I'll See You in My Dreams (Bruce Springsteen)

To tell you the truth, I am not a fan of the Happy Heavenly Birthday greeting.  After 12 years of parochial school and a lifetime of Catholic religious upbringing (until I went away to college), I question the whole Heaven/Hell/Purgatory/Limbo scenario.  No one really *knows*, anyway... but, if I had to choose, my sensibilities favor the kinder gentler reincarnation theory.  Keep learning and growing with each cycle, being given the opportunity to work our way (up or down) the logical consequence of Karma.  

But I digress.

Today would have been Eric's 37th birthday.  Impossible to believe he's been gone almost two years (9/26/23).  I miss him every day and yes, there are times I fully expect him to step back into my life like he's never been gone... which seems normal because we incorporate him into so many things we do and say on a daily basis (especially through Sarah's Colin, E's mini-me).

To reprise something I wrote about Eric almost 20 years ago:  "My pregnancy with him was... unexpected... and he truly is a chosen child - he's been such a blessing, responsible for my gray hair, but all my laugh lines too. He's stubborn, witty, disorganized, kind-hearted, a know-it-all, generous - I must admit, when I get the most frustrated with him, I realize I'm exactly the same way."... 🤣

His life was going in such a forward-moving direction.  He had gone back to college and gotten his Business Administration degree.  He'd been dating a wonderful young woman, and left South Florida in March 2023 to be with her in Atlanta (saving up for a ring).  Found a great job up there too, which suited and validated his skill set.  Then, in the blink of an eye... 💔

Aren't I wise to have scheduled my monthly therapy appointment today?

SONG:  I'll See You in My Dreams by Bruce Springsteen)

BOOK:  I'm Not a Mourning Person: Braving Loss, Grief, and the Big Messy Emotions That Happen When Life Falls Apart by Kris Carr

  

POEM(S):  Make a Wish by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

 for JS

No cake and no you.

Still, I light a candle

on your birthday

and notice the way

one small flame

changes the feel

of a whole room.

I think of your light

and how many

gather around it,

how quietly you invite

the shadows to dance,

how gently one person

can change the world.

Loving the Gone by Sara Rian

happy birthday

they may not be here

to age another day.

but today we celebrate

that earth once held them.

because on the day they were born

so was one of the greatest loves.

At the heart of all grief is this:

I miss you so much my bones ache.

How do I carry all this love alone.

Please stop being dead

and come back home to me.

~ Nikita Gill

Love Letter from the Afterlife by Andrea Gibson

My love, I was so wrong. Dying is the opposite of leaving. When I left my body, I did not go away. That portal of light was not a portal to elsewhere, but a portal to here. I am more here than I ever was before. I am more with you than I ever could have imagined. So close you look past me when wondering where I am. It’s Ok. I know that to be human is to be farsighted. But feel me now, walking the chambers of your heart, pressing my palms to the soft walls of your living. Why did no one tell us that to die is to be reincarnated in those we love while they are still alive? Ask me the altitude of heaven, and I will answer, “How tall are you?” In my back pocket is a love note with every word you wish you’d said. At night I sit ecstatic at the loom weaving forgiveness into our worldly regrets. All day I listen to the radio of your memories. Yes, I know every secret you thought too dark to tell me, and love you more for everything you feared might make me love you less. When you cry I guide your tears toward the garden of kisses I once planted on your cheek, so you know they are all perennials. Forgive me, for not being able to weep with you. One day you will understand. One day you will know why I read the poetry of your grief to those waiting to be born, and they are all the more excited. There is nothing I want for now that we are so close I open the curtain of your eyelids with my own smile every morning. I wish you could see the beauty your spirit is right now making of your pain, your deep seated fears playing musical chairs, laughing about how real they are not. My love, I want to sing it through the rafters of your bones, Dying is the opposite of leaving. I want to echo it through the corridor of your temples, I am more with you than I ever was before.  Do you understand? It was me who beckoned the stranger who caught you in her arms when you forgot not to order for two at the coffee shop. It was me who was up all night gathering sunflowers into your chest the last day you feared you would never again wake up feeling lighthearted. I know it’s hard to believe, but I promise it’s the truth. I promise one day you will say it too– I can’t believe I ever thought I could lose you.

QUOTE(S):  "If in the twilight of memory we should meet once more, we shall speak again together and you shall sing to me a deeper song." ~ Kahlil Gibran

"It's hard when you miss people.  But, you know, if you miss them it means you were lucky.  It means you had someone special in your life, someone worth missing." ~ Nathan Scott

"O Great Creator of Being, grant us one more hour to perform our art and perfect our lives." ~ Jim Morrison

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

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 

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

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

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