When We Were Younger (SOJA)

Later this morning, I will be sending out the following as an Update to the GoFundMe that was created almost a year ago. It only made sense to share it here as well... 🤷 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Family and Friends of the MossFam6 -

It is impossible to believe that today is the one-year mark of Eric's passing. It feels like yesterday, right? We remain in awe and gratitude that you all generously contributed $15,000+, which helped tremendously with all the costs incurred. My goal of sending thank-you notes made it through a double-handful, so please accept my apologies that those good intentions remain locked in my heart and mind, unexpressed yet no less sincere.

It's been an interesting year of learning and growth and change. All the Coping Mechanisms: bereavement group and therapy and meditation, oh my! Chico and I have a niche/shrine in our living room, with flowers from the garden where I volunteer... a Memory Bear a friend made from one of E's button-down shirts (you'd recognize the paisley pattern)... and of course candles and sage. And owls, which became significant a few weeks after he died.

Eric's ashes (so far) have made it to Alaska, two California locations, Key West (with Dar Williams!), Cozumel, South Carolina, northern Florida, my sister's weekly Trivia Night in Georgia, the Sangre de Cristo Mountains in northern New Mexico, Norway, Sweden, and every reggae concert in South Florida in the last year (especially Stick Figure; thanks, JT!).

We started a Breakfast Club at IHOP, usually the first Sunday of each month, where we share memories and make new ones. Chico had a brick installed at the Cooper City Optimist Clubhouse. We planted a tree in E's memory at Ashley W. Hale Park (in our old Pembroke Lakes neighborhood), and will soon gather for a dedication. If you're local and interested in details of the aforementioned, e-me at ozwoman321@aol.com. We'd love to have you join us for either or both.

Hugs to all of you. To all of us. Ugh. What a year. But now we have made it through the Firsts, and the Seconds will be easier. I am beyond thankful for the wagons we circled, the Village we created, the traditions we began, as well as continued. The love keeps rippling out... 💗

It bears repeating: as long as we remember Eric, he lives. “What is grief, if not love persevering?” ~ WandaVision (thanks to Rob for the heads-up).

Susan, Chico, Rob, Sarah, and Colin

SONG:  When We Were Younger by SOJA

"What's the answer to your soul's light?

I wonder do we get to come back

I wonder if I will remember these questions I've asked

Or will I just start over again?" (thanks to Andrew for the nod to this song)

BOOK: The Bereaved Parent by Harriet Sarnoff Schiff POEM(S): Swimming Lessons by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer How scared they were that first day, the ones who had never before put their faces into the cold blue water of the pool. Goosebumps rose on their tiny limbs, mine, too, as we shivered in the shallow end. I’d take their hands and we’d move in a circle, Ring around the rosies— Their little voices rang out with lisp and shine. Pocket full of posies— scent of chlorine and sun screen and Ashes, ashes, we all fall— Years later, afraid of a much different deep end, I notice who is holding my hands. Sometimes we sing while we meet what we fear. It makes it easier as we all fall down.

In the untimely event of my death, Immediately unwrap everything you have kept for new, I will enjoy it in spirit with you. Take out all your brightest colours and clash so hard, the sun is in awe of your light. I want you alive and present and rainbow-bright. Eat cake. And slather butter on your bread, this is the prize for not being dead. Book a holiday, somewhere I said you must go walk to the forest, make it long and slow. Watch everything grow. Touch your face, touch your nose, you so often berate, marvel at how you arrived so late to see its beauty. To see it daily now, is duty. Set your watch, time is not yours but oh this life, it is and it’s down to you, how you chose to live, this is the gift, my dying, will give. ~ Donna Ashworth

Begin Again 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.

Mother and Son by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer Briefly, you were taller than I, tall enough that when we hugged my head rested against your chest, your body lean from growing so fast. My body remembers how new it felt when you gathered me in long, slender arms the way I had once cradled you. It is not the same to be held by your absence, no warmth, no scent. Still, I let myself be held by what is here— no heartbeat but my own, but oh, the love still growing.

