 |
The skyscape portends the beauty that lies hidden in darkness
|
I always liked the word ‘gloaming’; a bit obscure yet so descriptive. That time of day yearning to become night, the twilight, dusk. I found myself in this space with my grief between years two and three. Sensing the quiet that precedes the transition, I made a decision . . . I am unwilling to let darkness overcome me. I will learn how to turn on my own light.
Eleven
months ago . . .
My
internal space feels empty. I'm unsure how to describe this absence of feeling.
Matty's story, my story . . . they’re interwoven, have been since his birth.
Faced with his physical death I've been walking between two worlds, from the
human to the spirit and back. I find myself with more questions than answers .
. . utterly exhausted physically, emotionally, mentally yet holding on to my
spirituality; I sense it is my lifeline.
Is
grief a journey or is grief a process? The definitions are interchangeable.
When I journey, I am taking action, moving forward; choosing from the many
paths offered along the way. My destination is healing and hope fuels my
travels. This I have known from early grief. My plan is to arrive at healing
and reside in solace. The problem . . . I'm not quite sure how to get there.
When
I see grief as a process, I see transformation as my end result. Healing will
bring about personal changes and hope shines a light upon the stages, phases
and/or layers needed to work through. Arrive, healing, hope . . . journey and process sharing the same
terminology.
Is
this nothing more than semantics? Are there right words, wrong words? Words
with power? Others that slow my walk to
healing? I've found made up words that bring together and made up words that
divide. Is there a grief vocabulary, a dictionary?
I'm
simply looking for a way to live, to be. I’m slowed by crossroads and
roadblocks when my internal GPS seems to be failing me. My pathway guides me to understanding how to
work through the chaos, the disruption, the uncertainty, the doubt and myriad
emotions that introduce themselves in my periods of mourning and grieving. Adding
to the turmoil in grief, I greet the confusion that ensues when I find moments
of joy, hand in hand with grief’s ache knocking on the door to my heart. I've
felt the good, the not so good and have been delivered to the balance between
opposing emotions. There is no simple way. I do the heavy lifting grief
requires . . . everyday.
I
almost give up this time. I am blanketed by the quiet and the empty. I am not
giving up on life per se, yet I am ready to let go of the chains that grief's
hold has on me. I am tired of doing the work, the searching; the highs and
comforts of receiving signs and the dullness that befalls me when the
atmosphere of their absence surrounds me.
Learning a new language, the language of spirit, is refreshing,
rewarding and when doubt nicks my sheath of trust, I feel like I am failing the
test. The ups, the downs, the twists, the turns . . . I am like a kite free
floating on air currents and I need steady.
I am tired of this feeling that something is missing, within reach,
within my grasp, that one thing that will catapult me back to life but I am
unable to grab hold if I don’t know what it is. I shout out to Matthew in utter
desperation, “I'm done. This is too much work. I’ll see you when I'm dead.”
This
is GRIEF. Words of mine that hit me like a bucket of ice water to the heart; so
cold, so harsh so unexpected that it changes the invisible metronome that marks
the beats I am so accustomed to . . .
and then the real work begins.
I
see with clarity the picture of what brought me here to this new layer of
grief, yet after Matty’s second anniversary, the big picture out remains fuzzy.
I've been thrown back to the beginning of mourning . . . not reliving that
fateful day, but back to the beginning where that question “What do I do now?”
looms large and loud. I find myself in a space that I am having difficulty defining. I am in
that space of both recalling and reliving yet not with "what ifs" and
"if onlys". I'm feeling that deep well of sadness and the longing
that overshadows. Only this time I realize, these feelings
are about me, I have mourned and grieved Matty but not the loss of me.
How
do I now fit into my life? What does this new life look like? Where did my
motivation go? Am I sadness? No, it seems to be replaced by weariness. How do I
re-enter life with all its normal daily challenges and excitement, joys and
sorrows, successes and failures? Why is everything I feared, disliked and have
been unable to conquer personally . . . discomfort, anger, conflict, trust,
letting go . . . finding my truth, my voice. Why are these hiddens asking to be
seen, heard, acknowledged and healed? NOW?
