Battle Hymn for an Army of Lovers (Crys Matthews)

Happy New Year!  

Forgive me, friends... for my lost concentration; it has been three months since my last blog post (channeling my inner rebellious Catholic schoolgirl).  No excuses, but valid reasons.  

At the one-year mark of Eric's passing, the tree dedication… part of me thought it would be tied up neatly with a bow, as we had cycled through all the Firsts (Thanksgiving, Christmas, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Eric’s birthday, etc.).  Silly Me.  The holidays rolled around… again… and I realized the Seconds were just as hard.  I learned that, if decorating evokes pain, a holiday wreath and doormat will do (they did).  Maybe even a holiday mug.  Or not.  If traditions are triggering, I can make new ones.  Or not.  There is a fine line between remembering and suffering… and there is no timeline on healing.  Trying to (continue to) be gentle with myself.

I still have days when the thought of him makes my heart literally ache… when I can’t manage to get a deep breath… when I refuse to leave the comfort of my home.  I worry that I am developing a severe case of Agoraphobia, yet a few things motivate me:  Garden Day, dinner with a dear friend, a library run (ha!)... and others have me seriously weighing the options of many events which, in the past, would have me jumping at the opportunity.  sigh...

One tradition I hope to always follow through on (my first being January 2008):

Inspired by Beth Weaver-Kreider's poem below, as well as the powerful song by Crys Matthews, my Word(s) of the Year are (Love) Revolution, on a political level as well as in my personal interactions... 💥✌💜

We have less than a week until Inauguration Day (Monday January 20, 2025), and I am taking advantage of the calm before the storm, not naive enough to think there aren't many proposed changes on the horizon, most of them for the worst.  It is horrifying the nation chose Trump as our next/new leader (and when are we going to fix that broken Electoral College process?!?).

I am not one to finger-point nor name-call nor disparage, I very much subscribe to Lincoln's 1860 philosophy of “have faith that right makes might.", and I am fully prepared to do whatever it takes to fight back from a place of peaceful protest/non-violent demonstrations.  My days of standing on street corners and marching through the public streets are not over.  I even gave my daughter Sarah her own pussy hat for Christmas.  Love Revolution.  Both/And.  Just. Do. It... 💘

From Crys:

This was created from six very specific muses -- my mom, Michelle Obama, Nelson Mandela, Rita Mae Brown, Julia Ward Howe, and Eva Cassidy (via Curtis Mayfield.)

After the outcome of the 2016 election, I was floored. I am an out, black, lesbian woman living in the south (although, thankfully not in the 'deep' south). I was terrified, which made me angry. My mom reminded me that she has seen many presidents come and go in her lifetime and is still standing. Love and faith guide her and that, she reminded me, should guide me. 

"An army of lovers shall not fail" is a Rita Mae Brown quote that has come to mean a great deal to me. It's really just an amazingly beautiful sentiment that doesn't really need much context beyond that. 

"When they go low, we go high" as famously spoken by Michelle Obama has become my mantra going in to 2017 and will be something I will try every day to embody during the next four years. 

Nelson Mandela very eloquently said, “No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin, or his background, or his religion. People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite.” 

The song People Get Ready was written by Curtis Mayfield. Released in 1965, the song's meaning was amplified by the climate in America during the civil rights movement. Eva Cassidy's cover of it has always resonated with me. 

And last, but not least, which leads me to the title of the song... Julia Ward Howe is the woman who wrote the Battle Hymn of the Republic (aka Mine Eyes Have Seen the Glory). Later she was a suffragette. She wrote, "let us live to make men free". 

I thought, if these few principles could guide our government and our citizens we might all make it to 2020 in one piece (and maybe even in peace). And so, I give you my Battle Hymn for an Army of Lovers... 

v1. Change is coming once again,

except this time it feels like the world's about to end.

White-robed devil's in plain sight,

angry protests in the streets night after night,

and it weighs heavy on my mind.

