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Light bathed in color speaks of hope
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Heralding in spring . . .
Empty was cavernous in the
springtime. As I watched everything come to life, take on new colors, blossom
and bloom I was stuck in the winter of things. My grief was thick, I was
feeling the separation and I needed relief.
The Easter holy day and the
secular celebration of the bunny was nipping at my heels. I needed to make a
last minute run to the grocery store and a department store to cap the
preparation for dinner and Easter baskets. I found myself in my safe place, my
car. It was well beyond sunset, approaching dark and I was armed with my
tissues but not my big sunglasses. I cherish my roles of Mom, Gammy, Aunty and
these are the roles that help define me. This is where I am able to live from
the heart and as much as I hear about self-love, just say no, take care of
yourself first—family nurturance remains at the top of my list. The
grandchildren are too young to understand these adult feelings and needs and it
is important to me, my husband, my living family that we allow as much joy as
the day will bring. Our traditional Easter egg hunt is becoming a bit like a
scavenger hunt with the oldest able to read. Jaelyn can lead as the pied piper
and her minions follow in search of tiny treasures. In this light, time and I negotiate. At this
moment, my desire to see joy overtakes the need to feel a river of tears
although needed. This is the one area where I can still multitask. Crying and
driving. The car wins and I can release my grief. I choose the department store
as my first destination. The distance will afford me the most cry drive time.
Talking to Matty in another
one-sided conversation so I think, as I cannot feel MY personal link, I tell
him about my sadness and the joy that the morrow will bring. I ask for a sign.
I need validation that he is “around”, that he can see me, hear me. Why can’t I
feel? I arrived home close to 9:00 pm and as soon as the bags are unloaded, my
Facebook Messenger notification rings at 8:58. It is a message from of one of
Matt’s college buddies who says he’s been meaning to reach out, he drafts a few
emails and never sends them. He tells me things about Matthew that I know and
loved, other things I do not know and what he loves most about my son. He tells
me about the Matt that “lay beneath that huge persona, the most socially gifted
person I've ever met”. He tells me of
secret trips to the rooftop of their fraternity house where Matty introduces
him to great music, deep thought and the passions in his life. He tells me Matt
“would like to look at things from a distance to gain perspective—how
insightful, smart and incredibly loyal he was”. He tells me: “Matt loved you,
and actually talked about it often. I know that you had an incredibly special
relationship”.
What more could I possibly
ask for? My son telling me he Loves me through a friend’s message, a note whose
sending was delayed for for two years! A note and a message that was received
at the perfect time, at the perfect place—my heart. The divine orchestration
that works behind the scenes to bring forth such validation, these exceptional
moments are sacred to me. They have a supernal feel, they come from a higher
place and are much revered. In a moment of deep grief, Matty reaches beyond the
veil to bring awareness and comfort. The awareness continues to be transparent
yet the comfort is greatly appreciated. Another miracle moment and yet my heart
is still in need of healing and greater understanding.
How many times and in how
many different ways has Matty communicated with me? I’m awestruck at the number
of connections, the intricacies in delivering, the interwovenness of the number
of hearts involved. The Love of it all!
I receive Matty’s messages with the utmost gratefulness for the
blessing.
It is now May and I
continue my expedition to locate and reveal the magic that MY personal link
holds in connections. I am introduced to outside physical resources that have
resulted in direct connection with a loved one. The pendulum yields yes/no
answers. Voice recorders are capturing sounds from discarnate spirits. This is
nothing new, it has been documented for decades upon decades. I decide if
others can make connection, I will try. I devote time, not a lot, simply
minutes in the morning and the evening, The recordings are no more than one
minute in length. If it is meant to be I will meet with success. I talk into
the voice recorder on my cell phone. Unlike EVP connections, I am using no
background noise, my equipment consists of the quality of a cell phone mic and
built in software that will let me record. I am unsuccessful in every of my 32
attempts, one half hour of my time spread over five days. . . until.
I’m drawn to Facebook one
evening. It’s late, around midnight. I come across a post from Matty’s friends
out west. That have opened a bar and in honoring his love for the area and the
friendships they’ve shared, they hang a photo of Matthew behind the bar. This
is one of those moments when the love shared in friendship is palpable. I am
touched deeply by the connection, the loyalty this Band of Brothers continue to
show for one another. My heart swells and my eyes tear. This is a moment I want
to share with Matty. I locate my cell phone and start recording the story. I
ask “Do you have a message for us” (I have numbered the recordings and this one
is Voice recording #29). My final attempt for the night takes place in Voice recording #31, Nothing, no response
however I become aware of lyrics that keep looping in my mind, Stevie Wonder’s
“I Just Called to Say I Love You”. A
beautiful sign from Matty letting me know he loves me deeply. The next morning I awaken and try my hand at
connection with Matty once again via my cell phone recorder. As I try and
replay this most recent recording, it will not open and jumps back to Voice
Recording #27. I dismiss, go back to #32 and again the recording will not open.
Finally, after a few more attempts I wonder if this is Matty playing with my
electronics. I say “OK Matty, you win . . . I’ll open # 27. Within the first
few seconds I hear, in his voice, the message “Hang Tight”. Taken aback,
totally surprised, extremely grateful; this is the one and only message I
receive before retiring my cell phone in my research for connection. Matty's message was recorded on an older voice recording that had held no messages when first listened to in days prior. The signs
now morph into a set of synchronicities as I look back on these events but not before seeing this meme as the first post in my Facebook newsfeed on the morning of
May 20th.
Connection to my child in
spirit and finding MY personal link is a process much like grief. It is a
process with many steps, some move me forward and some backward. Patience is a
virtue as is hard work. I must first BELIEVE that a connection between the
spirit of my child and the spirit that is me exists. The EXPERIENCE will
validate the belief. Without belief I cannot become AWARE of the nuances, the
whispers, the shift in my human reality allowing me to see with my human eyes,
moving this EXPERIENCE to my heart where I absorb, acknowledge spirit’s
messages and release the gratitude that flows as the weight the signs carry in
my healing become my first miracle EXPERIENCE.
Miracle takes on a new
definition contrary to what my Catholic upbringing has taught me. A miracle
feels like the joy in Spirit vs the joy in my human-ness. When I am given a
glimpse beyond the veil and carry that EXPERIENCE back to my earthly
being, a fusion takes place where the
spirit in me uncovers a remembrance that I am spirit embodied in a human
EXPERIENCE. Connection is a spirit to spirit EXPERIENCE. The connection existed
ALWAYS. I needed to do the emotional hard work of grief and learn the process of connection . . . but I am getting ahead of myself and
will come back to this momentarily.
I cannot give up. I remember this Love like no other I
have for my son. It beats stronger, faster in my chest and for over two years
has propelled me to embark on a quest to find him in whatever form and wherever
he now exists. The dragon of grief has hurt my phoenix and she is laying in the
ashes. Quiet and empty, I'm coming in on my own to bring to light the treasure
you are sheltering for me.
To be continued . . .
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