QUOTE(S): “Grief is normal. It’s not like you’ll have a life someday with no grief. Life is all about loss, but grief is the medicine for that loss. Grief is not your problem. Grief is not the sorrow. Grief is the medicine. The people that have grief cultural awareness are always turning all of their losses into beauty in order to make more life instead of just trying to get through it and then forget about it.” ~ Martin Prechtel

"I hope death is like being carried to your bedroom when you were a child & fell asleep on the couch during a family party. I hope you can hear the laughter from the next room" (I can't find an attribution for this)

“When you remember me, it means that you have carried something of who I am with you, that I have left some mark of who I am on who you are. It means that you can summon me back to your mind even though countless years and miles may stand between us. It means that if we meet again, you will know me. It means that even after I die, you can still see my face and hear my voice and speak to me in your heart.

For as long as you remember me, I am never entirely lost.” ~ Frederick Buechner

You and Me on the Rock (Brandi Carlile)

Today is our 48th wedding anniversary.  WTF.  Crazy, right?!?

Oh, and if you're doing the math at home:  17,520 One Days at a Time... 🤣

A Happy Marriage, One Gesture at a Time by Susan Semenak

"Really great marriages are not the result of long hours of hard work, but of everyday behaviours and attitudes, seemingly small gestures that show your spouse that he or she is noticed, appreciated, respected, loved and desired," Orbuch writes in her just-published book 5 Simple Steps to Take Your Marriage from Good to Great (Delacorte Press), which is based on the study's findings.

MONTREAL – What makes couples happy? What makes marriages last? It's the small stuff, it turns out: Telling him he looks great in his jeans. Bringing her coffee in bed in the morning. Sneaking off without the kids from time to time. Taking turns doing the laundry.

Terri Orbuch, a Michigan-based research professor and marriage- and-family therapist, spent more than 22 years charting the love lives of 373 married couples in the U.S. government-funded Early Years of Marriage Project, the longest-running study of marriage conducted in North America.

The secrets of happy couples, Orbuch and her team of researchers found, were surprisingly simple.

"Really great marriages are not the result of long hours of hard work, but of everyday behaviours and attitudes, seemingly small gestures that show your spouse that he or she is noticed, appreciated, respected, loved and desired," Orbuch writes in her just-published book 5 Simple Steps to Take Your Marriage from Good to Great (Delacorte Press), which is based on the study's findings.

When couples in solid relationships run into trouble, or experience "the blahs," they often focus on what's wrong, as do many self-help books and marriage counsellors, Orbuch said in a telephone interview this week. But she found focusing on their strengths and taking a few minutes every day "to fix the little things" had a greater impact on happiness.

"It's not those big challenges that couples experience that eat away at happiness so much as the seemingly minor issues that accumulate over the years," Orbuch said. "We're so busy with work and family and exercise and shovelling snow and doing the groceries that people too often put their relationships on the backburner." Here are a few of the secrets Orbuch gleaned from happy couples for making a good marriage great:

Read the rest of the article here... 

SONG:  You and Me on the Rock by Brandi Carlile

BOOK:  What Makes a Marriage Last: 40 Celebrated Couples Share with Us the Secrets to a Happy Life by Marlo Thomas, Phil Donahue

POEM(S):  New Vows by Sierra DeMulder

When my best friend got married,

he walked down the aisle to a song

about death. Isn’t that what marriage is

all about? he laughed. A promise

to be together until one of you dies?

I regret my wedding vows, too focused

on the benign—our boundless laughter,

how I cherish just waking up together.

I should have said, I take thee and all

the treachery that aliveness guarantees.

I should have said, I will help bury

your elders. I take your hand and your heart 

murmur; the cancerous growth above

your father’s ear. I take your family

history of alcoholism and give you back

a possible covenant of dementia, miscarriage, 

high blood pressure. In sickness and in

car accidents. In sickness and in the mundane. 

Shared calendars and anniversaries spent 

arguing about our budget. You told me once 

Great Danes have a short life expectancy, 

only 6-10 years if you’re lucky, and I cried: 

who would sign up to love something

so impermanent? O, beloved, we have

been so happy lately, it’s making us nervous. 

And isn’t that what marriage is all about:

a love so darling, so hallowed and exposed,

we both volunteer to be its keeper—when

the joy runs dry, when the body fails—

not because but in glorious spite of

the unpalatable, impossible fact that

someday one of us will wake up first

only to find ourselves alone.

Me First by Billy Collins

We often fly in the sky together,

and we’re always okay—there’s our luggage now

waiting for us on the carousel.

And we drive lots of places

in all manner of hectic traffic,

yet here we are pulling in the driveway again.

So many opportunities to die together,

but no meteor has hit our house,

no tornado has lifted us into its funnel.

