Friday, September 9, 2016


I have a full time job with no title, a career with no name. It pays no overtime. It offers a slim chance for advancement and I am kept on call 24 hours a day. . . .  My job is mourning, my career is grieving and it is hard, hard work leading to a bitter end! Herein lies the dark, heavy description of the other road through grief I could have taken had I NOT chosen to grieve, mourn the death of you, my beautiful son without hope, hope towards healing: without the acceptance that Love is a powerful emotional energy with no end. It is the fuel, the nourishment for the heart that conquers hopelessness. I am so often asked the question "How do you do it, I can't imagine?" There are few choices available to a grieving Mom. The dark and despair-filled path that closes the heart is one, and in some instances extinguishes life altogether, another—or the path that is illuminated by varying degrees of light, wisdom, love and support from the divine, our own fundamental truth and others who are walking with us and on their own journeys. The light dims when time for reflection is needed—when caution guides the process ensuring a safe passage to the next crossroad. This is my chosen path and my path is dimly lit at the moment and never will it go dark. My struggle is in locating, in building a bridge that crosses the divide between the physical and spirit. I need more light, I need to understand—I'm having difficulty finding my way.

The words you inspired this week I feel are intended for more than my eyes only. There is wisdom in these words—insight that shines a light on my path. You are filling my heart with the themes of forgiveness and trust. You teach me well.

Is my anger masked? My heart feels love and my journey speaks vulnerability yet a deep loneliness for you has set in. Fear travels on the coattails of loneliness. Why am I scared? I am sitting in the abyss between two worlds. I was so connected to you physically. I gave birth to you, I cared for you, loved you, I taught you, tried to keep you safe. Your love was reciprocated. I could see it, feel it, access it, bring it to life—present and in the moment with a phone call, text messages, dinner plans. I trusted our Mother/Son love. My heart knew it was a forever thing. What scares me is my lack of "how-to" with our relationship now that you are in spirit. Physical touch is affirming, validating. Spirit touch—I'm not sure how to define it. It's silent, it doesn't make make phone calls, touch is a rarity. That was you on Mother's day stroking my hair, wasn't it? A spirit caress? And then the moment of doubt fills my mind and my heart wrestles with it. Trust. Just trust. But it's all so new and does not occur on my timeline or in my control. And I miss you so much and don't know how to figure this out. And the signs come and they comfort. And the loneliness that sets in because I can't touch or put my arms around you, experience my "see you next time”, talk to you next time, hug you next time moments. How do I resolve this dilemma? And in the midst of my confusion I felt your words coming through to me in Jeff Foster's blog titled The Sweetness of the Heart's Reopening. 

"Perhaps sometimes the heart has to close for you to remember
the sweetness of its reopening."

Is this where I am to find answers? Is this what is happening to me? Am I experiencing my heart closing because of loneliness, fear? Are these questions I am asked to answer? Does the present hold the key to unlocking the future? It hurts . . . I embrace forgiveness and love. Will it lift the melancholy of my heartsong?

What is creating/causing anxiety within me as I grieve? A rule follower, the past inducted me into two ways of doing things—the right way and the wrong way: in making decisions/problem solving—the black way and white way. The perfect way, set in stone —the only way of walking through life. I discovered there was a gray way in adulthood, thinking outside of the box was yet another way. Changing my ways is easier at times than others. It's taken me some time to grasp the reality that there are many ways to do grief; leaving me feeling polarized, anxious, doubtful—with an inability to trust myself, my intuition, my progress, my choices. Stirrings of uncomfortable-ness set in giving rise to unworthiness and questioning why you would want to continue a relationship with me in the physical while you are in spirit. I am then reminded that we are relating soul to soul and the newness of this experience, the absence of rules or new rules attached to new ways of thinking—these all zap my calm and start my head spinning. Thoughts and second guesses that create additional pain and increase my suffering. I embrace forgiveness and welcome courage.

I know, I feel that forgiveness and trust are making the days more comfortable. I am acknowledging the hurts then turning away: letting go the negative, the frustration, the disappointment, the anger. However, not before they have been duly noticed can they be released at will—loosening my super-glued attachments to these emotions. The nights are more bearable, able to call in sleep with a heart wide open: waiting to be touched by the Love of memories, making space for meditation, bringing in a connection to you that allows my day to come to an end in peace and gratitude. I embrace forgiveness of my hurts and watch my heart grow in compassion for myself and others.

I want more, I need more. Is that selfish? What can I ask of the afterlife? What does this continuous relationship with you, my child look like? Is it all signs and one way conversations? Will I ever hear your voice again or was the "Mom" that I heard in my right ear on your first anniversary my one final listen, one of the lucky ones? Will I ever find the equal to the fulfillment my heart received when you were physically here with me? Will you help me build a new bridge to you? As I work my way through this crossroad, I do so filled with gratefulness for all that you are for I am now the student and you are my divine teacher. I embrace forgiveness as I give it to myself, as I tell myself I am doing a good job—with life, with love, with grief. Good will give me space to be kind to me, to take care of me, to love me, to continue working, processing, reflecting as I make space to hold newfound joy—for me.

One thing I know for sure is that I'll love you forever and always.