IN THE GLOAMING OF GRIEF (Part 3 of 4)

Time passes and with patience, hard work and meeting Grief
unequivocally, I am shown more of the beauty being offered.

The warmth of summer . . .                                                                

The summer months hold a fascination with walking conservation trails, searching for peace, seeking wisdom in the age old trees, listening for answers in the babbling of a brook. Beauty speaks to me without a need to learn a new language. The heart is my translator and I learn much about myself. Some questions find answers, others remain open.

A lesson in opening the heart is presented by spirit. I am guided to the work of Dr. Omid Safi, a columnist for On Being and Director of Duke University’s Islamic Studies Center. He acquaints me with a new way of interpreting the question “How are you” when greeting someone. Dr. Safi explains that in many Muslim cultures, that question is asking about your heart. “How is your heart doing at this moment?”. I learned that this is a most compassionate way to greet a friend, especially the bereaved. How is your heart doing? My heart instantly warms to the message. I ask myself “Diane, how is your heart at this very moment?”. I hear myself. I’m surprised as the inner me, my subconscious utters “You care about me? You want to take time to know this place in me, to feel where I am today?” "Yes", is my reply. "You are sharing your humanity, your Love and I will share mine".

What is an open heart? What is the the heart’s purpose as we are shepherded to remember our spirit enveloped in this human EXPERIENCE? Yes, shepherded. We have a team of spirits at the ready, waiting to be asked for help. I want to highlight the word EXPERIENCE. It holds such meaning and is one of the keys that unlocked my understanding of connection with Matty. 

What feelings do I feel from the heart?  What feelings do I feel when receiving from others? How do I feel when I Love, when I give, when I share, when I receive, when I forgive, when I show mercy?  How do I feel when all is reciprocated? I can now sense gratitude, comfort, peace, blessedness. Is this not the language of the heart? Is this not what opening your heart is all about? It is about trusting the feelings, the sensations, the vibrations. It is living life guided by, completely aware of these same feelings, sensations and vibrations rather than with what the human eyes can see yet cannot interpret to the depth that the heart can. When I am living with an open heart, my human eyes simply become a passenger riding shotgun as I travel down Grief’s Super Highway—destination, re-entry into a transcendent life.

I attend National Conferences for bereaved parents. I arrive home with a full heart from the many connections made yet more questions surface.

Am I carrying expectations? Why now do I continue to feel a disconnect from my beautiful son? Am I angry? Am I impatient? What about our soul contact? Am I willing to ignore how far I've walked with grief these past two years? Do I even Love myself? Will this chatter ever stop?

Spirit tries again. My awareness is nudged. Another lesson. Spirit is trying to get my attention and I’m not mindful until absolute annoyance presents itself. Hindsight is my teacher and spirit has a sense of humor. It isn’t until two weeks have passed of daily, and some days multiple occurrences of a single solitary strand of hair landing onto my arm that I realized perhaps I am being prodded by spirit, but not before the maniacal exhibition of wildly jerky moves to remove it begins. The neck straightens the head bobs, the hand transforms into a claw and attacks that one spot on the arm where I am convinced that hair will be located and removed. When it isn’t, the claw pecks like a chicken at grain. When I still come up with nothing, I go to the light. I twist my arm, I turn it and aha! I catch a glimpse of that stealthy irritation. I lift it off, open my index and forefinger and drop the nuisance on to the floor. Finally, I get out of myself enough to ask spirit “is this a sign, are you trying to tell me something?”  As the light of dawn permeates my grief-altered-slow-to-sometimes-pick-up mind, I pause for a mini-reflection. My thought: if a strand of hair, so light and without weight can create a sensation so intense that I immediately need to remove it from one of my limbs, then surely spirit’s subtle energy can be felt, can be recognized that a loved one is around. No answer but a lot of awareness and staying in the present moment to identify other signs that may be nudging me.