The odds say then that one of us will go

before the other, like heading off

into a heavy snow storm, leaving

the other one behind to stand in the kitchen

or lie on the bed under the fan.

So why not let me, the older one, go first?

I don’t want to see you everywhere

as I wait for the snow to stop,

before setting out with a crooked stick, calling your name.

Habitation by Margaret Atwood

Marriage is not

a house or even a tent

it is before that, and colder:

the edge of the forest, the edge

of the desert

                the unpainted stairs

at the back where we squat

outside, eating popcorn

the edge of the receding glacier

where painfully and with wonder

at having survived even

this far

we are learning to make fire

Marriage by Ellen Bass

When you finally, after deep illness, lay

the length of your body on mine, isn’t it

like the strata of the earth, the pressure

of time on sand, mud, bits of shell, all

the years, uncountable wakings, sleepings,

sleepless nights, fights, ordinary mornings

talking about nothing, and the brief

fiery plummets, and the unselfconscious

silences of animals grazing, the moving

water, wind, ice that carries the minutes, leaves

behind minerals that bind the sediment into rock.

How to bear the weight, with every

flake of bone pressed in. Then, how to bear when

the weight is gone, the way a woman

whose neck has been coiled with brass

can no longer hold it up alone. Oh love,

it is balm, but also a seal. It binds us tight

as the fur of a rabbit to the rabbit.

When you strip it, grasping the edge

of the sliced skin, pulling the glossy membranes

apart, the body is warm and limp. If you could,

you’d climb inside that wet, slick skin

and carry it on your back. This is not

neat and white and lacy like a wedding,

not the bright effervescence of champagne

spilling over the throat of the bottle. This visceral

bloody union that is love, but

beyond love. Beyond charm and delight

the way you to yourself are past charm and delight.

This is the shucked meat of love, the alleys and broken

glass of love, the petals torn off the branches of love,

the dizzy hoarse cry, the stubborn hunger.

QUOTE(S):  “Marriage is not a noun; it’s a verb. It isn’t something you get. It’s something you do. It’s the way you love your partner every day.” ~ Barbara De Angelis

"Basically the secret to a long-lasting marriage is memory loss and well-meaning lies and beach margaritas." ~ Jenny Lawson

Dark Skies (Danny Schmidt)

"when the stars did guide us" by Ezra Berger, original oil on canvas*

Yesterday (August 26) was eleven months since Eric's death.  Crazy.  September will find me one big fat f*cking mess; it will almost be a relief to hit the one-year mark, the countdown to which has been excruciatingly painful, yet educational (if that makes a bit of sense).

Details soon of a potluck Breakfast Club get-together on a Sunday morning in early- to mid-October, in Ashley W. Hale Park, Pembroke Pines (our former neighborhood).  We are having a tree planted (and a plaque made) in E's memory, and would love to gather whatever friends and family are able to attend... 🌳

*As soon as I saw Ezra's painting posted online, I could envision it in my house.  I am a Leo (in my mind the one Dar Williams met in Mercy of the Fallen - ha!)  Crazy synchronicity... or meant-to-be?:

first verse: 

"I had asked you to steer me

To one cloud scattered night

I got lost and in my travels

I met Leo the Lion

last verse:

"There's the weak and the strong

And the many stars that guide us

We have some of them inside us"

Yes, I bought this stunning work of art... 🌃🦁

SONG:  Dark Skies by Danny Schmidt

BOOK:  Joy Rides through the Tunnel of Grief: A Memoir by Jessica Hendry Nelson (a birthday present from my friend Judi... 💖)

POEM:  changed by Ullie Kaye

yes I have changed. you may not recognize me anymore. the new me does not pretend to be anything other than who I really am. you may not recognize the kind of strength that courses through my veins. it is rich with suffering. and believing. and overcoming. I no longer crave the things that I thought made me beautiful. but rather, i am delicious now in spirit. in choosing tenderness. and deliberate breaths. and a longing to be to others what I always wished them to be to me. I no longer have eyes that search for approval. but my vision is on whatever brings grace and healing and growth. I am full of love. and empty of being consumed by things that really do not matter. don't get me wrong. I am still filled with a thousand, broken pieces - I've just rearranged them all.