Why are we so quick to run backwards after all this time?

But I won't let it change my heart.

I was born full of love and hope and, when I die, that's how I'll depart.

Ch. And when you find yourself 

incapable of seeing eye to eye

Remember: when they go low, 

we go high.

v2. Change is coming — that's for sure.

We gave a madman all the keys and let him walk right in the door. 

And I don't think he'll see the light,

until the whole world is on fire, but that's alright.

We will still be here when he's gone,

and if it doesn't kill us all, well it sure will make us strong.

Don't let four years change your heart!

We are not born hating each other -- now is not the time to start.

Ch. And when you find yourself 

incapable of seeing eye to eye

Remember: when they go low, 

we go high.

Bridge: There's a song penned for soldiers --

it says, "let us live to make men free."

We're all sisters.

We're all brothers.

Standing on each others' shoulders

there's no wall we cannot scale.

We are an army of lovers,

and we shall not fail.

Ch. So when you find yourself 

incapable of seeing eye to eye

Remember: when they go low, 

we go high.

SONG:  Battle Hymn for an Army of Lovers by Crys Matthews

BOOK:  See No Stranger: A Memoir and Manifesto of Revolutionary Love by Valarie Kaur

POEM(S):  Walking Through the Gateway of Another Year by Beth Weaver-Kreider

Let’s call them New Year’s Revolutions

or Re-Solutions

or Revelations

or Re-evaluations.

Change. Progress.

Uncovering. Assessing.

In the coming year, I resolve to re-solve

my problems and issues every day,

not just on this morning.

For every morning is the morning

of a whole new year,

a bright blank page

in which any thing

can be a new thing.

Let every moment be a moment like now,

when the newborn sun shines

over the ridge

onto the scarlet breast

of a cardinal,

and the eye

for a moment sees nothing

but sparkling red.

The Alternative New Year List by Dr. Lynne Sedgmore

Here Now

As you begin another year 

Pause

Remember 

Who it is your heart beats wildly for, and why

How lightness and joy fill every fibre of your being

How to laugh with no restraint 

How to serve those less fortunate

How to care for Mother Earth 

Here Now

As you begin another year 

Act

Tell everyone you love how beautiful they are 

Dance with bare feet and feel the wind upon your face

Find a friend and giggle together until it hurts

Give a random act of kindness to someone in struggle or loss

Find another way to combat climate change

Here Now

As you begin another year 

Self-care

See your own beauty and celebrate yourself 

Speak your gratitude for all the blessings you receive

Laugh out loud into a genuine belly laugh

Treat your body to a massage, tend to your own needs

Walk barefoot on the land feeling nature’s nourishment 

Here Now

As you begin another year 

Be 

Stop and stare, be still and listen every day

Enact an enlivening body prayer with gratitude and grace

Begin laugh yoga

Pray and light a candle for anyone in need

Live more in tune with nature’s beauty and Her beating heart

QUOTE(S):  "Most optimists are not born that way. They are created. When the world asked them to harden, they softened. When they experienced pain, they vowed not to give that pain to others. When they understood the lineage of trauma, they healed instead of continuing the pattern. Optimists are not people who have never had a hard day or a hard season or a collection of hard years. Optimists are those that have walked through the fire and decided that love, hope, resiliency, and compassion are lighter to carry. For most people, their optimism is hard-won. Fought for. An act of brave resistance in a harsh, demanding, chaotic world." ~ Jamie Varon

“Do your little bit of good where you are; it's those little bits of good put together that overwhelm the world.” ~ Desmond Tutu

"Love is the most powerful force in the world. If people tell you that the opposite of love is fear, it is not so. Love just is. Love has no opposite. Remember that, dear one. Love has no opposite. Love just is. It is the answer to everything. Everything." ~ Dolores Cannon

"Truth and love have been smacked down, so many more times in history before today. Truth, because it’s often inconvenient, and love because it is vulnerable.