A recent morning after, I boot up my laptop and receive a notice from Amazon that I’ve purchased a book by Kim Russo, “The Happy Medium: Life’s lessons from the Other Side; not one book but two as the audible version was ordered as well.  I order books from my Kindle all the time. I have been drawn from one book to another since Matty’s passing and this is how my Afterlife/Everlife library has grown. There is no way I can accidentally order a book let alone two! I have to access the Kindle store, complete multiple steps, click buy, the book is delivered and then I can continue shopping or go to my library. Could this be another sign from Matty; a tool to help build awareness—a gift I end up paying for myself? I devour the book. It is a treasure trove of information on how to practice opening up the “clairs” the psychic senses of clairvoyance, clairaudience, clairsentience, claircognizance, clairalience, and clairgustance. . . the elements that I can now identify, that held no name for me whenI began to experience them in my communications with Matty in spirit.  As validation, these six senses were the topic of a July support meeting with Chris Mulligan. I have EXPERIENCED one incident of clairaudience on Matty’s First Mattiversary, when I head one word “Mom”—his voice, volume, inflection, unmistakable. After the discussion of the clairs at our meeting, I received a notification from one of our potential Facebook page members accepting an invite to join at exactly 11:11; an invite that was 4 months old! I saved the screenshot. The members last name and first initial were the same as Matty’s favorite band—Dave Matthews. More nudging, more tools, more guidance and I continue my mission to discover MY personal connection and catch a glimpse of the other side of grief.

I am in awe at the detail in the choreography that must occur for me to see with my human eyes and interpret with my heart eyes. The signs come less often but the synchronicities are becoming more complex. The miracle workings of spirit are teaching me that I must believe first and foremost and be open to receiving.

I continue to feel the something missing. My mind engages in more learning and the pause needed to observe, acknowledge . . .  to practice this earthwork is waving at me from the horizon. Practice conveys a process of continual growth and learning and this resonates with discovering how to, and attain living, a spiritual life.

Songs sent as signs support the emotional turmoil I am living through. I’ve filled pages and pages in my journal. In one of my entries I express:  “I feel like the "sky is falling". Distracted by the phrase in trying to remember which fairytale that specific line belongs to, I decide to spend some time with my friend Google, A Radiohead song comes up in the search "Where I end & you begin. (The Sky is Falling In)”. The lyrics aren't as meaningful as the song title and Wow, Wow, Wow! that was about as good as Matty speaking English to me! Where I end & you begin was the reverse of a message he had sent through Rachel Pearson after she asked me if I feel Matty when writing my Matty inspired blog posts. I answered “No”, I don’t feel him physically. She tells me he is standing to my right when we write. More comfort, more gratitude yet I have been feeling more of a gap than a thin veil that separates the physical realm from the other side since the beginning of my internal chaos.

Messages of comfort were relayed via
Evidential Mediums in my early grief. Comfort gently
holds Healing's hand and together we walk towards
the beauty that life continues to hold through the ache.

The song’s lyrics speak to me:

There's a gap in between

There's a gap where we meet

Where I end and you begin

My daughter in law and I set a date for dinner out, alone; a night away from the Littles that we Love, but we need some Mom/Daughter catch up time. Grief seems to have settled in an unexpected way for both of us. I am feeling so torn, so bad, so guilty about the signs and synchronicities not being enough; about seeking to find more. This journey is spiritual and I cannot continue to look through the lens of my human eyes. I’m sharing my heart with Nikki and on the sound system comes the song: "I Won't Give Up"  by Jason Mraz. The lyrics break my heart. I’m feeling as though  I’m hurting Matthew with my thoughts and difficulty in comprehending our new language. Impossible to hurt one in spirit, yet in my grief, I am hanging onto that human perspective. Here are some of the lyrics:

“And when you're needing your space

To do some navigating

I'll be here patiently waiting

To see what you find”

The Love is so strong, He hears me. He waits. He knows the lessons must continue and he continues to send validation. His validations break through my curtain of grief.

To be continued . . . 

To read Parts 1 & 2, please click the links below:
IN THE GLOAMING OF GRIEF (Part 2 of 4)
IN THE GLOAMING OF GRIEF (Part 1 of 4)

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IN THE GLOAMING OF GRIEF (Part 2 of 4)

Light bathed in color speaks of hope

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.

When the Universe speaks, my ears are perked!

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 . . . 

To read Part 1, please click the link below:
IN THE GLOAMING OF GRIEF (Part 1 of 4)

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IN THE GLOAMING OF GRIEF (Part 1 of 4)

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 . . . 

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BUBBLE MATT—MY THANKSGIVING SWEET!

Our beloved lives in our hearts — LIVES as we experience
his Love in so many ways, in ways he shows he is present in our daily lives.

