TEACHINGS OF THE NATIVE AMERICANS

I hope there never comes a time when I fail to hear the voice within the raindrops splashing against my window; or see creation in the sunrise; or to cease feeling the urge to write poetry when waves crash against the shore; or to feel vulnerable when standing at the edge of a mountain cliff overlooking a vast forest of trees below; or to be in awe of a single snowflake; or to feel in the presence of God when looking at the reflected golden rays of the sun as it sets over the ocean.  I never want to be in such a hurry that I fail to see that single flower blooming all alone in the grass; or the first firefly of summer.  Life holds so much magic if only we observe and recognize the gifts put before us by a loving hand.

A little over a week ago Patrick and I went to the ocean for a couple of days.  On the way home we stopped at Christian's Roadside Memorial site.

I had been feeling so, so, so sorrowful for some time and just couldn't seem to overcome those horribly oppressive feelings ... not even the beautiful escape to the ocean brightened my mood.  I don't know that I had ever felt that bad for such an extended period of time before.  When Christian first left us, all I felt for the longest time was numbness.  Now two years and four months later I was really feeling the impact of his death - possibly for the first time.  My mental visions of him were so vibrant, my memories so clear, my longing to have him close to me so strong, my grief so overwhelming.  My tears so frequent, my emotions so raw.

The Memorial site is a very short distance from the place where he actually died.  Every time I have gone there, a hawk has circled over head.  Some times more than one.  Ancient Native Americans, and some tribes still today, believe that the hawk is a messenger bringing tidings from the Great Spirit; and hawk's cry signals the need for the beholder to heighten awareness and receive a message.  I am a believer in signs.  I don't  search for signs but I appreciate and try to recognize them when they come into my life.

On this visit to the Memorial site I walked the short distance to the place where my Christian died.  As I paused at that spot and looked down with an aching and broken heart, I saw lying there on the ground  a rock shaped like a heart.  Not a perfectly shaped heart but an easily recognizable heart.  A symbol of my broken heart.  I had looked down at that spot many, many times; if the rock had been there before, surely I would have seen it.  Instantly I felt this sense of great peace.  It was as though I almost heard Christian telling me that he loved me, that he understood the pain I was feeling, and that everything was going to be alright.  That heavy weight I had been feeling and carry around for so long was lifted from my heart as I bent down and picked up this very special gift.

Native Americans believe that hawk medicine allows us to intuitively and clearly understand the message that is being sent to us.  If that can be applied to what happened to me that day, I can't say for sure.  All I know for a certainty is that I came away believing that Christian had spoken to my heart.

From my experience through just the process of living life, I have discovered that in the silence of the quiet mind we become more receptive to the messages and gifts bestowed upon us.  It is also in that quiet place that we discover our own personal power, strength, and wisdom.

Life is a never-ending cycle of self-transformation.  My brothers and sisters in sorrow, as you well know we have been changed forever.  Our lives and how we look at life will never be the same; but even so, we continue to evolve and grow.  We lean on each other, we support each other, and we learn from each other.  We give of ourselves to one another.  One of the greatest lessons I have learned from you and from my own spiritual growth is that our loved ones continue to communicate with us from the great beyond.  They continue to show their love and concern for us.  They are there when we need them.  They send us small gifts to bring us understanding and peace.  And  for that I am so thankful.

I wish.....

I wish it were so but not every day is filled with sunshine and butterflies.  I wish I could tell you my fellow survivors, my dear friends,  that after so much time has passed that everything will be all better.  I wish that I could tell you that the sadness you feel will go away.   How I wish I could tell you that your pillow will never again become wet with your tears.  I wish I could tell you that the heaviness that surrounds your heart will be made lighter with time and eventually disappear.  So many things I wish I could tell you - could tell myself.


Time does not heal but in time we learn to live with the pain.  This is not any easy task but one that permits us to go on.  Allows us to put one foot in front of the other.


How many times have you felt you were just a shadow?   Sometimes it is very much like what I think an out-of-body experience must be like.   I see myself talking, walking around, smiling, laughing, doing every day things; but it's like I'm not really there.  I feel like an observer to my own life. 