I
do not realize that my innermost desire is whispering to me. I cannot hear it.
I can feel the unsettled-ness of it all, yet am unable to recognize it. I am holding onto the expectation that my . .
. no wait, that’s the missing! The revelation, this is not just about me. This
continues to be the story of Matty and me. The MY I’m not feeling is the
missing part of connection. I am privy to a connection. I know there is a
connection that exists between my boy and me. I have evidenced that connection
from medium readings, signs and synchronicities. I may be searching for
something that does not exist but I don’t think so. In the physical, in Matty’s
earthly life, I felt a bond, EXPERIENCED a deep bond that was alive and well.
There was an “our” connection, a joining, a merging; MY half of the connection
that made me his mother and his half that made him my son. A connection as
strong as the umbilical cord that tied us together, and even though it was cut
at birth, it left its mark like the sensation from an amputated limb. It was
replaced by an emotional attachment,
invisible yet giving off physical cues; an attachment stronger than
steel—nurtured, cared for, understood, made to feel secure by Love. I am
looking for that attachment whose mark was left at birth by the umbilical cord.
How can I find it in the absence of verbal communication? We are non-verbal, my
boy and I. I must learn a new language, create space for awareness, openness
and receiving with no cues, no facial expressions. I feel the dissolution of
the trust, security and balance that framed our human to human bond, our
attachment. Where is MY spiritual
umbilical cord that will let me start over once again; that lets me know the
continued connection with Matty is mine, is personal, and is two-way? I’m
feeling the separation. I need to find MY spiritual link; the link that will
tie a mother with her son’s spirit.
“If
he would have moved to Tahoe”, I tell myself, as he had planned after college,
we would have connected by phone. I could pick up that phone and call him, hear
him, still feel his absence but appease the yearning, the missing. My heart would
rejoice at the sound of his voice, his laughter, his “I Love you Mama” before
disconnecting. When next needed, I could simply quiet these feelings of
yearning and missing by picking up the phone again. The phone—the device that
provides the opportunity for connection. My intention, my actions, dialing or a
voice command set the stage for direct communication. His availability, his
picking up on the ring, the vibration that lets him know action is needed—this
is what completes our direct connection. Our combined actions, impersonal until
the first “Hello”, when two hearts united in Love, kindle that unseeable bond,
the attachment illuminated from within. It is the personal link that gives life
to the Mother/Son, human to human connection. It is the place from where
communication flows. It is my security and balance enjoyed for 36 years that
lets me know all is right with the world. Is this the piece of me that I felt
die the day he died?
This
bond, this attachment that lives in my human physical world, elusive to me now
that Matty is in the spirit realm, is the something I feel is within reach but
cannot grab hold of. In the flesh we remain bonded in that mother and son
relationship regardless of geographical distance. The relationship is alive,
distance can have no impact.
I
see the error in my thinking. MY personal link, MY natural inborn link must be
soul spirit to spirit. The spirit in me must connect with his spirit. MY
personal link originates from Love. A spirit connection can originate from a
Medium reading, a sign received from another, a physical object like a pendulum
or electronics such as an EVP reading.
These connections bring much comfort and strengthen the hope needed as I
embark on my journey toward healing. They validate that life continues, Love
never dies. As real as these connections are, not ever will they bring me to MY
personal link that transforms to MY new spiritual bond: the bond between the
spirit in me to the spirit that is he . . . the bond, the attachment that is needed, searched for after death; the
EXPERIENCE that validates I have found Matty in his new form, in his new home.
The key to unlocking this treasure is through LOVE, only LOVE, direct from
spirit to spirit, no intermediary needed.
Lessons will show me a new way of thinking and deliver me a new
perspective that is sorely needed for my mood, my sanity, my confusion, my
growth and my healing. I have gained awareness yet it comes with no guide book.
I have gained comfort yet the yearning and the missing continue—grief
continues. However, Matty sends a clear sign, a validation to exactly this way
of thinking. Hindsight maintains focus on the lessons that still need to be
learned before the gift can be opened.
To
be continued . . .
No comments:
Post a Comment
Thank you for sharing your thoughts, resources and experiences.