Thanksgiving . . . it's filled with moments of the bitter and the sweet. Our table has morphed into seating for family members and friends who hold an empty chair in their hearts. We serve up as many emotions as we do sides on this special Thursday. A bitter moment for me was when I was trying to bring Matty into the kitchen, to help with prep or keep me company I guess, by listening to many covers of our significant song, Leonard Cohen’s 'Hallelujah'. In my best Bridget Jones' lip syncing imitation, I was putting all the feel and moves into this song, holding my imaginary mic as I air-belted the words, thinking that if I set the stage, the atmosphere, the ambiance that Matty's presence would fill every square inch of this room—this room filled with memories that would hold me as a voluntary hostage for the next two days. The song's lyrics and the room's memories came in quicker than I was able to move Matty's presence from my heart to infusing the air with his Love—the Love I would breathe in for the next few days. The tears came along with the realization that what I was wanting, missing most was his very human exhilaration over the menu, the gathering, the sound of his laughter and the feel of his hugs. Tears, my grounding in the human-ness of grief flowed.

Then the sweet! I have to tell you about my favorite holiday gift memorial of Matt. It's a snow globe that holds Matty's picture. The grands fell in love with this gorgeous orb that holds a four season spot in our living room. Made of plastic and not glass, Matty's self-contained winter wonderland has survived a year of kisses, falls and just a bunch of holding for comfort's sake. As the adults were enjoying conversation after a hearty meal, the two oldest girls came skating in stocking'd feet into the kitchen holding Bubble Matt (as our sphere is affectionately called), shouting "And let's say Happy Thanksgiving to this guy!" Instant smiles and a chorus of Happy Thanksgiving Matty, Daddy, Uncle Matty echoed throughout the dining area. Matty's grand finale Thanksgiving day. They balance each other . . . the bitter and the sweet. Thankful for the Love that allows us to fully feel both.

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MUSINGS FROM THE REFLECTION BENCH

THE REFLECTION BENCH

There are more than signs and synchronicities that validate when our Loved Ones are near. I invited Matty to take a walk with me this morning on a beautiful stretch of conservation land in our town. The landscape of my mind and heart are a bit monochromatic at the moment as I sit patiently waiting to sort out the tug between the two. Grief lessons are familiar to me.

Uncomfortable is my silent partner at the moment. No worries or concerns. I'm trusting the process which culminates in a blessing requiring a bit of time and reflection to see the bloom.

I love being out here. I'm writing from my reflection bench, listening to nature's symphony. In my heart it stands shoulder to shoulder, adagio to allegro with our great works of classical music. I hear the winds whispering to the leaves, their rustling sounds in answer. The tall, thin, wispy trees creaking in laughter. The birds' chirpingss making me aware of the unseen life that surrounds me. The brook ripples, moving all melodic notes forward.The flapping of a butterfly's wing as it performs its dance in the tall grass that graces my path, nudging me to lift my eyes. Taking note of the spots of color breaking through the browns and tans all around me, I know that Matthew is with me. He shows me that Hope is the color that marks my way out of the uncomfortable-ness. He shows me the beauty in a safe, sacred place where more than one are able to grow when side by side. He dappled sunlight onto my heart. He's making me smile, internally as well as externally as we spend time on our reflection bench . . . together.

GROWING SIDE BY SIDE IN SHARED SPACE
A reminder of how we help each other when we walk together in grief to healing

A HEART SHAPED ROCK
Dappled by a ray of sunshine, brought to mind a metaphor for Hope in the midst of grieving

A SPOT OF COLOR
Brightens the mood and lifts the emotions, experiencing a moment of joy

I am grateful my son for the awareness you're teaching me, allowing these gifts to come through. Your signs always comfort, your nudgings bring me a world of peace. I Love you. 

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THE PAST WORN AS A NECKLACE

Matty inspired words, delivered to me as a reminder of the importance of self-care and self-love. I wish these two "selfs" came as easy to me as brushing my teeth, but I find I have a tendency to place myself last in line. 