QUOTE:  "We are travelers on a cosmic journey; stardust swirling and dancing in the eddies and whirlpools of infinity. Life is eternal. We have stopped for a moment to encounter each other, to meet, to Love, to share. This is a precious moment. It is a little parenthesis in eternity." ~ Paulo Coelho

Shine (Stick Figure)

[photo credit:  Sarah]

So... I turned 70 years old this past Monday (August 5) and, through a bizarre yet synchronistic series of events, we celebrated in Ormond Beach.  Too complicated to retrace the details of our on-again/off-again MossFam cat-herding expedition, but it also included a visit on Saturday to Jupiter (Florida, not the planet) with extended family (Uncle Andy, Aunt Jeannie, Andy's sons Drew and John, and Drew's son Brian; it had been over five years since we'd all seen each other!).  At this point, we didn't know if we were driving away from Hurricane Debby or directly into it.  Yikes... 😲

Halfway to our destination, we continued on another two hours and checked in to the hotel about 9 p.m., delightfully surprised by our room's spaciousness, elegant simplicity, and oceanfront view.  The next four days alternated between drizzly, windy, sunny, and everything in between, which of course didn't stop us from beaching, pooling, jacuzzi-ing (or, as Colin says, shacuzzi... 😂), putt-putting, basketballing, ping-ponging, Ouisi-ing, bedtime-storying, etc.  Family-friendly as well as relaxing... 💥😎

Michele and her crew met up with us Tuesday afternoon and, as she said, it was so beautiful to watch our now grown-up children with their own kiddos, who got along swimmingly (pun definitely intended!).

And Rob found the perfect casual beachfront restaurant to celebrate me, and after dinner we went practically across the street to a cheeZy souvenir shop (in fact, this entire getaway was so reminiscent of our longstanding and long-ago Ft. Myers Beach family vacations), where I promised everyone $10 (Sarah added the extra challenge of "in 10 minutes") to locate a cool find for themselves, and darned if Colin didn't choose a sharktooth necklace, just like Eric used to get... every. damn. summer... 🦈

No surprise there were multiple Eric visitations: Three Little Birds art in our room... an owl whistle in NovelTea Bookstore/Coffeehouse (where Michele and I snuck away to Facetime with our dear friend Rox, and to open presents)... a rainbow... perfect playlist at the restaurant, including Slightly Stoopid, Rebelution, and Stick Figure (Shine is my new favorite song of his; conjuring it for Saturday's concert... ✨)

Returned home about 4 Wednesday afternoon, but I pretended I was still on vacation the rest of the day, and only today allowed Real Life to intervene (unpacking and reorganizing and laptopping, oh my!).

I sat on my balcony this a.m. feeling waves of abundant Gratitude and Peace (the latter in short supply these last ten months) and, most surprisingly, Clarity.  It was as if all of my foggy brain cells since Eric's death conspired to unite in solidarity (like Swimmy)...

...the next level up from glimmers, to crystallize my inner vision and mend my broken heart.  The sun is shining through... 🌞

P.S.  All this to say:  I  need more Beach Time in my life... ⛱

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This is the true joy in life, being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one.

Being a force of nature instead of a feverish, selfish little clod of ailments and grievances, complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy.

I am of the opinion that my life belongs to the whole community and as long as I live, it is my privilege to do for it what I can. I want to be thoroughly used up when I die, for the harder I work, the more I live. I rejoice in life for its own sake. Life is no brief candle to me. It is a sort of splendid torch which I have got hold of for the moment and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to future generations.” ~ George Bernard Shaw

SONG:  Shine by Stick Figure

BOOK(S):  Women Rowing North: Navigating Life’s Currents and Flourishing As We Age by Mary Pipher

How to Age Disgracefully by Clare Pooley

POEM(S):  

No one told me 

it would be like this— 

how growing older

is another passage

of discovery

and that aging is one

grand transformation,

and if some things become torn apart

lost along the way,

many other means show up 

to bring me closer 

to the center of my heart.

No one ever told me

if whatever wonder 

waits ahead

is in another realm

and outside of time.

But the amazement, I found,

is that the disconcerting things 

within the here and now 

that I stumble 

and trip my way 

through, also

lead me 

gracefully

home.

And no one told me 

that I would ever see

an earth so strong 

and fragile, or

a world so sad 

and beautiful.

And I surely

didn't know 

I'd have

all this life 

yet in me

or such fire

inside my 

bones.

~Susan Frybort

This Body by Joyce Sutphen

When I stepped ashore in this body

I was recognized at once

and given a name.

My bones were smaller, but the shape

of the cheek and the chin

are the same.

This is the only body I know: this color

my eyes, this color my skin.

Every scar is mine.

