A gift
When your only child dies at 21 years old the vast library of dreams you had for both of you becomes littered with question marks and periods and you fear. "The End" has become the title of each and every one. It's tempting to live there, in that story that has ended, with your head down, a hailstorm of doom swirling around, blocking the light that surrounds you. But then you start to hear young voices. "I'm over here!" "Me! Look! Look at me!" "Will you play with me? Cuddle me? Listen to me?" There's a pull towards the portal where the voices are emanating. Can I? Is it possible? If I cross this threshold and open to what lies on the other side, will I be forever changed? Do I have the space for that?
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Since early September, just weeks after Hunter transitioned, I've become deeply connected to friends of his I didn't know. And Aspen, the young woman I met in my ceremonial circle four years ago, now lives with us. We are mothering her. Creating a safe place for her; feeding her. We do art together and share a love of poetry. I adore her and am deeply committed to her wellbeing and healing. She's had a rough, unstable life. We have become her harbor while she learns to manage the vessel of her life and set sail. We will always be a safe harbor for her.
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Yesterday I drove from Phoenix to Tucson to meet a friend of Hunter's from the treatment program they were both in. After two hours of taking in the breathtaking mountains and desert dotted with saguaro cacti, I entered the city -- I was anxious. I'd been there in July to bring Hunter to the program. I'd spent a week there a year and a half ago when Amy was doing a residential trauma program. I had only met Chris once, the day before Hunter's graveside service. When he heard Hunter died, he immediately booked a flight to Portland. I have a photo I cherish that Chris sent me of his 4-year-old daughter, Emi, sitting on Hunter's lap the day he finished treatment and was headed home. August 20th. (he died Aug 28th)
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Now I was at his house, talking about the experiences they had together and how connected they were (he was the only man Hunter had felt safe within the program). When Emi came home from dance class she shyly greeted me. I handed her the selenite carved heart I'd been guided to bring to her. She hesitated, then reached for it, delighted. We had lunch, watched Emi dance and play, then she invited me to her playroom. We bonded over an animal puzzle and her magical camera. When it was time to go, she gave me a quick hug. Apparently, as soon as I left she told Chris she wanted me to come back. Then this morning Chris wrote, "Emi was asking for grandma Luna to come back soon last night. Identical reaction to when she met Hunter. Very short period of time to develop a connection. These kids aren’t like that with anyone, including actual grandparents." I felt my heart stretch. I know his mom was not involved with the kids. I know this is the sign from Hunter I was looking for (though I was keeping my eye out for hawks and coyotes, not a 4-year-old!). And so it is. An opportunity to be a grandmother after all. Right now Chris and his two kids are driving to Phoenix for a day at the zoo. A new adventure for all of us.