I'm craving balance in my life these days and I am choosing to make changes. I'm working on becoming my greatest fan instead of my harshest critic. Acts of self-care that meld together in benefit of Body, Mind and Spirit are of great importance. Starting the day in meditation, I'm discovering my 5 minutes with God/Source/Divine is naturally expanding to 30 plus and more. Tuning in to the sounds of silence, I'm made aware of a buzzing, in stereo from my ears; a vibration and heaviness that lies on my forehead, my third eye chakra. My intuition and perceptions come to bear with more clarity.  I am aware of the depth of each inhale of breath and the resonance of the exhale. Nature walks on NH's Rail and hiking trails bring me to the center of wonder as I am surrounded by color, scent and beauty. Healing emotionally and physically with essential oils feels innately guided. I’m feeding my creativity through cooking and baking; finding life again in the colors, tastes and textures that feed all senses. Life flows organically, seamlessly it seems at times, a complete contradiction to my awareness or rather lack of for Time—the hours, minutes and seconds that accumulate and construct one of my physical days "After Matty"— ultimately creating more occasion for myself, family and friends—a reentry to life of sorts.

Funny/ironic thing is, I do have a necklace from Matthew. A gift from the beyond, purchased and delivered by a very dear friend; a gift that came about via multiple, layered synchronicities. A most treasured gift. I wrote about this beautiful necklace in my November blog “The Gift—The Grief—The Lesson”. It’s a physical piece from Matthew, something I needed to hold, to look at, to remember by as I walked my journey. The necklace, when held in my hands, brings forth a homecoming of memories—the past.

Matty and Paulette’s gift serves as a symbol of how strong and present Matty is in spirit. When I try and imagine the pieces that had to fall into place, what it must have taken to orchestrate the announcement of the gift, the purchase and delivery, I am transported  to my heart center—that place where I can always connect with my son.

This wondrous gift has brought me much comfort in the past and will continue to do so in the future. At present though, I find a tug to my heart is directing me to where I’ll meet my deepest connection to Matty. This lesson has come full circle. Healing for me is about experiences, shifts in perception that touch my soul; awaken it from a deep slumber, anticipating the “collateral” beauty that remains to be discovered. Healing is becoming more comfortable with the joy and the ache.

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HAPPY NURTURER'S DAY!

Mother’s Day, that special day honoring Mothers is recognized in many countries around the world. Today, it can be viewed as a profitable day for card companies, florists and chocolatiers; having lost the true meaning that sits dormant beneath its veneer of commercialization. The true story behind the Mother’s Day holiday often times remains unknown, untold. The original First Lady of Mother’s Day was Ann Reeves Jarvis, a woman with a big heart and a socially conscious spirit. She started movements in her adopted home of West Virginia and created Mother’s Work Clubs where women were trained to work for families whose mothers who were too ill to solely care for their children. Through her Work Clubs, she also was able to enact change in the improvement of health and sanitary conditions, especially of food and milk handling in her community. The success of Ann’s Mother’s Day Work Clubs gained the attention of local doctors, who in support, formed work clubs in other areas. She worked tirelessly for Mothers’ causes. She suffered the deaths of eight of her twelve children and knew heartbreak intimately. She was a woman with a brave heart, a sharp mind, a determined character—a woman who lived through unimaginable personal pain and suffering and channeled that force into care, love and attention for her fellow sisters. 

Her daughter, Anna Jarvis knew of her Mother’s wish of one day seeing a memorial day set aside to commemorate Mothers for the “. . .service she provides to humanity in every field of life”. Anna was twelve years old when she heard her Mother’s words, a prayer she closed her Sunday school lesson with. Anna made that wish come true for her Mom. After many years of campaigning for a Mother’s Day, President Woodrow Wilson proclaimed May 09, 1914 the first official Mother’s Day—the second Sunday in May to be celebrated as future Mother’s Day holidays.

Anna’s dream was short lived. The profiting from the sale of goods marketed to the public in celebration of Mother’s Day was so upsetting to her that she spent the rest of her earthly life trying to rescind the national holiday.

This story and this holiday have given me pause this year. For all the Moms that are celebrated, there are a great number saddened by the death of a child with no desire for celebration. For others, the lack of love they longed to receive was never given. The damaging effects of abuse is held hostage in some households under the lock and key of silence; the empty arms carrying the weight of lost hope is sheltered within four walls and under one roof for some, and the beautiful hearts that choose a different path other than motherhood, they never enjoy a day of celebration yet still possess that Love of child and perform acts of caring and attention showered onto the Little Loves of their extended family and friends.