  


I try so hard..... so very hard to be a whole person.  A real person.  A happy person.  I succeed only part of the time.  I like to think of myself as resilient, positive, and upbeat but lately my heart is so heavy.  I even find myself feeling impatient with others because I'm unhappy.  I try not to show it but I FEEL IT.


Don't you just hate that about grief?  You think you're going along just fine and then suddenly, out of no where, all that sadness sweeps in and pulls  you down  into a deep, dark funk.   I wish there was an easy answer.  I wish there was a way to wish ourselves out of that dark place.  Or even better, that we never went there in the first place. I even wish there was a pill I could take that would make me happy but there isn't.  I've tried the pills doctors prescribe but they don't take away the hurt.  They dull the fringes of emotions but they never reach the deep, devastating pain.  The enduring pain.


This is where "time" comes in.  I know that with time I'll start to feel better again.  I always do.  And when I do, I'm going to jump onto my surfboard and ride that wave called "hope" to the top and enjoy being there before cresting the wave.  Then I'll ride the wave for as far and for as long as I can.  I'll hold on tight, dug in with everything I've got,  and hope that I don't fall and crash.  But if I do, I'll pick myself up, brush off the sand, and climb back onto that board called "determination" and try again.  


Excuse me just a moment.  I can't seem to find my surfboard.  I know it's here somewhere.  Hey! has anyone seen my surfboard ... the one with the word "Determination" printed on it?  No?  Dang! I was hoping you'd seen it.  I'll just keep looking for it until I find it.  Its got to be here..... 


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Wishing and hoping that when the darkness arrives that it will pass quickly and the sunshine returns in abundance - to all of us. 

THE GARDEN

For a long time I felt alone and buried beneath a thick covering of suffocating grief.  I accepted this and thought of it as the way I would live the rest of my days.  Eventually, however, the isolation and depression became so oppressive that I began to feel not only listless but restless.  I wanted more.  I needed more.  Not a lot but something more than what I had.  I had lived this way for so long that I wasn't sure I was up to the challenge of trying to make changes.  If it was going to happen then I would have to begin to make changes within myself.  I had told myself this many times but for whatever reason I did nothing to change anything.

At the same time that I began to feel this way, Spring arrived.  I had been asking for a garden for many years.  The first year we moved here, we had a vegetable garden.  A beautiful, bountiful garden.  Then no more.

The white picket fence surrounding the garden is in need of repair and a coat of paint.  The wood around the raised beds had begun to decay.  The beds were overgrown with thick coverings of weeds.  Weeds had grown up in the walkways and a few trees had taken root and grown tall.  The work to restore it seemed too overwhelming.

My husband, Patrick, was still recovering from an extended illness and I had broken my left hand.  I thought another year would past without a garden.  Patrick knew that we both needed something to renew our spirits and give us something, other than ourselves, to think about.  Because of his illness, our financial resources were limited but after some mental deliberation, he decided it would be money well spent to hire someone to fix up the garden for us.  And, my oh my, how it did lift our spirits!  It got us out of the house and into the sunshine and fresh air.

We started seedlings inside the house and watched them sprout and grow.  He purchased plants to set out.  I bought seeds.  Together we put up trellises for the peas and cucumbers to grow up on.  After everything was in, we returned to the garden everyday to see if any of the seeds had broken through the soil.  We knew it would take time but still we walked out together to look.

We also placed a beautiful little Memorial in one corner of the garden for Christian.  On either side of the stone bench, Patrick hung hanging baskets of flowers.  Together we hung a wind chime my Mother had purchased for Christian in a tall rose bush.

While I was sitting in the garden one day, it dawned on me now much my own life paralleled that of a flower bulb or a seed in a neglected garden.  The following composition is the result of those thoughts.

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THE GARDEN

For so long I lay hidden in a dark, cold place

Buried deep, deep, deep beneath the ground

Early Spring brought the weight of soggy soil

Rainless, sunbaked Summers

Destroyed any hope of life beyond my grave

Suffocated with decaying leaves in the Fall

Snow blanketed and froze me in the Winter.

I didn't even struggle to be free

I was filled with too much hopelessness

I had no will to fight left in me

I lay there accepting this as my fate.

All the ills that nature could heap upon me

I accepted.

