out of your busy

and very important day

for the goldfinches

that have gathered

in a field of thistles

for a musical battle,

to see who can sing

the highest note,

or the lowest,

or the most expressive of mirth,

or the most tender?

Their strong, blunt beaks

drink the air

as they strive

melodiously

not for your sake

and not for mine

and not for the sake of winning

but for sheer delight and gratitude –

believe us, they say,

it is a serious thing

just to be alive

on this fresh morning

in the broken world.

I beg of you,

do not walk by

without pausing

to attend to this

rather ridiculous performance.

It could mean something.

It could mean everything.

It could be what Rilke meant, when he wrote:

You must change your life.

QUOTE:  “I will cut adrift—I will sit on pavements and drink coffee—I will dream; I will take my mind out of its iron cage and let it swim—this fine October.” ~ Virginia Woolf

This Time Tomorrow (Brandi Carlile)

My friend Suzanne is known for her watercolors; this is the cover of the condolence card I received from her yesterday... 😍

Those of you reading this know that I usually post an entry a bit before midnight... but I skipped yesterday; it was a busy day, good on one hand because it kept me occupied but, on the flip side, wearying.  The morning found me waking up at 7:30 and heading straight to the balcony, drinking my usual two cups of coffee and puzzling all the puzzles... then hitting the wall and decided to go back to bed about 10 a.m., which I haven't done in forever, but especially not since Eric died.

I couldn't wallow too long though, as I had offered to pick up Colin at 12:45 p.m. for Early Release Day.  He loves to hang out afterward, playing soccer or just running with the other guys, which gave me the opportunity to converse with Boy-Mom (and friend) Donna.  Headed back to Sarah's so she and Ryan could attend a Parent-Teacher Conference, then a few hours later headed to the fields for his T-ball game.  For some reason, it says 09 on the back of his jersey.  Colin told me:  "Lala, the circle in front of the nine is very confusing"... 😂

On the way back to my car after the game, I stopped at the concession stand and bought a soft pretzel for dinner although, since it was still warm and the yeasty salty aroma was permeating my car, I ate half of it on the way home (sans mustard even!).

Today I spent a lot of time on the phone... with the insurance company as well as the organization I will soon be donating funds to in Eric's memory.  It's unbelievably perfect, and I can't wait to share it here.  Also spent a good bit of time tallying Income/Expenses from the GoFundMe so we know where we stand financially, and I paid some outstanding bills.  Dying is expensive, and we remain grateful for the additional help... 💗

Going back to my first paragraph, I have decided to continue blogging daily through the month of October, and then dialing it back to weekly after that (every Tuesday seems right, but who knows?).  I need to get myself back... to the garden, as well as to Radical Self-Care in all its many forms.  "I don't know who I am but you know life is for learning", sings Joni (from Woodstock).

SONG:  This Time Tomorrow by Brandi Carlile

BOOK:  Some Perfect Tomorrow: True Stories of Hope in Loss, Love in Grief, and Life in Death by Craig R Seaton

POEM(S):  We Have Not Long to Love by Tennessee Williams

We have not long to love.

Light does not stay.

The tender things are those

we fold away.

Coarse fabrics are the ones

for common wear.

In silence I have watched you

comb your hair.

Intimate the silence,

dim and warm.

I could but did not, reach

to touch your arm.

I could, but do not, break

that which is still.

(Almost the faintest whisper

would be shrill.)

So moments pass as though

they wished to stay.

We have not long to love.

A night. A day...

Cutting Loose by William Stafford   

Sometimes from sorrow, for no reason,

you sing. For no reason, you accept

the way of being lost, cutting loose

from all else and electing a world

where you go where you want to.

Arbitrary, a sound comes, a reminder

that a steady center is holding

all else. If you listen, that sound

will tell where it is, and you

can slide your way past trouble.

Certain twisted monsters

always bar the path – but that’s when

you get going best, glad to be lost,

learning how real it is

here on the earth, again and again.

QUOTE(S):  “The secret of a full life is to live and relate to others as if they might not be there tomorrow, as if you might not be there tomorrow. It eliminates the vice of procrastination, the sin of postponement, failed communications, failed communions.” ~ Anaïs Nin 

“Every life has a measure of sorrow, and sometimes this is what awakens us.” ~ Steven Tyler

I Remember Everything (John Prine)

The Beanie Twins, December 2015 I think?