I’ve asked myself the question “what is the makeup of a Mother Heart”? Mother hearts to me, are hearts filled with love, care and attention for another. My family has been blessed with having experienced acts of this kind of Heart Love from many over the years. On this day, to all the ladies and gents in my life and for Anna Jarvis that wished so desperately to stop the commercialization of Mother’s Day, I give thanks for all the Mother Hearts who’ve touched mine and my family’s—I wish you a Happy Nurturer’s Day. May you honor Love and Life as it has blessed yours. For the less fortunate of heart, may you discover the path to Self-Love and nurturance—healers of your own hearts. May the disappointment felt be renewed with a Love so big that you have no choice other than to let it flow freely from the once broken.  In so doing, may you no longer feel the crushing loss, but rather experience the newly discovered multiple directions in which your Love now flows. I am Love. You are Love. Together we can begin to shine our heart light and nurture our world—honoring, celebrating Love & Life through our nurturer’s hearts.

*Mother’s Day history was gathered from information from the State Historical Archives of West Virginia and Wikipedia.

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AN EASTER REFLECTION

What does Easter mean to you?

Easter 2015 was our family's first Holiday (Holy Day) with Matty in Spirit. I had heard Kelley Mooney's rework of the song Hallelujah and the power of the lyrics and cords touched my soul.  I was brought back to the faith of my childhood.  I spent time reflecting upon the meaning of Easter and how the tenets of this Holy Day as observed by my family — Love,  Sacrifice, Faith and Renewal, were now intertwined with grief as I searched for answers and understanding to combat my deep sorrow.  I'm reexamining my feelings on this, my third Easter without the physical presence of my beautiful boy. I have learned on this journey that grief has a Master Plan and will show me parts and pieces when it feels my heart is ready for delving into my journey at a deeper level; when a new lesson needs revealing; when growth and healing can be seen on the horizon.

Today, I find myself in the throws of reflection on renewal. I'm searching for clues on the road to my personal transformation that will reveal how I mourn and grieve another loss—the loss of Me—critical factors in discovering my newly recast version.

I go into meditation with a knowing  that in Love, Sacrifice, Faith and Renewal; I can't see them, I can’t touch them, but they can touch me. The constant in all four elements, whether viewed through the eyepiece of a child's faith or the heartbreak of grief--is Love. It always comes back to Love!

Wishing you all a Blessed and Peaceful Holiday.

Diane 

THE SWEET ONE, THE SOUL LIGHT: WE CALL HIM BEAR BEAR

BEAR'S SWEETNESS, CAPTURED BY HIS MOM, NIKKI

A new phase of my life started when my kids gave life to kids. I was presented with an opportunity to find a new name for this next chapter. My chosen moniker for my Grandmothering days is Gammy—Grammy without the 'R' because of the troublesome nature that specific letter brings to the mouth of babes. Actually, whatever comes out of their mouths is loved and suits me just fine.  Gammy has been shortened to Gams, on occasion changed to Gamma and my favorite term of endearment . . . Gamma Goo. The two year olds have my heart at the moment with Gamey. Their pronunciation escorts my thoughts directly to our outdoor freezer, the holding space for frozen wild game—venison, red stag, elk—courtesy of our resident hunter gatherer. Grateful for the bounty that Nature has bestowed. Grateful for my little family bounty, whichever name they choose. My little Unconditional Loves.

My familial signature needed a bit of a backdrop before I could tell my story. This short, sweet narrative is about Bear Thomas Matthew Allard, Matty and Nikki’s youngest. What happens when the words of a 2 year old touch your heart, tap on the window to your soul?  A spiritual light is turned on illuminating another of the chambers of the soul's darkness—the spaces of the "I can't remember".  Memories awaken. Unconditional Love is greeted with a new understanding, guided to the heart—taking up residence and clearing out any old beliefs I once held about Love.

Bampy and I had an overnight this week; time to let Nikki catch up on some school work. The morning after with Bampy long gone, in the flurry of activity it takes one Gammy to get two Little Ones out of the house and to daycare at a reasonable time, I saw Bear Bear tug on his ear. Ear infections and strep throat seem to have taken up seasonal residency in Nikki’s household. By the time we walked through the front doors of “school”, Bear was letting me know that his ear “hoited”. Never shall the word hurt, once it enters Gammy’s ear canal, lead to anything other than action—he’s hurting, I must take him back home!