The years past and nothing changed.

I lay there barren, dormant, and alone.

Sleeping, sleeping, sleeping.

Accepting, accepting, accepting.

Wanting nothing, changing nothing.

Existing but just barely.

One day I awoke to find the

Ground shaking all around me

I found myself rolling and tumbling

I lay there waiting to see 

What would happen next.

Shortly steel teeth raked the tumbled soil

And I found myself under a thin blanket 

Of rich, black earth.

Soon others were placed next to me

I couldn't see them but I knew they were there.

Gentle showers of sweet water fell all around

And puddled up before sinking deep

Bathing me in its hydrating moisture.

I felt the sun warming the soil.

Within myself things began to change

Slowly at first and then very quickly

It seemed to me.

Things that had been coiled up

Held in tight

Started to expand and push out

At last breaking through my hard shell.

Life supporting roots shot out

And pulled in the life giving water and nutrients.

I felt myself reaching for the light

I wanted to feel the warm sun.

I spread out my arms to receive

Its warmth.

Each day I grew a little more

Getting stronger and stronger.

After a while I could see

Above the soil line.

I could see my fellow sprouts

So green, so full of light

and life.

I found myself wanting 

To be strong again.

Above my dark grave

The earth was beautiful

And I wanted to grow taller and taller

I reached, I stretched

I pulled myself up and out

The bulb that gave me strength

Beat like a hundred little hearts.

I was free.  Free at last to breathe.

Part of me would remain

Forever buried beneath the soil

And I knew there would come a time

When conditions would get hard to bear

A time when leaves will fall, 

Snow will bury me beneath

Its icy blanket. 

A time when my strength would wane

And I would coil up tight within myself.

But now I know that Spring will return

The sun will come back and warm me

Gente rain will bath me.

My strength will return and when it does

I will pull myself up and grow tall and strong

My fellow survivors and I will welcome

Each other back with loving, 

Encouraging words and thoughts.

We will feel the sun on our faces

If a strong wind blows, we will bend

But we will not break

We will lean upon each other for support.

The rain may beat us down from time to time

But when it stops we will stand tall

Adversity may slow us down

But it will not stop our growth

Or hold us down for long.

And when others stop and gaze upon us

They will marvel at our ability to survive

Marvel at our resilience.

And they will say amongst themselves

That we are the most beautiful flowers

In all the garden.

MY THIRD MOTHER'S DAY WITHOUT YOU

It may be something I see
That triggers a memory
Or a sudden intense longing
That springs forth from my heart.
Sitting next to him
I sigh deeply
What's wrong he asks
Nothing I softly reply.

On other occasions
When the same has happened
And instead of saying "nothing"
I have said "I miss Christian so much"
As tears roll down my cheeks.
He either makes a barely audible sigh
Or pats my leg.
Then he quickly changes the subject
And talks on about nothing in particular.
Nothing of importance to me anyway
Not then, not at that moment.

He doesn't know how to fix it...
How to fix my broken heart.
Neither do I.
Not knowing what to say
He says nothing.
It's easier for him that way
And that's okay
It's how he deals.
I don't know how to help him either.
We both hurt.

I write about my feelings
He holds everything in.
Neither of us talk about it.
Never talk about that dark day
When Christian died.
The day he took his own life.
He was with him on that terrible day
Witnessed the brutality of a gunshot
That explodes through a head.
Watched as our son lay bleeding and dying.
Then he had to tell me that my cherished son...
A child that I loved so deeply...
Had died.
Had died on the cold ground
On that January day 2010.

What I heard, what he saw
Is burned forever in our memories.
What really is there to say?
No words can change anything.
No amount of tears will bring him back.
Nothing will remove those pictures
From our minds.
Forever I will remember holding
My dearly beloved son's hand that last time
And leaning over him to kiss his cold forehead
Saying that final good bye to his earthly body.

His precious sweet body that I brought forth
Into this world from my own body.
He was so beautiful, so perfect.
He and I had a special bond
Even before he drew his first breath
A bond that will never be broken.
No matter where the other is
We are forever bound together.