But truth is like gravity, and carbon, and the sun behind an eclipse: it’s still there. And love stays alive if you tend it like a flame. If you feel crushed by unkindness today, it’s a time for grieving, reaching out to loved ones, noticing one bright color somewhere in the day. Remembering what there is to love. Starting with the immediate, the place and people we can tend ourselves, and make safe. We can’t save everything all at once, but it’s still worth saving something. Because there are so many of us to do it.

And we are all still here today, exactly as we were yesterday. Like gravity, and carbon, and the sun behind an eclipse." ~ Barbara Kingsolver

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

What Do You Hear in These Sounds (Dar Williams)

There's no late in blogging, right?  All my good intentions to post Tuesdays and Fridays oft go awry, right, Mr. Burns? (the poet, not Homer Simpson's boss).  Thus we end up with Thursday.  In the grand scheme of things, it's most certainly a First World Problem.

My favorite day is every-other-Monday, during which I have a therapy appointment with L at 10 a.m. and my bereavement group from 12:30-2 p.m.  By mid-afternoon, I am ridiculously peaceful and relaxed; Ectoplasm R Us.  "Oh, how I loved everybody else when I finally got to talk so much about myself"; Dar is brilliant (brilliant... 💖)

When I arrived this week to see L, I wanted to talk about brain blips; I've done the research, and shared on this blog that grief causes brain fog, as a result of trauma.  My recent go-to, when I hit a blank, is: "I know there's a word for that." Sometimes it comes to me, sometimes not, and often I find a paltry substitute knowing, with my obsession with semantics, it's not the *intended* word. Ugh.

Um, here's a tip for you:  multi-tasking is over-rated (shockeroo). For the last few years, I've just been trying to do one-thing-at-a-time well, instead of many things poorly. It helps.  Then there's aging. And post-menopause. I am a big fat f*cking mess and I have to be okay with that for now, trying to be gentle with myself while still attempting All. The. Coping. Mechanisms... 🤷‍♀️

An example:  Sunday about noon I headed to the pop-up market in Hollywood (FL) and somehow mis-entered the address in my GPS, inadvertently leaving off the fourth number (zero), so... I was led substantially farther east than I needed to be, and there was a drawbridge, and my trip ended up taking an hour rather than the usual 30 minutes.

And as I was regaling L with this tale... she stopped me, leaned forward from her lotus position on the couch, and shared one word:  Pause... and it was as if an electric current went through my entire body.  Yes.  Of course.  Quelle nouvelle.  And then she added Patience.

Not one to be left out, I added my two favorite P words:  Ponder and Perspective... not to mention my Word of the Year:  (Be) Present.  And, after all that, I need to make it a Priority to Practice (see what I did there?) being in the stillness to clear my mind.  Whew.  I have indeed been practicing since Monday, and it's made a big difference.  Phenomenal (silent P... 🤣)

The day after Eric died, I resurrected my blog (best f*cking coping mechanism ever!)... daily until the end of October 2023, and twice-weekly since.  In late-November I pondered making a Spotify playlist of healing songs... then realized, rather than reinvent the wheel, I'd create an ongoing journey, in chronological order, of all the songs I've used to title my blog posts.  To be continued; I will add this Dar song as soon as I Publish this entry...

[It hasn't come to fruition yet, but I found Eric's former tattooist (the ship and octopus on his right shoulder/bicep; on E's recommendation, he actually did the family compass on my upper back, and Sarah's flowers/dragonfly/butterfly on her hip)... and will be following up soon... 🧭

P.S.  Tomorrow is the four-month mark of Eric's death.

SONG:  What Do You Hear in These Sounds by Dar Williams

BOOK:  Finding Your way Through Loss & Grief: A Therapist’s Guide to Working Through Any Grieving Process by Christine Hopfgarten

POEM(S):  Let Yourself Rest by Jeff Foster

If you’re exhausted, rest.