I have become as tall, as slim, as old

as I am. My voice has carried the weight

of what I had to say.

Words were scattered along the way: words

on gravel roads, in hallways and staircases.

Words on a wire.

Somewhere in a field, my hair. Somewhere in a lake,

my skin, some rooftop where my gaze rested,

some star, a wish.

This is my address on earth: temporary, fragile,

a name in the phonebook,

at the moment, alive.

Idea by Kate Baer

I will enjoy this life. I will open it 

like a peach in season, suck the juice 

from every finger, run my tongue over 

my chin. I will not worry about clichés 

or uninvited guests peering in my windows. 

I will love and be loved. Save and be saved 

a thousand times. I will let the want into 

my body, bless the heat under my skin. 

My life, I will not waste it. I will enjoy this life.

The Birth of Phoenix by Beth Weaver-Kreider

This is the story of the woman

who believed that happiness

lay in the sound of Anything-At-All

slipping through her open doorway,

who grew beyond bounds,

whose walls dissolved in a grey mist

to let in a garden,

a star,

and a small silvery snake,

who discovered the spiraling staircase

which led to the Aunt in the attic,

who plied that old woman with indecent questions

and robed herself warmly

in old woman’s laughter,

who carried the rage of the crone in her pocket

like a sculpted soapstone jackal,

who suckled that fury—that ravenous infant,

who knew a canary from plaster pretenders,

who built her own cottage of clay, thatch, and brambles,

who walked through the market,

unveiled by the eyebrows

of merchants and gabblers,

who swam to deep waters

alone like a manta,

who left the green waves for a road full of daughters,

who shaved off her hair,

to step naked and newborn

among glowing embers.

There Is a Girl Inside by Lucille Clifton

There is a girl inside.

She is randy as a wolf.

She will not walk away and leave these bones

to an old woman.

She is a green tree in a forest of kindling.

She is a green girl in a used poet.

She has waited patient as a nun

for the second coming,

when she can break through gray hairs

into blossom

and her lovers will harvest

honey and thyme

and the woods will be wild

with the damn wonder of it.

QUOTE(S):  "Do not grow old, no matter how long you live. Never cease to stand like curious children before the Great Mystery into which we were born." ~ Albert Einstein

“Just because you’re not doing what other people are doing, that doesn’t mean you’re failing or falling behind. You’re charting your own course and staying true to yourself, even though it would be easier to join the crowd. You’re creating a life you can fall in love with instead of falling in line. You’re finding the courage to do what’s right for you, even though it’s uncertain and scary and hard. Give yourself some credit, because these are all reasons to be proud.” ~ Lori Deschene

"When we are young, it’s the illusion of perfection that we fall in love with. As we age, it’s the humanness that we fall in love with- the poignant stories of overcoming, the depthful vulnerability of aging, the

struggles that grew us in karmic stature, the way a soul shaped itself to accommodate its circumstances.  With less energy to hold up our armor, we are revealed and, in the revealing, we call out to each other’s hearts... Where we once saw imperfect scars, we now see evidence of a life fully lived." ~ Jeff Brown 

“I try to avoid looking forward or backward, and try to keep looking upward.” ~ Charlotte Bronte

“And then there are the cravings... Oh, la! A woman may crave to be near water, or be belly down, her face in the earth, smelling the wild smell. She might have to drive into the wind. She may have to plant something, pull things out of the ground or put them into the ground. She may have to knead and bake, rapt in dough up to her elbows. She may have to trek into the hills, leaping from rock to rock trying out her voice against the mountain. She may need hours of starry nights where the stars are like face powder spilt on a black marble floor. She may feel she will die if she doesn’t dance naked in a thunderstorm, sit in perfect silence, return home ink-stained, paint-stained, tear-stained, moon-stained.” ~ Clarissa Pinkola Estés

"Drench yourself in hope

It is always on the horizon

The sun will arrive

Gravitating to you

Seeking you

Warming you

With the golden light

Of something new glistening"

~ Victoria Erickson

Wings of No Restraint (Danny Schmidt)

Maybe some of you recall the original owl visitation story a week or so after Eric's death.  There have been many more since I last posted, such that my words at Eric's Celebration of Life strengthened my desire for a tattoo.

"So far, he's given us signs of rainbows... and an owl appeared to me that I am sure was a visitation.  And, even though I've declared a moratorium on tattoos ("seven is the number", sings Dave Carter), if I hear Eric's voice whispering in my ear that it might be time for more ink, one of you will be getting a call to accompany me."