It was a special day with my Bear Bear. We built the tallest block towers; took in the adventures of Thomas & Friends, spending time with the talkative trains and the lessons of nice that one can learn while on the Island of Sodor. We spent time in the home office playing numbers on Bamby’s calculator, read books and fell asleep to lullabies. We ate healthy and not-so-healthy snacks, marveled at the crazy hair of the dolls his sister and his girl cousins seem so enamored with. We had a rather quiet, loving day. He talked up a storm—some I understood, some I did not however, many times I was asked from this beautiful tiny soul light, “You happy Gamey?” “I am Bear”, I’d reply. “I happy Gamey”. . . and my heart would skip a beat and I’d become filled with the softest, most gentle, totally enveloping sensation—unconditional love.

Unconditional Love I define as the strongest form of Love. A Love given freely with no expectation of receiving anything in return. A Love hard-wired with forgiveness. A fearless Love, a total giving of the self Love. A Love disconnected from ego. A Love that enters the heart as a sensation yet leaves as an action. A Love existing solely to bring happiness and joy.

A two year old, with his life experience consisting of having his every need and want cared for and met; a toddler learning to share, to talk, to run, to maneuver the ups and downs of a staircase is concerned with my happiness. Participating in this moment, listening as Bear Bear communicates his heart, shows me he is made of a natural, true, pure form of organic love.

It's important to nurture that which has been given to the heart from the soul. I can accept my part in this calling to our Village; in this responsibility of helping, teaching Bear to hold onto Love by allowing this special moment to change me. Special—a word Matty used oftentimes in describing his children. “Mom, my kids are going to be special”. I’d shield an internal smile, agree with him wholeheartedly. I've learned and observed objectivity seems to fly out the window when it comes to our own children—and don’t we all think our children are Special!

The happiness in you is the happiness in me is what I was sensing from Bear Bear. Seeing life with my heart eyes; sharing through his innocence, seeing, feeling a glimpse of our Divine gift of birth. The soul holds the mysteries of life; the answers to the questions who am I, why am I here—remembered rather than forgotten. Bear comes to this life with unconditional love remembered. He is a gentle child who is genuinely happy, loving; a child who learned a way to communicate through song before words paved the way. He would hum a few bars of his favorite TV cartoon signaling to us a channel change was needed. Our bundle of pure joy.

In the past, I’ve associated unconditional love with the parent-child-grandchild relationship. I’m more familiar with Conditional Love, prefaced with an Un- on good/better days for the rest of my heart connections. I seek Knowing, grief has ensured the seeker’s path. To feel a Love so deep that a moment of trauma shatters a family, breaks hearts, turns the meaning of life on its head—I walk a path to greater understanding, to awakening, to peace, to comfort, to joy, to a renewed perspective, to the experience of Knowing. My grief, carrying the added weight of Matty’s family left behind, brings me to this moment of Special. I am beginning to see what Matty sees. Special is a Love remembered and not forgotten. Special blesses me with an awakened view from the eyes of a child—eyes to the window of the soul. Can the practice of unconditional Love lift the sorrow of Matty’s passing; a sorrow generated from a deep Love? Will healing come in the form of a greater Love, a bigger Love, a more true form of Love? Have the pure words of a two year old presented me with the key to a greater spiritual understanding?

UNCONDITIONAL LOVE WHISPERS

Look for me

Find me

See me

Feel me

I live deep within your BE-ING

Grasp me

Hold me

Release me

Share me

Give me

I am Endless

I am Source

I can never be taken away

I was the first gift you ever received

Ah! Is the memory coming back to thee?


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REACH—REALIZE—REAP MOVING FORWARD IN GRIEF

REACHING THROUGH THE DIFFICULT DAYS IS OFT TIMES REWARDED
WITH A SHIFT IN YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH GRIEF. THE INTRUDER
BECOMES THE COMPANION, THE SHARER OF OF YOUR  UPS AND DOWNS,
YOUR TEARS AND SMILES, YOUR ACHES AND YOUR JOYS,
YOUR SPOKEN AND UNSPOKEN.