If you don’t feel like starting a new project, don’t.

If you don’t feel the urge to make something new, 

just rest in the beauty of the old, the familiar, the known.

If you don’t feel like talking, stay silent.

If you’re fed up with the news, turn it off.

If you want to postpone something until tomorrow, do it.

If you want to do nothing, let yourself do nothing today. 

Feel the fullness of the emptiness, the vastness of the silence, the sheer life in your unproductive moments.

Time does not always need to be filled.

You are enough, simply in your being.

Fierce Wild Joy by Beth Weaver-Kreider

May this year bring you joy

like crows rising from the fields

fierce

wild joy

yelling full-voice

into the wind

rowing through the tempest

with nothing but feathers.

In the Woods of Language, She Collects Beautiful Sticks by Valzhyna Mort

like a snail with a shell of sticks

    — she loads them on her back —

Like a camel with a hump of sticks

    — on her back, on her back —

Like a horse with a knight of sticks and a stick for a sword

Where is she taking this load of sticks?

    — on her hump, on her hump —

She has no house, where is she taking the house she doesn’t have?

    — in the fire she is taking it in the fire —

In the fire she is making a poem entirely out of sticks on fire and it goes like this

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////

QUOTE(S):  “Time does not heal all wounds; it just gives them space to sink into the subconscious, where they will continue to impact your emotions and behavior. What heals is going inward, loving yourself, accepting yourself, listening to your needs, addressing your attachments and emotional history, learning how to let go, and following your intuition.” ~ Yung Pueblo

“Death is our friend precisely because it brings us into absolute and passionate presence with all that is here, that is natural, that is love… Life always says Yes and No simultaneously. Death (I implore you to believe) is the true Yea-sayer. It stands before eternity and says only: Yes.” ~ Rainer Maria Rilke

"Not causing harm requires staying awake. Part of being awake is slowing down enough to notice what we say and do. The more we witness our emotional chain reactions and understand how they work, the easier it is to refrain. It becomes a way of life to stay awake, slow down, and notice." ~ Pema Chodron

I Heard an Owl (Carrie Newcomer)

Many of you may recall the blog post detailing my owl encounter four days before Eric's Celebration of Life on October 14, 2023.  I believed then, and, even if it never happens again (although I certainly hope it does), I remain convinced it was a visitation from my son.

Going forward, owls have been appearing everywhere (isn't that always the way things happpen?), on my own radar and stories from others; as I shared my tale with long-time besties Michele and Rox, they too offered up their past histories, neither of which I knew about.  My sister-in-law Pat, a wonderful potter (who is creating a new urn for E's cremains; no rush!), made me a beautiful owl pendant, which I have added to my keychain.

I am also more seriously contemplating something I spoke of in my part of the eulogy:

"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."

It might very well be time (no spoilers yet, but I already have three contenders).  

This morning, when I was transferring last year's calendar dates over to the new year's clean slate of schedules/agendas/commitments... July 2023 jumped out at me (see images above and below).  We all know that July 28 is Eric's birthday, right?  Freaked me the f*ck out (and of course I had to share with M and R immediately!).

So, as my carefully-chosen Word of the Year is Be Present/Now... you can bet I'll be on the lookout for more owls to guide my path or, at the very least, keep me company.  I am mindful and comforted and grateful, oh my... 🦉

"When you see owls everywhere or they recur in your dreams repeatedly, pay attention," says Harmon-Luber. Mello agrees that if you continually see owls, they want to get your attention. "Our spirit guides are sending messages, and they'll keep sending you signs," she says.