Last week, he whispered:  "It's time."  

Lovely backstory:  in September 2013, Eric decided to get a tattoo (not his first) of an octopus attempting to pull a ship underwater which, to me, represented his life-long struggles with anxiety (I am still trying to find the finished product, but here is the initial line work).  Look at that gorgeous detail, even in first draft form:

I wanted a tattoo for my 60th birthday (10 years ago), and Eric recommended his guy, Adam Forero... who immortalized our family on my back with a compass tattoo I designed; Sarah came with me, and got a beautiful flowers/dragonfly/butterfly on her lower back/left hip.  We had such a good time, laughing and chatting; Adam told us that one day he would have his own shop, 4 Arrows (sparked by his surname).  Sarah was a bit nervous so she asked Adam to put on Dave Matthews Band (her favorite music group) and, since it was late and we were the only ones there, he obliged (straying from the heavy metal that had been playing earlier - ha!).

Back to present day:  over the last few months, I had narrowed my new tattoo down to three ideas... and of course it only made sense for Adam to do it; I went in search, and he does indeed have his own shop now (six years!):  4 Arrows Art.  

I sent an e-mail before we went out of town last weekend for my niece Julia's wedding; he replied the Monday after, we continued the conversation, I sent him my idea, and we made a Wednesday a.m. appointment.  When I showed up, not only had he sketched it up, but he had found and researched the artist:  Amanda Clark.  So. Many. Owls.  Just one more validation I was in the right place... 💥

Also, Dave Matthews jam band music was on the PA.  Double-bam... 💥💥

And we hugged and we talked and we got down to business.  And he showed me his own owl tattoo; and he brought me water in an owl glass (his sister works at Disney).

Whatever might have been a consultation morphed into a full-fledged session, as I climbed into the chair, sitting comfortably cross-legged with my back supported, closed my eyes and settled into Zen mode while still carrying on a non-stop, in-depth conversation about anything and everything.  What a nice as well as talented young man!  Oh, and did I say gentle touch?  I was in the chair almost three hours, and barely felt a thing... 😌

And when we were finished, I gave Adam a pouch of E's ashes... 💜

Wednesday's experience meant so much to me on so many levels:  to see Adam again, 10 years later... to realize his 4 Arrows dream came true... to have a full-circle moment for/with Eric; I know Adam will take him on many adventures!

I already feel more peaceful, comforted, and protected with E on my left shoulder, next to my heart; I expected to cry, and was pleasantly surprised that I didn't.  The time was right, we made it happen, and I am beyond delighted with my new ink... 💘

[edited to add:  I realized, days later, that Wednesday 6/26/24 (when I got the tattoo), was 9 months to the day of Eric's death... 💞)

SONG:  Wings of No Restraint by Danny Schmidt

BOOK:  The Woman With An Owl Tattoo by Anne Walsh Donnelly, Isabelle Kenyon (Editor), Sally Mullaney (Illustrator)

POEM:  Beneath the Sweater and the Skin by Jeannette Encinias

How many years of beauty do I have left?

she asks me.

How many more do you want?

Here. Here is 34. Here is 50.

When you are 80 years old

and your beauty rises in ways

your cells cannot even imagine now

and your wild bones grow luminous and

ripe, having carried the weight

of a passionate life.

When your hair is aflame

with winter

and you have decades of

learning and leaving and loving

sewn into

the corners of your eyes

and your children come home

to find their own history

in your face.

When you know what it feels like to fail

ferociously

and have gained the

capacity

to rise and rise and rise again.

When you can make your tea

on a quiet and ridiculously lonely afternoon

and still have a song in your heart

Queen owl wings beating

beneath the cotton of your sweater.

Because your beauty began there

beneath the sweater and the skin,

remember?

This is when I will take you

into my arms and coo

YOU BRAVE AND GLORIOUS THING

you’ve come so far.

I see you.

Your beauty is breathtaking.

QUOTE:  “Rooted strongly yet bearing wings, Owl Woman signifies the wisdom that awakens through grounded seeking of the unknown. She presides over ritual, over ceremony. Grounded in solid practice, she opens her heart. With humility, she remains aware and is not afraid to look into the heart of darkness, knowing that she may find the lost parts of herself there. And when she does, she welcomes them back through the portal of her heart, digesting the experiences, retaining that which nourishes the soul, rejecting the rest.