I am trying to snap out of my Anger stage of grief, so today I set about conjuring some lovely remembrances of Eric:

~ He saved a kid's life when he worked at C. B. Smith water park in Pembroke Pines.

~ He was The Baby Whisperer.  There is a video, when Colin (Sarah's son) was less than a year old, and all Eric had to do was look at Colin, which elicited such contagious belly laughs... and then Colin would stare at E, and Eric would do it again, and more hilarity ensued.

~ He loved, and was good at, skateboarding.  There was a crew of friends in his neighborhood who would get together daily to practice their moves.  One of the dads built a ramp and they'd put it in the middle of the street, and then have to move it every time a car came by!

~ About five years ago, E started a new tradition.  He would give out Christmas cards to the family, and write the most beautiful sentiments in them, really speaking from the heart, telling us how much he loved us and how lucky he was to have such a great family... 💗

~ Eric was born in Puerto Rico, and has the birth certificate to prove it! 

~ Eric was a very handsome young man.  It was a running joke that many of Sarah's friends had a crush on him, and a few of mine too!  Hey, even some of his guy friends were smitten... 😍

~ He was so kind.  He was always aware of other people's feelings, and trying to make them feel better, or comforting/listening to them if they were down.  

~ In any family with three kids, there is usually a two-against-one situation, and Eric was often the One.  Ask Sarah and Rob about Hello Kitty backpack... 🐱

~ Eric was devoted to his girlfriend Duyen, meeting up with her July 23, 2021, for a coffee date in Miami.  Fast-forward almost two years later, when she graduated from UM's med school and moved to Atlanta to do her residency at Grady Hospital via Emory University; they missed each other so much that he found a job and moved up there just this past March so they could be together again.  They were good to, and for, each other.

~ He was very smart, keeping up with current events and business trends.

~ Eric would call and/or text us often, letting us know he was thinking about us.  

~ He played the guitar as well as bass, and would often sit alone in his room, noodling along to YouTube videos.  He was a huge music lover (Chico and I take pride in the fact there was always music playing in the house when our kids were growing up), and he not only adopted our Beatles and Neil Young, but developed his own personal style: traditional reggae, as well as indie bands like Passafire and Rebelution.

And speaking of remembering, I asked Duyen to set aside E's T-shirts so I could have a quilt made from them for her (just as I did with my Labyrinth Cafe and Dar Williams Ts.).  I will attempt to prepare and mail them off tomorrow (turnaround time is usually a month).

I miss my guy... 💔

SONG:  I Remember Everything by John Prine

BOOK:  Dear Memory: Letters on Writing, Silence, and Grief by Victoria Chang

POEM:  Miss you. Would like to grab that chilled tofu we love. by Gabrielle Calvocoressi

Do not care if  you bring only your light body. 

Would just be so happy to sit at the table

and talk about the menu. Miss you.

Wish we could bet which chilis they’ll put

on the cubes of tofu. Our favorite.

Sometimes green. Sometimes red. Roasted

we always thought. But so cold and fresh.

How did they do it? Wish you could be here

to talk about it like it was so important.

Wish you could. Watched you on the screens

as I was walking, as I was cooking. Wished you

could get out of the hospital. Can’t

bring myself to order our dish and eat it

in the car. Miss you laughing. Miss

you coming in from the cold or one

too many meetings. Laughing. I’ll order

already. I’ll order seven helpings, some

dumplings, those cold yam noodles that you

like. You can come in your light

body or skeleton or be invisible I don’t even

care. Know you have a long way to travel.

Know I don’t even know if it’s long

at all. Wish you could tell me. What

you’re reading. If you’re reading.

Miss you. I’m at the table in the back.

QUOTE(S):  “You will lose someone you can’t live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.” ~ Anne Lamott

"Memory isn’t something that blooms, but something that bleeds internally.” ~ Victoria Chang

You Learn (Alanis Morissette)

This was *almost* my Eulogy for Eric; what was I thinking?!?  But, as soon as I decided not, I knew it would be a blog post... 🤷

Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Grieving But Were Afraid to Ask (some of you who remember the Sex book will understand my title - ha!):

~ People grieve differently; I have learned that my grief reflex is Snappishness.  So many S words:  shutting down, stoicism, need for solitude, spiraling.  Be patient with each other.  It's unknown territory.

~ The Five Stages of Grief are non-linear; in fact, I have cycled through four of them since I woke up this morning... 😢

~ Don't make decisions in the first 24-48 hours (instead, respond "Not Now"... "Let me get back to you"... "I need to think about that").