"Have you ever stared into the owl's eyes?" ~ Robert Penn

Yes. I. Have... 💞

SONG:  I Heard an Owl by Carrie Newcomer

BOOK(S):  In Search of the Owl: A father's death begins a quest for a deeper understanding...of life. by Jean E. Sidinger

Crossing the Owl's Bridge: A Guide for Grieving People Who Still Love by Kim Bateman

POEM:  Owls by Liza Katz Duncan

And maybe this is all we get: a chilly evening,

           5:30 and the sun should still be out. Instead October’s

                      Full Blood Moon has come and gone

over the hospital parking lot. The crickets’ warning song

           has already begun. My body, we’ve learned, has forgotten again

what to carry and what

           to discard, like those owl pellets we dissected in the fourth grade:

                      here the jaw, there the shoulder blade of some smaller creature.

I imagine an ossuary blooming in my gut, a stone well

           of tiny bones, ancestors tunneling through the cartilage,

though of course I know this is impossible: ancestors

           are supposed to stay dead.

A graveyard forgets more than we know. Names obscured

           by time and weather, grass

                      grown over a stone. So, too, a body.

Mine has forgotten so much. Has forgotten

           rhythms: stars, bird calls. But as we pull in the driveway

that night, a Great Horned Owl, then another,

           chanting their duet—first the female,

then the male, slightly deeper. The evening carrying

           their song through our open window.

I will never be an ancestor. In a few days my body

           will miscarry for the fourth and final time. And maybe

                      this is just what we get: you, me,

calling each other in the dark. Love: the one,

           then the other. A book, two opposite pages

kissing. A glass house. Outside, constellations

           in a quickening sky. Owls finding each other in the dark.

Season of Owl by Beth Weaver-Kreider

This is the season of owl,

of winds that howl through the hollow,

the season of the sharp bark

of the fox, voicing longing in the bosque.

This is the season of bitter,

of fierce flakes feathering cheeks and hands,

the season of crystal, crisp and cutting,

of beauty that will slice you open.

This is the season of rising,

thin and pale, into the dawn air,

but also of burrowing, huddling deep

into the layers that hold you.

Walk the thin line of today with care,

one foot precisely placed, the other. . .

Perhaps you will notice,

when you raise your eyes for a moment,

how the line curves out ahead of you,

bringing you

always

back home.

QUOTE(S):  "An owl sound wandered along the road with me.  I didn't hear it - I breathed it into my ears." ~ William Stafford

"You don't need anything but hope. The kind of hope that flies on silent wings under a shining owl moon." ~ Jane Yolen

"If we cannot sing of faith and triumph, we will sing our despair. We will be that kind of bird. There are day owls, and there are night owls, and each is beautiful and even musical while about its business." ~ Henry David Thoreau

"There’s always a hidden owl in “knowledge.” " ~ E.I. Jane

Keeping the Light On (Joy Oladokun)

First of all, if you haven't seen tonight's Full Moon, go go go outside *now* to view!  Also, I am making Moon Water, even as I type... 🌕

Chico and I watched Love Actually Friday night, for the first time this season (finally!).

Saturday was Garden Day and, after posting my "report"... as is my custom, I went off the grid for 48-ish hours.  On Christmas Eve Day (Sunday), we met up with Sarah and Colin to watch Migration in the movie theater (3D!), and then to Sarah's to enjoy subs for dinner and a bit of hangtime with Colin before he left out cookies (which we made!) and milk for Santa/apples for the reindeer, then headed home.

I was very much dreading Christmas Day (Monday) with the family but, thanks to our love and patience with each other, I was surrounded by peace and even glimmers of joy.  From the fab brunch (each item more yummy than the next)... to the perfect presents (Rob's rose-colored glasses for everyone won Christmas!)... to Colin taking great delight in helping open *our* presents too before he left to go to his Dad's for the rest of the day... to a very sweet conversation about E (all the emotions)... to Scrabble (Sarah, who balked at playing, ended up in second place, only 1 point behind Rob; I, who normally kicks everyone's *ss💥💥💥 (see below), had vowels throughout 2/3 of the game and couldn't manage to catch up)... to the Taylor Swift Eras movie in the background... to Chinese food for dinner... it was a beautiful day from start to finish.  Naturally Colin brightened things up and there was much laughter.  