Owl Woman aligns with the Moon, she understands what it means to cycle with the ebb and flow of the seasons. In ceremony, she smooths the way. On softened wings, she glides through the night, listening for the wisdom of the heart.” ~ Ona Christie Martin, Art of Awakening

Carry On (Crosby, Stills, Nash, & Young)

At 10 a.m. today, I was weeping inconsolably in the local AT&T store.

Let's start at the beginning, shall we?  Rewind.

When I dropped my phone a few months ago and went there for a replacement, the amazing Raquel explained to me that, due to Eric's death, we could have him taken off the account and switch myself and my husband over to the Florida 55 Plus Plan, therefore saving us money.  E's girlfriend still had his phone and was using it, with our permission, for various music apps, photos, and of course, to hear the sound of his voice through his voicemail.  We approached her at that point and offered her three months grace period to transfer over whatever she needed so we could make the adjustment in our bill.

Today's appointment was to make that happen, and we got Carlos (who was a bit of a d*ck), who explained we had to remove Eric from the account via phone (not with them in-store), so I called them immediately.  I had already gotten teary-eyed telling Carlos of E's death, and then I had to do it *three more times*, as Shante transferred me to Tracy who transferred me to Asha, each one very helpful but starting from scratch.  In the span of 15 minutes, I had to tell *four* people that my son died eight months ago.  What is wrong with Customer Service these days?  Shouldn't the first person fill in the next person on *why* the customer needs assistance?  Why must I repeat this backstory, upsetting me more with each retelling?  Good thing I always keep my handkerchief (purchased for Eric's Celebration of Life) in my purse.  I was in full-on snotting mode.

And then, thankyoujesus, instead of the very impatient Carlos, the incredibly sweet (as well as efficient) Raquel stepped in, and was able to, efficiently and kindly, tie everything up, asking us the right questions, finding additional ways to shave off even more dollars, such that we walked away, now owing $100 *less* every month moving forward than what we were paying.  Grateful on so many levels... 💖

Then my 12:30-2 p.m. Bereavement Group, where I was able to vent the above; I adore those people.

Then a therapy session with Leigh, who has been so instrumental in moving me forward with my healing, so much so that, in July, I'll be attending monthly instead of every other week.  Continued thanks for my incredible support system... 🪷

Also, I included this book because it is Eileen's choice for our book club this Wednesday, synchronistic because, when Eric was moving to Atlanta last March, he had many books he asked me to donate.  I kept this one because I remembered it was required reading for him in high school, oh so many years ago.  I am glad I am finally getting around to reading it.  I wish he were around so I could discuss it with him.... 🕮

SONG:  Carry On by Crosby, Stills, Nash, & Young null

BOOK:  The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien null

P.S.  I seem to be having trouble posting my links, and will get that figured out soon; in the meantime, click on the word null, and it goes right through... 😬

POEM:  “Where did the handsome beloved go?” by Jalal Al-Din Rumi

Translated by Brad Gooch and Maryam Mortaz

Where did the handsome beloved go?

I wonder, where did that tall, shapely cypress tree go?

He spread his light among us like a candle.

Where did he go? So strange, where did he go without me?

All day long my heart trembles like a leaf.

All alone at midnight, where did that beloved go?

Go to the road, and ask any passing traveler — 

That soul-stirring companion, where did he go?

Go to the garden, and ask the gardener — 

That tall, shapely rose stem, where did he go?

Go to the rooftop, and ask the watchman — 

That unique sultan, where did he go?

Like a madman, I search in the meadows!

That deer in the meadows, where did he go?

My tearful eyes overflow like a river — 

That pearl in the vast sea, where did he go?

All night long, I implore both moon and Venus — 

That lovely face, like a moon, where did he go?

If he is mine, why is he with others?

Since he’s not here, to what “there” did he go?

If his heart and soul are joined with God,

And he left this realm of earth and water, where did he go?

Tell me clearly, Shams of Tabriz,

Of whom it is said, “The sun never dies” — where did he go?

[Guest Editor Sarah Ruhl:  “I have long been obsessed with Rumi, who distills life into the poetry of ecstasy. Coleman Barks’s beautiful translations in A Year with Rumi, Daily Readings got me through the first year of the pandemic. Rumi’s poems were good medicine to take every day. The above translation is by Brad Gooch and Maryam Mortaz. Gooch has gorgeously translated many of Rumi’s as yet unseen poems as well as writing a biography of Rumi centered on his relationship with Shams, the great friend, the beloved, the Sufi master. So much of Rumi’s ecstatic poetry would not exist were it not for his profound love of Shams Tabrizi—mystic, poet, love, and teacher.”]