~ The flip side:  don't *ask* grieving people to make decisions in the first 24-48 hours.  We don't even know what day it is!

~ We are beyond grateful for the outpouring of love and support, knowing that every text, phone call, e-mail, etc. is well-intentioned and well-meaning.  Rev. Amy also taught me that we don't have to apologize for what we're doing or not doing; we can phrase it such that "thanks for understanding my need for space and time right now" (I know a lot of you have heard that from me the last three+ weeks... ❤)

~ We have learned that so many people say:  "What can we do?" or "What do you need?" and, not having experienced this tragedy before... we honestly don't *know* what we need.  I will say that receiving a text alerting you there are three grocery bags of your favorite Trader Joe's products at your doorstep is pretty d*mn perfect... as are friends whose vegan chili is better than my own... and an assortment of Yogi herbal Stress Relief/Calm/Sleep teas (which Chico and I are keeping in a large bowl on the kitchen island, to be brewed up as needed, day or night)... an offer to only listen, with an occasional mmm-hmm, while I scream the F-word for an hour... a long heartfelt handwritten letter... a checking-in text every few days with no expectation of a response... and the number of condolence/sympathy cards that have begun filling our mailbox to overflowing.  Don't wait to hear back from those grieving.  Follow your instinct.  To quote Yoda:  "Do…or do not. There is no try."

~ We have learned that Brain Fog is real, as the body treats grief as if it were trauma. 

~ We have learned that my husband's laugh and his cry sound the same; Joni was right:  "laughing and crying, you know it's the same release."

~ "Space and Grace", as my sister Mari quoted.  What a loving as well as lovely concept.  

I hope this doesn't come across like a tutorial but honestly, I am only *just* at the point where I can begin to talk about my son but, on other days, the thought of him makes my heart literally ache.

What I mainly want to say is that this has been a growth opportunity for *me*, in learning how to not only *receive* grief... but to serve/react/respond to grief, when it happens to one of my family members or friends in the future.  And it will.

SONG:  You Learn by Alanis Morissette

BOOK:  Being There for Someone in Grief - Essential Lessons for Supporting Someone Grieving from Death, Loss and Trauma by Marianna Cacciatore, Wayne Muller (Foreword)

POEM:  I’m Sorry For Your Loss by Donna Ashworth

When I say sorry for your loss

it may sound perfunctory

trite even

but what I mean is

I am sorry

that you wake in the night

gasping for breath

heart racing in agony.

I am sorry

that you will know a lifetime

of what-ifs and

could-have-beens.

I am sorry

that you ache

for one more minute with your love

knowing that it can never be.

When I say sorry for your loss

please know

my soul is reaching out to yours

in understanding

and trying very hard

to take away

just one little ounce of your pain.

QUOTE(S):  "Grief is a no-judgment zone.  Grief is unique to each person.  No one person grieves like another.  So often people don’t understand grief.  They tell us to move on or to get over it.  We even judge our own grief. When you’re in grief, you’re not broken.  Grief is a reflection of love." ~ David Kessler

“The reality is that you will grieve forever. You will not ‘get over’ the loss of a loved one; you will learn to live with it. You will heal and you will rebuild yourself around the loss you have suffered. You will be whole again but you will never be the same. Nor should you be the same nor would you want to.” ~ Dr. Elisabeth Kubler Ross

Goodnight Sun (Nahko and Medicine For the People)

After Eric died, while discussing details of how to move forward, on a very practical level, we immediately thought cremation... and it was reassuring to hear Duyen confirm, in conversations with him, that was his wish.

Somewhere along the way, I got the idea (scathingly brilliant or crazy as f*ck?) that we'd obviously keep some of his ashes for us and give some to Duyen, but that I also wanted to share his ashes with family and special friends, not in a "party favors" way, but as a special memento, a way of honoring him.

So, on the morning of E's service, Chico and I set up an assembly line on our dining room table, me depositing a scoopful in a snack-sized baggie, Chico sealing each baggie, then me folding the baggie and putting it into a small tulle pouch (which I had originally bought for the bath teas I make, but ended up being too small).  The pouches were of various colors (yellow, dark blue, light green, yellow, turquoise, dark green), with a drawstring... placing them into a small totebag.