The third Mother's Day since he passed
Is quickly approaching
And every day I am sad
Horribly, terribly, tragically sad.
I have other children
Children still living
Children that I love so very much
Children that make me so proud
And bring so much love and happiness
Into my life.
And beautiful, wonderful grandchildren
That light up my world with their smiles.
But still I am sad. Especially now
As Mother's Day approaches.
Horribly, terribly, tragically and eternally sad.

He wrote in his letter that we shouldn't be sad
He said that he knew that we would miss him
Just as he would miss us
But that it was something that he had to do
On his own terms and in his own way.
That he was at peace with his decision.
His words bring me a degree of peace,
Understanding, and acceptance.
But understanding doesn't take away the sadness.

Even though my arms may be empty
And my walk may be lonely
I know that he has found comfort
In the arms of our loving Heavenly Father.
I believe that on this very day
He is with other angels
That decided that life was too
Hard to bear on this sometimes
Unforgiving and harsh world.
They celebrate together their new life
In a place of eternal joy.

I grieve not for what his life is now
But for my own loss at not having him
In my arms, in my life.  I miss his
Laughter, his hugs, the joy of who he was,
His zeal for life.
The sorrow I feel is for me
Not for him because he is in a glorious
Holy place where there are no tears or heartache.
That knowledge makes my sadness
And my pain easier to bear.

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Dearest Christian,

For all the pain I must endure
I am still so happy that you were my child
I rejoice in the memories of your life.
I am sadden by the pain you suffered
And I am glad your pain has ended.
I celebrate the peace you have found.

Some day we will again walk hand in hand
Like we did when you were a little boy
With curly red hair and sparkling blue eyes
And a skip in your step
Until that glorious day, Be at peace my child
And walk with God.

Thank you for being one of my children
Thank you for giving me a reason
To celebrate Mother's Day.
You will never be far from my thoughts
And you will dwell within my heart always.
I love you with all my heart precious one.

Momma

                                           

Christian and his son Benton in Seaside, Oregon

REALITY OR ILLUSION: One Foot In and One Foot Outside the Looking Glass

I have hanging on my wall a framed license issued to me by the Supreme Court. A license regulated by the Bar Association of the State of Washington. This hard earned and, at one time, much cherished piece of paper tells me that  once upon a time I was an important person doing a very important job. The license doesn't tell anyone how hard I worked or how many years I dedicated to training and education, all the while being a single mom to five children, before I even took the test to get this license. It doesn't begin to explain how much my family and I sacrificed so I could excel in my profession. I sacrificed time with my family and my personal life all for a job. I regret that now but that was my reality until I retired in 2007.

This was a job of unbelievable daily stress and long, long hours. Twelve to fourteen hour days more the norm than the exception. I took it home with me at night; I woke up with it in the morning; I even took it into the shower with me (where I did some of my best thinking).

 I did make it a rule, however, to never take the job with me on weekends, holidays, or during the three to four weeks of vacation each year. That was my time to escape and time set aside strictly for family. Those breaks from work gave me time to recoup, regroup, and begin again refreshed. It seemed in those days that work was my reality and time away from work, an illusion.

 But what happens when there is no escape from the harsh world of reality into the softer world of illusion? What happens when the reality you're living hurts both physically and mentally? What happens when you want to turn reality off and you can't?

 When you think about it, just what is reality anyway? The dictionary says: "Reality - noun - the world or the state of things as they actually exist, as opposed to an idealistic or notional idea of them." So what happens when you're told your reality is wrong? that what you're feeling is wrong?

As our society of survivors grows larger and more people are opening up and sharing their experiences, I am constantly amazed and horrified by the degree of pain inflicted by family members or friends on the bereaved. I can almost understand when friends and family leave because they don't know how to deal with the sorrow in our lives; but I totally do not understand intentionally inflicting more pain into the life of someone already overcome with the devastating effects of the loss of a loved one to an unforeseeable and untimely death. I sometimes wonder if they are striking out because they don't know how deal with the grief and frustration in their own lives.

Whatever the reason, it breaks my heart that at a time when family and friends should be the most kindhearted, the most sensitive, and the most caring, they somehow lose part of their humanity. Where does that viper's tongue and those catlike claws come from that pierce and shred a survivors heart leaving it bloody and torn. I don't understand it. Where is the support in this time of mutual and shared sorrow? I really, really don't understand.

