Big Green Tree (Stan Ridgway)

A few months after Eric died (9/26/23), I reached out to The City of Pembroke Pines, inquiring about having a bench installed in his memory in a park in the neighborhood we lived almost 30 years;  they don't do that, they responded, but... they were on the cusp of making official a tree planting program, and would I please follow up in 2024?

I dropped the ball, for quite a while I confess... and reached back out only a few months before the one-year mark of Eric's passing, absolutely sure I had missed all the deadlines for whatever needed to be done.  Sweet Carol, who I had spoken to the first time around, took loving pity on me and expedited the sh*t out of the what-would-have-been-eight-weeks-and-actually-took-only-six-weeks process.  Tree planted, plaque installed, boom... 💥

We had six options, and the Japanese Fern Tree appealed to us immediately, the main reason being that it provided shade; it was also substantially bigger than we expected (probably also thanks to Carol).  It was just one more way to honor Eric, and we gathered together at the above-mentioned park yesterday for a tree dedication; I envisioned sweet, casual, fun, yummy food, socializing, brief speech, live music, rock painting (lather, rinse, repeat)... and great weather (which had been looking quite dour on WeatherBug the evening before).

It was a most perfect day, we had a lovely turn-out, and Eric would have been... is... proud... 💖

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

"Good morning, everyone!  

We are obviously here because we loved Eric, and he loved us.  Or maybe some of you didn't know Eric (that's okay), and you love one of us (his family members, or his friends).  It really is all about love anyway, right?

I promised a *brief* tree dedication and, my god, I mean it.  There will be a poem, a few words, and another poem.  Voila!

After that, if anyone wants to stay in the circle and share a memory, you are welcome to do that.  If you want to step outside the circle and throw a Frisbee, that's perfectly fine too.

First Poem:  Light and Dark by James Crews

Half-awake, I lose myself in a pool

of late morning sun and leaf-shadows

flashing on the floor outside my bedroom,

what the Japanese call komorebi—light

and dark held in the same container

of a single moment, as we hold them in us,

learning to love equally a burst of joy

welling up like wind in the crowns of trees

and a sorrow that still weighs us down

like stones in the shoes, like swallowed clay.

Today, I stand here at the edge of both,

knowing that if I want to walk in the light

I’ll have to dance with the shadows too. 

It is planned, yet synchronistic, that today is a year minus one day, from Eric's Celebration of Life; yes, there was much love in that room but, since it was only two weeks after his death, we were all immersed in serious grief and its non-linear stages: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. 

I have found a home in Acceptance now.  I know my son is gone from this earthly plane, and he is not coming back.

However, I have fully embraced Gratitude.  We have, and continue to, honor our boy in so many different ways: ashes spread everywhere from Alaska to California to Finland to Key West to Mexico to New Mexico to South Carolina... gathering monthly for E's Breakfast Club (we welcome your presence!)... Memory Bears... owls (so many owls!)... a brick at the Cooper City Optimist Clubhouse... and this beautiful tree and plaque via the City of Pembroke Pines.

If you recall, I said a year ago that "as long as we remember him, he lives".  Eric is here now, and he is in our hearts, and he is around us every minute of every day.  And I thank all of you for that.  You love him as much as we do.  And, because of that, we are endlessly woven together in a Community of Love, and we all benefit.  Keep loving him, keep loving each other, pay it forward... 💗

Second Poem.  Ray Bradbury wrote:

Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said.

A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. 

Or a garden planted.

Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, 

and when people look at that tree 

or that flower you planted, you're there.

It doesn't matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something 

from the way it was before you touched it 

into something that's like you 

after you take your hands away.

The difference between the man who just cuts lawns and a real gardener is in the touching, he said. 

The lawn-cutter might just as well not have been there at all;

the gardener will be there a lifetime.

[Let's have our Kumbaya moment, shall we?  Please take a deep breath, hold hands and squeeze tightly...]

Thanks for being here today.  We love you all.  Any memories you wish to share?" (and there were, and we laughed as well as cried... 😂😭)

SONG:  Big Green Tree by Stan Ridgway

BOOK:  Whispers of The Healing Tree: A Journey Through Grief and Gratitude for Families by Brandi Towner

POEM(S):  see above

QUOTE:  “Don't be ashamed to weep; 'tis right to grieve. Tears are only water... and flowers, trees, and fruit cannot grow without water. But there must be sunlight also. A wounded heart will heal in time, and when it does, the memory and love of our lost ones is sealed inside to comfort us.” ~ Brian Jacques 

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

Cosmic Egg (Carrie Elkin)

When last we left our SheRa, we were going to Sunday brunch at Nancy's, which of course was absolutely lovely.  By that time, we were a Party o' 15 or so, much more intimate such that we could all engage in one conversation, vs. many little side-talks.  Nice.  One topic of the day was reconciliations, and we heard about one in progress, and another that had happened years ago, at Eric's urging, actually.  The ripple effect continues.