Also, Sarah found this Acoustic Christmas Spotify playlist, which we listened to all day and, honestly, I may continue into 2024.  Beautiful... 💖

Late last night (still Christmas), I sipped on a mug of decaf coffee infused with a hot cocoa bomb and marshmallows and felt... dare I say... content?  We *are* an amazing family.  I love them so much, and am very proud of us all for navigating this difficult journey.  Today marks three months since Eric died.  We made it through our second First without E.  In this morning's MossFam text thread, Sarah called it "a surprisingly peaceful day"... ॐ

Hoping you and yours experienced much love, as well as the perfect balance of celebration and comfort... 🥳🕉 

💥💥💥Part of our family conversation yesterday touched on my competitive nature (which only rears its ugly head during board games); Sarah described my style throughout the decades:  "the b*tch has never rolled over"... 🤣

SONG:  Keeping the Light On by Joy Oladokun

BOOK:  Surviving the Holidays Without You: Navigating Grief During Special Seasons by Gary Roe

POEM(S):  

Not knowing when

the dawn will come

I open every

door.

~ Emily Dickinson

What is born in you this day? by Beth Weaver-Kreider

What 

Yulelight

Candlelight

Christlight

Heartlight

Moonlight 

will shine forth from your eyes

from the tips of your fingers

from the well of your heart

from the root of your soul

to bless the world today?

May you know the light

feel the light

bear the light

be the light.

I Heard a Bird Sing by Oliver Herford

I heard a bird sing

In the dark of December.

A magical thing

And sweet to remember.

"We are nearer to Spring 

Than we were in September,” 

I heard a bird sing 

In the dark of December. 

Let This Darkness Be a Bell Tower by Rainer Maria Rilke

Quiet friend who has come so far,

feel how your breathing makes more space around you.

Let this darkness be a bell tower

and you the bell. As you ring,

what batters you becomes your strength.

Move back and forth into the change.

What is it like, such intensity of pain?

If the drink is bitter, turn yourself to wine.

In this uncontainable night,

be the mystery at the crossroads of your senses,

the meaning discovered there.

And if the world has ceased to hear you,

say to the silent earth: I flow.

To the rushing water, speak: I am.

Peace Enters My Heart by Maureen Kwiat Meshenberg

peace enters my heart,

though I have touched-

the chaos of my living,

it sometimes wears-

on my soul,

I settle inside,

the sanctuary

of the season,

it clothes me in rest-

I am tethered to the stars,

that rest their light on-

a winters night,

I rise with the light-

of a thousand suns,

settling on my memory-

with bright exultation, 

I come to greet the day,

with tenderness of love-

reaching inside,

this quiet-

silent night morning- 

let it move from me,

songs that echo-

from the angels singing,

peace on earth,

peace on earth,

goodwill to men-

to all of humanity,

to all creatures-

settling in sacred rest,  

it is from my heart-

a beginning is birthed,

I reach-

and take your hand,

we enter into-

our holy place,

of comfort and love-

of forgiving grace,

towards ourselves-

towards the world,

for what abides with me-

this morning of brilliant becoming,

is our constant-

our shining that guides us,

even in our darkest of times. 

QUOTE(S):  “To comfort a grieving friend, just say anything; it doesn’t have to be perfect. Grief can feel very lonely (like the poem ‘Stop All the Clocks’), so it’s very comforting when a friend recognizes your loss and what a big deal it is. Instead of platitudes (‘everything happens for a reason’), just say something that feels authentic, even if it’s just ‘I wish I knew what to say,’ or ‘I love you, and this really sucks.’” ~ Lucy Kalanithi

"Although our loved ones may not be around, their spirit lives on in every joyful moment we share during the Christmas season." ~ Unknown 

Breathe Deep (Sleeping At Last)

For a variety of reasons, it may have been one of my best days since Eric died (11 weeks ago today).

