 |
| DO I GIVE VOICE, REJOICE . . . IS IT A PASSWORD? |
Reminiscent of the
chicken or the egg conundrum—which came first? Matthew, you sometimes leave me
speechless and in awe with the signs and synchronicities you send my way.
Speechless and always grateful. There are two camps regarding signs—believers
and non-believers. I am certainly a believer and have to admit, I arrived at
Camp Believer after many questions, doubts, shaking of the head, and voluminous
reading. Can death be the end of a relationship? In my heart I knew there had
to be more, wanted more, pined for more; yet how do you approach the topic of
signs and synchronicities without sounding a little crazy?
Loss shakes us to the core. Loss begs for the searching of answers to life’s major questions. Who am I? Why am I here? Is there a God? Is He/She a good God? Where do we go when we die? What is this life for? Why is there such sorrow, loss, devastation, unfairness? Death is a teacher. She forces us to pull out all the stops, think outside the box, learn all we can about ourselves and this journey called grief. A journey that I would rather not have embarked upon but find myself with a one way ticket. I know you’d want the ticket to be a round trip. So do I, so do all of us that love you. We are slowly making our way.
Loss shakes us to the core. Loss begs for the searching of answers to life’s major questions. Who am I? Why am I here? Is there a God? Is He/She a good God? Where do we go when we die? What is this life for? Why is there such sorrow, loss, devastation, unfairness? Death is a teacher. She forces us to pull out all the stops, think outside the box, learn all we can about ourselves and this journey called grief. A journey that I would rather not have embarked upon but find myself with a one way ticket. I know you’d want the ticket to be a round trip. So do I, so do all of us that love you. We are slowly making our way.
Loss is archeology
for the soul. We know we have to dig and sometimes deeply, clean up what we
unearth and inspect it for any connection to the past that may help us in our
search for answers. A search that will lead us from the past to our future. A
future where we try to reclaim the joy that seems so elusive and always holds
the ache of the loss. A search that allows you to look at all of your questions
with a little bit of perspective if you’ve delved into the past. The questions
have answers with as many facets as a diamond. Facets, angles and cuts
that display a variety of brilliant colors — reflections from the light
within. A descriptive of our souls.
Loss creates
longing and adds to the list of questions in our search. What is the afterlife?
Where is it? Does the soul know it is about to embark on its journey home? This
last question holds a lot of intrigue for me. In revisiting the weeks right
before your death, I believe your soul knew that your time on earth was ending.
We had a 45 minute phone conversation, so many minutes that you did not have
time to spare but did. You reviewed your entire life—the joys and the
heartaches, the successes and failures, the dreams and the reality. You made
sure that I knew you had no regrets. You expressed gratefulness, your love for
family, and the lessons that came your way. You couldn’t see the tears and
I tried to muffle the sounds that accompanied them. That phone conversation
touched me so deeply and then the amount of comfort it provided when I tried
and continue to try to assimilate your passing. My broken heart is shattered,
reminiscent of laminated glass that breaks into shards held together as a whole
but in a redefined wholeness. Shattered but with the intent of reducing the
risk of injury. This is what your signs mean to me. They provide such a sense
of comfort. They blanket my heart with joy, temporarily, but joy nonetheless.
They keep me connected to you in a way that memories just cannot.
Another soul
gift—the gift you’ve given Nikki—the night before Christmas Eve when the two of
you were dining at the Copper Door, exhausted and relishing the quiet time.
Quiet time away from the kids and in the next moment, you are enjoying your
glasses of wine and looking at pictures of the nuggets. Laughing between
yourselves that the minute you are away from them, you miss them—immediately.
Nikki says you were your usual loving self. The next moment belonged to
Nikki—her gift. You stared directly into her eyes, a deep intense stare. A soul
to soul stare. You professed your love to her, admitted that you were obsessed
with her and let her know how lucky you felt to be in love. She tells me your
stare was jolting. Almost intimidating. You were intent on getting your point
across. Her memory is that of a “lucky lady . . . whoever says that? My
husband, that’s who”. You made her feel special and adored. You left her the
best part of you—Addy and Bear. She loves the children with every single ounce
of love her heart can hold. Broken and shattered but the broken-ness held
together because of your special gift; the verbal expression of your love—a
little over a week before you died.
This next
re-telling takes my breath away. Synchronicity, not coincidence—stages that
develop before the picture comes into focus. After posting the Goodbye . . . Hello . . .
Hallelujah blog, I had a
conversation with Brad. He relayed a story that took place at the office the
morning of the accident, the morning you died. You went into Brad’s office and
asked him to check out a you tube video of Bon Jovi singing Hallelujah. He did
and in so doing came upon the Canadian Tenors singing their cover of
Hallelujah. You had just been to a Canadian Tenor concert in Florida but had
never mentioned the song. This version brought Brad to tears, tears that
unsettled him at the time, as it was not his customary reaction to a song, even
though it is a very moving rendition. You walked by his office, saw that he was
crying, said “B” (your nickname for Brad) and he showed you the video. In
typical Matty fashion, you put your arms around him and gave him one of your
big ‘ol bear hugs and a kiss on the cheek. He is so honored to have this memory
as his last of you. Brad says “my last memory of Matty is so filled with love
and I was probably the last person who he ever hugged. To this day I can’t talk
about him without tears flowing.” Another soul to soul connection? Perhaps
another soul to soul goodbye? Brad’s comfort and peace in your passing. My
heart skipped a beat when I heard that you had listened to the song Hallelujah the day you died. Why did you choose
to listen to the song? Was it a calling from your soul?