When we left, some people headed to the airport, and others on the road home, and Chico and I headed back to the condo and, as promised, Linda with us.  She and I went out to dinner at E's favorite restaurant (which I discovered after I read Crying in H Mart), and we both had veggie bibimbap, which Linda very much enjoyed, and then we went to bed early.

Monday was very low-key, and we spent many hours on the balcony, talking and crying, and enjoying the cooler-than-usual temps.  We had the great pleasure of picking Colin up from Kindergarten about 2:45, whereupon he ran around and played soccer with his usual group of friends, shaking their sillies out for another hour, then segueing to Sarah's.

The plan that evening was to recreate our Joni Jam experience at The Gorge in Washington State, and the first order of business was making Wachos (which we had the night of the concert) for dinner.  They were even better the second time around!  I had thought we'd have to piece together individual YouTube videos, figuring out the chronology but darned if we didn't find the full concert, start-to-finish and, because Sarah was tired, we watched about 1/3 of it there and the remainder when we got back to my place.  So very amazing to see it again.  Yep, we were "a fallen constellation" indeed... 🌠

Tuesday found us with a To Do List, the main one being to head to the Hope Garden, whereupon we would plant some Blood Lily bulbs that Linda had brought from her yard, in Eric's memory.  We found the perfect spot in the Perennial Garden, and I will provide an unassuming plaque or marker to designate the spot as sacred ground.

Then on to Parlour Vegan (I remembered I still had a giftcard from Nancy for my August birthday!), and we purchased a variety of empanadas, a "pepperoni" pesto pasta salad for dinner, and a few cupcakes (yum to them all... 😋)

Before indulging, though, Linda helped me transplant all the greenery in what I *thought* was an artificial arrangement basket into window boxes and pots for my catwalk and balcony.  We also planted the remaining blood lily bulbs into pots for me and Chico... Sarah... and Rob. 

Linda left for airport at 5 this morning, and Chico and I walked her downstairs to her car.  We all cried.  Today has been Stay-In-My-Nightgown-All-Day Day.  Well-deserved.  Sad.  Tired.  

P.S.  As I stated above, I was on the balcony for hours Monday morning, I went inside for a few minutes and, when I came back outside, what song do you think was playing on the soundsystem down by the pool?  Three Little Birds... 🐦🐦🐦 I hollered for Linda to come out and listen, to make sure I wasn't hallucinating.  Yet another visitation.  Hi, E... 💖

SONG:  Cosmic Egg by Carrie Elkin

BOOK:  One Thousand Days and One Cup of Tea: A Clinical Psychologist's Experience of Grief by Vanessa Moore

POEM:  A Bowl of Hydrangeas by James Crews

I stand at the sun-struck window

for several minutes longer than I wish,

until I see how the hydrangeas seem

to absorb the light and give it back,

even when cut from the living plant

on which they first came into bloom.

We are like this too in our grief—

separated from loved ones, stunned

and confused, yet glowing with some

new kinship to all things, including

this cluster of pink and white flowers

I reach out and touch, rubbing petals

between my fingers to remember

I have a body, I am still so alive.

QUOTE(S):  ““If happiness is a skill, then sadness is, too. Perhaps through all those years at school, or perhaps through other terrors, we are taught to ignore sadness, to stuff it down into our satchels and pretend it isn’t there. As adults, we often have to learn to hear the clarity of its call. That is wintering. It is the active acceptance of sadness. It is the practice of allowing ourselves to feel it as a need. It is the courage to stare down the worst parts of our experience and to commit to healing them the best we can. Wintering is a moment of intuition, our true needs felt keenly as a knife.” ~ Katherine May, Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times

“We have a tendency to think in terms of doing and not in terms of being. We think that when we are not doing anything, we are wasting our time. But that is not true. Our time is first of all for us to be. To be what? To be alive, to be peaceful, to be joyful, to be loving. And that is what the world needs most.” ~ Thich Nhat Hanh

Love, Love, Love (Love, Love) As Tall As Lions

Today was a hard day.  Then again, every day is a hard day (have I said this before?); it's just varying degrees.  My friend Linda said something about "grief upon grief upon grief", which seems a great descriptor to me.  How many levels of grief are there?  How much time have you got?  It feels like an archeological dig, as I navigate the layers of strata.  I have barely scratched the surface.