It was also cool that, while we were enacting this loving gesture, we were listening to very special music, which was originally a mixtape I made for myself (two+ decades ago) and gave a copy to my friend Michele, which she only recently crafted into a Spotify playlist and shared with me.  You will notice an ongoing symbolism and theme of sunshine throughout Eric's Celebration of Life, from the photo on the cover of the program to various other elements (plus he was a Leo, you know!).

The service ended a bit after 5 p.m. and we all spent an additional two hours eating and sharing memories of Eric.  About 6:30 I remembered the pouches and began to walk around, distributing them to those people who remained, asking them to take Eric on an adventure by sprinkling his ashes in an interesting or memorable place (if you knew Eric and didn't receive a pouch, please reach out and I'll make sure to get one to you; Michele and Judi, your pouch is in the mail!).

After we finished clearing the room, about 30 of us segued to Flashback Diner for dinner (as we'd only had light appetizers available in the room).  I passed out a few more pouches and started kidding/not kidding that we should create a website, or some format in which family and friends would be able to share their adventure with Eric (and I riffed on the Carmen Sandiego show, but using #whereintheworldisericdriskellmoss instead.  Clever, right?  And as soon as Rob and his friend Leslie got home, they came up with an Instagram page... 😍

I had deactivated my Instagram account years ago, but I made a new one yesterday *only* so I could view E's upcoming travels (I have no desire for another social media site, so I won't be interacting).  Let the Wild Rumpus Begin... 🥳

SONG:  Goodnight Sun by Nahko and Medicine For the People

BOOK:  Rising from the Ashes: The Poetry of Healing by Jasmine Williams

POEM:  comforts by Maya Stein

This tall glass of ice water. This quadrant of untamed grass. This half

of a grapefruit, pixelated with sugar. This final plank of an empty dock. This red-hued living room.

This carved rhinoceros from a place where the real thing runs wild. This echo of a laugh,

a touch, a conversation that turned the world upside down. This piece of lined paper. This single bloom

from a late summer garden, tucked inside a thin vase. This teeming silence. This warmth. This brief break

between disruptions. This sprawl of newspaper on the porch. This blank canvas. This tube of paint.

This back road squirreling a mountain range. This maple donut filled with custard. This soup you'll make

when your father comes to visit. This five-dollar bill found after two loads of vacation wash. This faint

smell of mint coming back from a run. This atlas on the driver's seat. This curtain parting from the stage.

This tree angling its leaves toward autumn. This story birthed from ashes. This unstoppable turning of the page.

QUOTE(S):  "As I wept in the arms of darkness, I heard the voice of my grandmother say, "nothing stays the same, darling, not even pain."  Life is a path of change.  Of ecstasy and ache.  So, no matter what the storm claims, let love light the way." ~ Tanya Markul

“In one of those stars I shall be living. In one of them I shall be laughing. And so it will be as if all the stars were laughing, when you look at the sky at night.” ~ Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

[Queen] of Pain (with apologies to The Police)

In an attempt to clear my head, as well as my heart:

I did start this grief journey on Facebook but, after two or three posts, I just felt it wasn't the right place so, knowing my tendency (and in this case, *need*) to spew-and-send, I rolled everything over to my blog, where I've continued and have no plan to stop anytime soon.  This medium has always been my journal, not caring whether I had readers or not.  My Monkey Mind just had to release steam.  Facebook started to feel too in-your-face for such a tragic litany.

It's been wrenching for me to go into such detail about Eric's death and how it was affecting me and our family, but I couldn't *not*, if that makes sense.  I was processing it.  I had never done this before.  I was attempting to navigate through uncharted waters.  Writing is not only what I do; it's who I am.

What I was sharing with friends and family these last three weeks was the tip of the iceberg.  I'd been keeping everyone at arm's length, actually much more than that.  I wasn't answering phone calls, texts, door knocks.  I wasn't ready to "people".  I said in one blog post that we all grieve differently, and my reflex was Snappishness.  It was also Solitude.  And amidst both of those, I was crying uncontrollably, big heaving snotty sobs (which I've cycled back to). 

It is real.  It's real.  It's f*cking real.

And I know everyone has been trying to stay in touch, and to console me... and I have learned through this process there are different ways to do that too (you can bet there will be a blog post about that).  Unless you've lost a child, (generic)you have absolutely no idea what I was going through, when I was basically skinning myself and nailing it to the wall for all to see, trying to understand it all for *me*.