QUOTE:  "We are so brief. A one-day dandelion. A seedpod skittering across the ice. We are a feather falling from the wing of a bird. I don’t know why it is given to us to be so mortal and to feel so much. It is a cruel trick, and glorious." ~ Louise Erdrich

It's OK (Imagine Dragons)

digital art by Mike Parsons

Sunday was such a hard day, but I had a wonderful therapy session Monday; surprised she kept to the every-other-Monday schedule since it was Memorial Day, but glad she did.  I had forgotten that, when I first started with Leigh, I filled out some forms related to both depression and anxiety, and she asked if I was ready to re-answer those questions (maybe 7 in each category); for the former, I went from 17 to 3 and the latter 14 to 1.  D*mn.  That's progress.  Funny that, after celebrating my "test" results, I burst into tears, and queried where that came from, seemingly out of the blue.  Leigh responded that grief is like Florida weather:  gorgeous one minute, thunderstorms the next... or how sometimes it rains on one side of the street and not the other.  Sounds cliche but it was perfect.  Anyway, the 50-minute hour was exactly what I needed... 🤗

I left therapy and went to the Hope Garden to dump compost, long overdue since Claire and I decided to go to an every-other-Saturday workday, meaning we weren't there this past weekend.  I had my containers... plus Sarah's, Nancy's, Didi's, Pam's, and our heat wave continues; even at 4:15 p.m., it was in the mid-to-high-90s.  Our compost bins are all the way down at the end in the Banana Circle, which is mostly shady, but the effort still got to me and I had to lie down right there on the ground; I couldn't figure out if I was having a panic attack or a heat stroke, and I tried to stay calm and prone until the feeling passed.  Frightening.  Fortunately I had my phone with me, and of course I had left my water bottle in the car, but I did slowly make my way back to the cafe and bought my favorite Green Lotus smoothie (Pineapple, Spinach, Kale, Cucumber, Celery, Lemon, Ginger, Green Apple, Coconut Water) which helped lower my body temperature, and I still felt woozy when I got home... but stretching out under the ceiling fan in the A/C helped me turn the corner, and I soon felt perfectly fine.  Whew.

Takeaway:  grieving is not for sissies; nor is climate change.  Ha!

SONG:  It's OK by Imagine Dragons https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ClwtqeHF264 

BOOK:  Keep Moving: Notes on Loss, Creativity, and Change by Maggie Smith

POEM:  Dear World by Maya Stein

You are a big turtle. You are a violin bow and a ladder of backbones and a lettuce leaf. You are weeds and woodpeckers and a T-shirt with strawberries on it. You are the hint of a sunburn at the tips of noses. You are restaurant toothpicks and a bowl of pink-striped mints and bubble gum commercials and a crossword puzzle. You are the sound of the dryer going on Sunday nights, and the smell of erasers. You are dental floss and a roll of paper towels. You are a twist of Oreos with the icing licked clean off. You are pinky promises and video arcades. Dear world, you are also scratchy and full of tangles that no soap or comb can tease out. But you are also bright stadium lights and stovetop popcorn with real butter. You are a popsicle drip on bare skin. You are sprinklers, and drive-in movies, and fireflies in the middle of night. World, I am doing what I can to keep you here. I am growing my own tomatoes. I am pulling the weeds. I am writing a poem now and again. I am walking down to the rocky beach and wading in the water and I'm staying there, watching the crabs scuttle underneath, and I'm trying not to move. I'm looking up at the stars when they come out. I'm trying not to count them but instead, I'm holding them in my heart. Lightly, like a breeze. And then I try to imagine those stars like the squares on a turtle's back, and I wonder how many of them I could fit in my heart. How many squares. How many turtles. How many strawberries and Oreos and popsicles and fireflies. How many movies and lights. How many erasers and violins. And then, dear World, I start counting.

QUOTE:  “Here is one way to look at yourself through spiritual eyes: you are a message. When you wonder what existence is all about, when you ask about your purpose in life, or when you feel small in comparison to the troubles of the world: remember that you are a message sent by the Spirit into creation. What you say, what you do, how you think and feel: your whole life is a long and sustained message for others to encounter, experience and receive. You are a living message: sent to touch more lives than you can imagine.” ~ Steven Charleston