I had a good conversation with Sarah this morning about Life.... and then later with Rev. Amy about sound tech requirements... and somewhere in between Nance brought over some yummy pasta, which I had for both lunch and dinner.

Tomorrow will be two weeks since Eric died.  That's f*cked up.  In last night's post, I mentioned that I was going to listen to one of the two Spotify playlists of Eric's that I had downloaded.  Nope, I barely made it halfway through the first track... but, after I backed out, I scrolled through that one, and then the other... and noticed that this song appeared on each of them.  I've been waiting for E to appear to me.  I think he just did.

SONG:  Love, Love, Love (Love, Love) by As Tall As Lions

BOOK:  Remember Love: Words for Tender Times by Cleo Wade

POEM:  Mother and Son by James Crews

Though you’re gone now,

my body still remembers

being held by you that evening,

wearing my blue fleece pajamas

with a white owl on the front,

and you saying, “Who, who,”

over and over, both of us laughing

as you explained that’s the sound

owls make when they need

to find each other in the darkness 

before sleep, a way of saying:

I can’t see you, but I know 

you must be there.

[Even though Crews is writing this poem from the son's point of view, I am choosing to view it from the mom's perspective.  Reader's interpretation, right?]

QUOTE:  "Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and being alone won't either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You have to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes too near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself that you tasted as many as you could." ~ Louise Erdrich 

Rhythm of the Blues (Mary Chapin Carpenter)

I. Am. Still. Here.  Eric. Is. Still. Gone.  People say Good Morning!, which used to be comforting, but it may be a while before I can verbalize those two words myself.  I was never a morning person, but now it is my enemy; my new wake-up time seems to be 6-6:30 a.m., at which point, after having escaped this tragedy via blessed sleep, I am thrown back into a reality where my son is truly and irrevocably dead.  A living f*cking nightmare.  The horror version of Groundhog Day.  There aren't enough coping mechanisms in the world.  Despite how together I may come across in my Facebook posts (to paraphrase Jimmy Buffett:  "if I didn't [write], I would just go insane"), I am a mess... which, given the circumstances, is to be expected... 🤯

I know that everyone around me is walking on proverbial eggshells, helpless as to how I'm feeling and what I need... when I don't even know myself until something either resonates or jars.  Either one invokes tears... 😭

Last night was the Mary Chapin Carpenter/Shawn Colvin concert (we've had these tickets for months), and we came so close to not going... but we did.  I guess I expected to walk into a vacuum, enjoy the show, and then leave... but, by virtue of being involved with the local folk and acoustic community, of course I encountered many people I knew, and I was like a deer in the headlights.  The music took me out of my head for a while, but I thought of E the whole time.  I cried, but I laughed as well.  

Today found our family + Eric's girlfriend on a two-hour Zoom, mostly to fine-tune details of his Celebration of Life, for which we finally set a date.  So many items to attend to, and they will get done, but Life is like a game of Candyland right now, two steps ahead and then one backward into Molasses Swamp.

So, I just brewed up a huge mug of Tension Tamer Tea (yes, that's a thing), my controlled substance of choice, and I'm about to settle in with a few years worth of texts/e-mails, back and forth between my son and his aunt (my husband's sister), which I had no idea was even happening.  Oh, the sweetness... 💞

SONG:  Rhythm of the Blues by Mary Chapin Carpenter

BOOK:  Little Blue and Little Yellow by Leo Lionni

POEM:  Like a Small Animal by James Crews

I don’t know how the heart goes

cold as an unpicked apple clinging

to the branch, encased in layers

of ice. Yet even the slightest gesture

can warm it, as if some hand were

reaching out to hold the hard skin,

melt off the months of bitterness.

Maybe a friend hugs you longer

than she needs to, just a few more

seconds of pressing you closer until

you want to live inside that gesture,

inhaling her perfume for the rest

of your life. Or a lover makes you

a turkey sandwich one day for lunch 

with buttercrunch lettuce, pickles

and extra mayo, and eating it at work

later, relishing every bite, you feel

that stirring in your chest, like a small

animal coming out of a long sleep, 

blinking its tender eyes awake.

QUOTE:  "Philosopher Alan Watts used to talk about how the whole world is wiggling all the time. Clouds, trees, sky, water, human beings: Everything's constantly shimmying and jiggling and waggling.  One of our problems, Watts said, is that we're "always trying to straighten things out." We feel nagging urges to deny or cover up or eliminate the wiggling. "Be orderly," we command reality. "Be neat and composed and predictable."  But reality never obeys. It's forever doing what it does best: flickering and fluctuating and flowing." ~ from Rob Brezsny's Free Will Astrology