And life just kept going on, and I get that (obla-di, obla-da) but, in the grand scheme of things, I couldn't be sidetracked by other people's problems because, in a battle of whose life is harder, it's always the person with the dead child, you know?  I will "win" every time.  Full stop.  Period.  Mic drop.  And I would have given anything *not* to win.  

There were condolences, of course... but there was also much "there but for the grace of god", like we were contagious or something.  "Better you than me".  And we never thought it would happen to us.  We're not those people.  We've always been so lucky, so charmed, so blessed.  And all that came to a screeching halt.  I will now forever be the woman who lost a child.  My youngest is dead.  I don't know how to come back from that.  Even worse, now I have to figure out the day-to-dayness of it all.  

Some people's Love Language is Food/Cooking (Nancy)... and some is Gardening (Linda)... and some is Touch (Robert's)... and mine is Words... and I'm just going to keep cranking them out, because every day is an AFGO (Another F*cking Growth Opportunity) and, although I don't want to do this, I have no choice but to keep doing this... in between weeping, checking out, throwing up, zoning out, building walls, allowing fragility, bursts of anger, etc. (so much anger now!).  

I love my friends and family so much.  I need you all right now.  I will take off my blinders at some point and resume caring about what's going on around me but, for now, I am a sorrowful, selfish woman who just wants her son back, and that's never going to happen.  I remain bereft.

More later.  I have run out of steam.  Whew, right?

P.S.  I tried to go to Mindful Meditation today (a free class offered by Hollybrook every Thursday afternoon from 2-3), but there was no one in the room... so I came home and breathed (although it's only been shallow, not deep, breaths for the last 3+ weeks).  I couldn't make myself go out walking, so I stretched instead.  Lots crossed off the To Do List though.  I had a Zoom meeting with my True North Project peeps (hard).  And I rescheduled my ophthalmologist appointment (from tomorrow to early-November) because I've been crying so much I didn't feel they could get an accurate reading of my eyes. 

Earlier today, Chico said to me:  "I am resigned to his death.  I'm just having a hard time facing his absence."  Whew.  Gut Punch.

SONG:  [Queen] of Pain (with apologies to The Police)

BOOK:  Reflecting on Grief and Moving Beyond Pain: Living with Loss and Discovering New Meaning by Sara Thurman

POEM(S):  What Can We Give? by Beth Weaver-Kreider

What can we give besides our prayers and rage?

And what will that avail?

Send out the story on October winds.

Fling it high, where crows are flying.

Send the message echoing into earth

with every pounding step you take.

Listen.

Let the shells of your ears gather the story.

Reel in the gossamer strands of the tale

and weave them into the veil you wear.

Listen for the stories of those who weep,

those who rage, those who only speak

with the shrug of a shoulder,

with a sigh, with a shudder.

Listen, too, to those who walk right in,

who step into your circle without invitation.

Listen to the voices that are hard to hear.

Offer only the bread that is yours to give.

Be like the old gods, with the raven Wisdom

on one shoulder and Memory on the other,

and Reason perched upon your hat.

Offer what is yours:

your rage,

your prayer,

your watchful quiet heart. 

Pity me not because the light of day by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Pity me not because the light of day

At close of day no longer walks the sky;

Pity me not for beauties passed away

From field and thicket as the year goes by;

Pity me not the waning of the moon,

Nor that the ebbing tide goes out to sea,

Nor that a man’s desire is hushed so soon,

And you no longer look with love on me.

This have I known always: Love is no more

Than the wide blossom which the wind assails,

Than the great tide that treads the shifting shore,

Strewing fresh wreckage gathered in the gales:

Pity me that the heart is slow to learn

What the swift mind beholds at every turn.

QUOTE:  "My mom taught us to never look away from people’s pain. The lesson was simple: Don’t look away. Don’t pretend not to see hurt. Look people in the eye. Even when their pain is overwhelming. And when you’re in pain, find the people who can look you in the eye. We need to know we’re not alone – especially when we’re hurting. This lesson is one of the greatest gifts of my life." ~ Brene Brown

"True healing is an unglamorous process of living into the long lengths of pain.  Forging forward in the darkness.  Holding the tension between hoping to get well and the acceptance of what is happening.  Tendering a devotion to the impossible task of recovery, while being willing to live with the permanence of a wound; befriending it with an earnest tenacity to meet it where it lives without pushing our agenda upon it.  But here's the paradox: you must accept what is happening while also keeping the heart pulsing towards your becoming, however slow and whispering it may be." ~ Toko-pa Turner