 I do understand this. There are times in our lives when in order to survive, we must walk away from damaging relationships. We should walk away before we let others push us into being untrue to ourselves. We shouldn't compromise what we know to be true and what we feel is right for us and our children just to please someone else. What makes them think they know better than you what is best for you during your time of grieving; or when it's time for the pain to end and for you to move on into another phase of your life. Especially when your reality says that you are in pain. For you that is "the world or the state of things as they actually exist." 

Jim Morrison of The Doors said it very well:

 "People are afraid of themselves, of their own reality; their feelings most of all. People talk about how great love is, but that's bullshit. Love hurts. Feelings are disturbing. People are taught that pain is evil and dangerous. How can they deal with love if they're afraid to feel? Pain is something to carry, like a radio. You feel your strength in the experience of pain. It's all in how you carry it. That's what matters. Pain is a feeling. Your feelings are part of you. Your own reality. If you feel ashamed of them and hide them, you're letting society destroy your reality. You should stand up for your right to feel your pain."

I have spent an enormous amount of time and energy hiding my pain and pretending that I am fine. I'm not altogether sure if the reason was to convince myself I'm doing okay; or because I didn't want to burden those around me. Both seem to apply.

While I may not get all fired up and picture myself as a warrior with drawn sword declaring to the world "I WILL OWN MY PAIN!", I have come to the realization that it is time to accept who I am and what I've become.   I have drown in the mire of sorrow and been spit out a different person.  It is time that I accepted this new reality I find myself living.

Our experiences as survivors mold us into who we are. Our experiences. We should not let the hands of others shape the clay of our innermost being into anything other than the free spirited, strong, unique beings we are.   We are okay just the way we are.

Having said that, I do acknowledge that there are times when our lives feel totally out of control. There are so many times when grief knocks the wind out of our sails and we find ourselves adrift in a sea of despair. That's going to happen and does happen. We accept that as part of our "new normal". Our new reality. We can't change it. We can only accept it.

When life gets too hard and I no longer want to face my current realty, I like to close my eyes and drift off into the land of fantasy (creative imagination) and/or illusion (a mistaken perception of realty).  My Mom calls that daydreaming. Others might call it form of mediation.

Albert Einstein said, "Reality is merely an Illusion, although a very persistent one." Is an illusion the beautiful world of make believe where every girl is a princess? Or a place where even a little boy can slay a giant? Perhaps it's a place where cheshire cats hang in midair; or caterpillars smoke a hookah on colorful mushrooms. Maybe it's a place where the inhabits wear outrageous clothes and gaze at their futures in crystal balls.

Or is it a barren and ravaged land abandoned by man and beast alike? On occasion my soul feels like that abandoned landscape. And then other times I become part of the moon and stars on a clear, crisp night.

Or is illusion merely a dream-like state? "The best thing about dreams is that fleeting moment, when you are between asleep and awake, when you don't know the difference between reality and fantasy, when for just that one moment you feel with your entire soul that the dream is reality, and it really happened." - author unknown.

 Several times I have dreamed of my son and it was so, so real I though he was there next to me.   So strong was my desire to continue on with the dream  that upon awaking,  I was still so wrapped up in my dream that for a very short time I didn't realize that I was awake. The memory of the dream was so powerful that it held me in its embrace for days to come.

"If one is lucky, a solitary fantasy can totally transform one million realities."  - Maya Angelou

 At times realty is so difficult and it hurts so much. Let me, if only for a short while, live in the beautiful world of fantasy and the magical world of illusion. Let me fly through the heavens and reach for the stars.

Let this sadness leave me for as long as my imagination will allow.


"I live in a world of fantasy, so keep your reality away from me. I see what I want, I want what I see and that is all okay with me." - Itzah C. Kret


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"This is my wish for you. Comfort on difficult days, smiles when sadness intrudes, rainbows to follow the clouds, laughter to kiss your lips, sunsets to warm your heart, hugs when spirits sag, beauty for your eyes to see, friendships to brighten your being, faith so that you can believe, confidence for when you doubt, courage to know yourself, patience to accept the truth, Love to complete your life." - Anonymous