Dearest Matthew:

As I become more and more acquainted with grief's journey, the stops and starts, the amount of ground needed to cover; I release my hold on expectations. I'm liberating myself from the expectation that all the shattered pieces of me will find their way back. My brain shorts out, my thinking is sometimes fuzzy, muli-tasking has evaporated—yet my heart overflows with your Love, your lessons, your guidance in my spiritual growth. No cares, no worries—I’m finding more substance, more truth, more of what matters.  I'm letting go of the expectations of how and when spirit connections will happen. I'm letting go of the urgency I carry in my mind to do, do, do. As I learn to be, I become more open, free to accept the flow that each life offers. I recognize that I am living in two worlds at the same time. Life continues, differently with 'some assembly required'.  I am healing. Gratitude continues to grow. I am grateful for seeing, feeling and living in moments in time called Now. They push Later out of my vocabulary into a doublespeak, for Later steals the Now. I am grateful for friend and family gatherings. In reflection, looking back to measure the distance I’ve traveled and to glimpse how far I may have come, I realize these are the times that filled you with enjoyment, laughter, Love—with all that you needed in this lifetime and no more. These are our happy times. You and I share that love of watching people creating memories though nurturance, good food, good friends, good times. I realize I feel you most, the physical sensations I desperately crave, in these moments of Love, affection and true connection. Of course this would be your time to visit! It was always the ecstasy contained in your soul that would burst through your human-ness, shining your Light so bright—making us, your tribe, love being around you.  The unpredictable soul visits from you, my son arrive in a burst of joy and surprise at times we are gathering. The “Mom” I heard you say on your first anniversary; the stroking of my hair at the restaurant on Mother’s Day; the pressure of a deep hug felt on my back as I lay with the Little Ones when putting them to sleep; that flash of time frozen at Brunch this past Sunday when Jake’s body seemed to morph into a taller version of you as he knelt to hug your brother who lay on your combined favorite sofa, incapacitated by a fractured heel. The air in the room stood still. Your presence was felt. You needed to hug your brother, he needed to be hugged by you.  I am grateful and no longer have a need to carry the expectation for I now know where to find you. I am grateful for my life, my loves—past, present, future.  I am grateful for the other pathfinders I meet along the way, keeping me company as I grow through the pain into my new center.  I hold dear the birth of a Knowing that souls connected will lead to a greater understanding of life's cycle. Birth and Death—joy and misery or a new perspective for me—two new beginnings; the end of dualities.

Heart Loving you forever—

Mom

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SEAMLESS/ AN ADDENDUM TO MY JANUARY THAW

A SEAMLESS PATTERN
WHERE DOES IT BEGIN? WHERE DOES IT END?
@CANSTOCKPHOTO.COM/HOMY DESIGN

To the cherished souls who read my blog posts, I find myself in a choreographed dance with synchronicity. Spirit works in mysterious, comforting ways! I asked so many questions in my last post, "My January Thaw" just a few days ago, exposed my struggles with doubt and trust. 

Matty has a way of connecting with my heart when I need it most. My dear friend Rachel Slagle Pearson and I were engaged in a conversation last night about how spirit is with us. That physical feel that I long for, look for, however is not always there. It is in these times when trust in the Love that my son has for me, I for him, continuing across the veil . . . in Heaven, will shine through. I must accept it, believe in it and with my heart eyes open, I  will be guided to the comfort that at times only Matty can provide. 

Rachel is an Evidential Medium and sees Matty to my right when I am blogging at the computer. We've talked about how close he is to my physical being. How the words that come across the keyboard aren't always mine. How he wants good to come from the trauma of his passing. How he wants hope instilled in my grief journeys that may resonate with others. How I cannot discern through the physical senses where my words end and his begin. Yet, when I reread some of the blogs, I can see the change in flow where he is guiding me. 

"He's 'seamless with you' he says" . . . 

This is a fresh example of a validation that came through a synchronicity. Last night Matty came to Rachel with a message for me regarding his closeness in spirit. Rachel passed on the message "He's 'seamless with you' he says" . . . and this morning, in my Facebook newsfeed, beautiful words that describe the closeness, the seamless-ness of our loved ones in spirit. 

Jeff Foster's words lit up my heart. Please click the link below to access Jeff's words, his beautiful poem titled "WE ARE SO CLOSE THEY THINK WE ARE GONE". 

Grateful for the Love from family, friends and spirit.

Be open to the signs from your loved ones. Grief can use all the comfort and uplift it can get!

Sending much love to all of you.

Diane Laflamme Romagnoli

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