First of all, I have the privilege of hanging out with my Sweet Babboo because Sarah is away on a work trip;  I spent last night, I drove him to school this morning, I'll head back over there as soon as I hit Send here (he and Chico are kicking the soccer ball around), Lather. Rinse. Repeat. (and I even get to set out Buddy the Elf, a tradition I am thrilled was not around when my kids were little... 😂)

I also spent time with Cynthia this a.m.; when I told her homeopathic self that I hadn't been able to take deep breaths in the last almost-three-months, she asked me for two hours of my time.  Oh my.  Whew.  Amazing.  Here's the thank-you note I just sent:

Oh, Cynthia... there are no words eloquent enough to thank you for the Lavender/Rose tea... the CoExist bag filled with Rescue Remedy, ignatia amara pellets, Good Grief drops... the Magic Swinging Bed hypnosis portal... and our deep conversation... all adding up to the generous gift of your time, energy, and love this morning.

In the span of two hours, you were so instrumental in eliciting from me a cleansing cry (more than one, actually), deep breaths (finally!), and (so much more) peace of mind.  You are such a good, true, loving (and loved in return) friend.

Mmmmm.  I still smell like lavender... 💜

And... I received a package from my friend Michele's daughter Brynna of gorgeous handmade bamboo windchimes, with decorative as well as meaningful owl feathers (if you know, you know, right?), accompanied by a heartfelt note.  Can't wait until my very tall husband comes home, so he can hang them on my balcony... 🦉

And... I had a phone conversation with my friend Pam, who has been in the hospital for over two months (diagnosed with Guillain-Barre Syndrome), with more rehab and therapy ahead.  From a terrifying diagnosis... to an induced coma... to trach surgery... to hearing her actual voice, I wept like a f*cking baby.  Baby Steps, with a renewed vow of self-care, move her forward every day.   

I am unbelievably grateful for the love and support sent my way every minute of every day, and I promise to pay it forward.  Did I say Grateful?... 💗

SONG:  Breathe Deep by Sleeping At Last

BOOK:  Catching Your Breath in Grief ...and grace will lead you home by Thomas Attig, William Rathje (Photographer)

POEM(S):  Sorting Things Out by Edward Hujsak

Gather all your memories

inside your circled arms

and clasped hands.

Be still and breathe deeply.

Gaze down and place

them all in order.

Let times of joy

and exhilaration

rise to the top.

Make room

for days of grief

and make a special place

for when you reached out

and helped another.

Let darker memories

sink to the bottom,

hidden in haze.

An expiation,

each soul owes to itself.

Winter Solstice by Jody Aliesan

Thinking only makes the heart sore. — I Ching

when you startle awake in the dark morning

heart pounding breathing fast

sitting bolt upright staring into

dark whirlpool black hole

feeling its suction

get out of bed

knock at the door of your nearest friend

ask to lie down beside ask to be held

listen while whispered words

turn the hole into deep night sky

stars close together

winter moon rising over white fields

nearby wren rustling dry leaves

distant owl echoing

two people walking up the road laughing

let your soul laugh

let your heart sigh out

that long held breath so hollow in your stomach

so swollen in your throat

already light is returning pairs of wings

lift softly off your eyelids one by one

each feathered edge clearer between you

and the pearl veil of day

you have nothing to do but live

QUOTE(S):  “Peace. It does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble or hard work. It means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart.” ~ Unknown

“You need not wade through the mists and bogs to reach the moon.

You need not climb a ladder of cobweb.

You need not ride the stallions that wicker in the sea’s pounding surf.

Draw back the curtain and open the window.

Breathe the bracing air and listen:

The whinny of an owl, the click of the bat,

The grunt of a buck and the distant roar of the train.

The full moon will spill a milky road before you.

That is all the pathway you will need.”

~ Beth Weaver-Kreider

"Peace comes from within. Do not seek it without." ~ Gautama Buddha

[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