I struggled with,
and wrote about how I needed to say goodbye to the physical you, hello to your
beautiful spirit and accomplished this with the language of Hallelujah, Leonard
Cohen’s song Hallelujah.
Hallelujah, why did I choose this song? Why did it touch my soul? Why are we
coming full circle? Are you gathering your circle and bringing us together,
each holding a piece of the puzzle until we come together with our stories and
memories to discover the big picture? Are you teaching us to keep your love
alive? Are you providing validation that love never dies—that our energy simply
transforms? Matthew you are as dynamic in death as you were in life!
Loss—the
instrument that allows us to touch nothing-ness. Nothing-ness, the emptiness,
the loss of color to our days, the numbness associated with grief seeps into
our present, lives in our past and we try so hard to ban its entry into our
future. What is nothing-ness? Is it another example of a duality life presents
to us? Are we meant to discover complete-ness with a tweak in perspective? What
if nothing-ness is the emptiness that holds the key, the arc of the covenant to
hope that our grief will soften; that we will accept it as a heartmate and
truly find a new direction on our journey? Is grief after all the discovery
that joy CAN live with the ache? What if touching nothing-ness turns on the
light of happiness and allows us to return to the land of the
living—transformed? Transformed, as how can one ever be the same after loss?
What will that transformation look like? Still too early to tell, after all.
This is a new direction. I’m now taking a different path. I'm searching for a
way back to life after the nothing-ness gave me a glimpse of complete-ness.
Will that transformation turn words of how to live into experiences of life? If
life is all about LOVE will I learn to live LOVE as an action not just as an
emotion, a feeling? Will one of my favorite Psalms take on a new meaning . . .
LOVE is kind, LOVE is patient . . . How can I do this? What if I look at
nothing-ness not through the context of the past, or the emptiness of the
future. What if I tweak my perspective and remove the overwhelmingly desolate
feelings the THOUGHT of nothing-ness brings forth by acknowledging the
here-and-now moment. Nothing-ness cannot exist in the moment. There simply is
not enough room for it. How do I capture the moment? The breath. I close
my eyes, I clear my mind; there is nothing but the breath. I breathe in,
I breathe out. There is nothing but the breath. My attention to breath slows
time. It creates a focus. How fortunate am I to fill my nose with the scent of
the earth on a warm summer day; the cleanliness of fresh air after a rain
storm; the crispness and coolness of a winter morning air that makes my
nostrils want to meet half way and touch. When I open my eyes, the world is
brighter, colors are more vibrant. I am free to observe, to partake in the
moment. Joy fills this moment. What if I gain clarity when experiencing a
here-and-now moment of joy? What if grief says to the heart “this is you’re
here-and-now. I will step aside. Enjoy.” And I will carry that joy for another
moment and another and another. Haven’t I just carried my joy from the past
through the present and into the future by choosing to link moments of
here-and-now joy? Could this be one treasure box unlocked and opened with this
new found key? Joy begins with a moment. Hallelujah!!
Signs provide such
a sense of comfort. They soften the rough edges of loss for me. They relieve me
from the paralysis of numbness. They move me forward. Signs, so many sent to
all of us. Addy’s DaddyAngel, words that flow from the pen, Matty II blooming
on your wedding anniversary, the helium balloon, an ‘M’ found in NY, the song,
the number 13, guidance from others at the exact moment needed. Synchronicities
are like the trailer to a really good movie. In these special moments I feel
that you are alive, just not in the reality that I can see and feel. The most
striking synchronicities were the stages that developed in your Father’s Day
communication about the Mourning Dove, The bird, the poem, the art. The art,
created 25 years ago with the song of the Mourning Dove placed front and
center–‘Coo'. Next, the linking of what I consider a very special gift—the gift
of words, when I need them most, that help to make sense of this journey
through grief. The link, another drawing created in your childhood, of an
Amanuensis. A modern day scribe equipped with a computer and fancy
printer. Finally, the Hallelujah; your soul rejoicing your going home and mine
rejoicing a connection with your spirit. You love so intensely that you take
care that we are not broken completely. I have to remember to focus on these
memories when the tears begin to flow and I am waiting for another sign, more
synchronous moments.
So many questions.
My prayer to you sweet boy is that you find and share your wisdom. Help me to
live this life without regret. Show me how to live LOVE and not just feel LOVE.
Lessen my sadness by sending signs . . . lots of signs. Help me to keep my
heart open. Help me to realize a connection until we meet again. Help me to
breathe into the here-and-now. Help me, help me, help me.
Love you forever
and always,
Mom
POSTSCRIPT TO
SIGNS & SYNCHRONICITIES POST—another revelation! I'm having a 'living in the past'
moment this morning and I am drawn to reread the Easter Day blog 'We Had a Good
Day' & in that post I mention that the song Hallelujah by Kelley Mooney
(she changed Leonard Cohen's lyrics) brought me to a point of reflection about
love, sacrifice, faith & renewal and the topic for the Easter post. Hallelujah
again! The song HALLELUJAH was first sent to me in April but I must have been
too absorbed in grief and missed the sign and never remembered having listened
to the song when I finally decided to write about saying goodbye to the
physical Matthew months down the road. It wasn't until August that I wrote the
Goodbye Hello Hallelujah blog. . . and making this discovery today! The added steps Matthew takes until the sign
is acknowledged . . . AMAZING! Synchronicity at its best!
JOIN US ON FACEBOOK CLICK THE LINK: VOICE OF GRIEF
If you are a believer in signs and enjoy the comfort they bring, you'll find chronicles of signs from Matthew, with more of a description than what has been presented in this post,. on the VOICE OF GRIEF Facebook Page.
