Dear Hunter…

Dear Hunter,

Yesterday I felt like I was trudging through molasses in the rain. There are so many details of life I have to handle, some of which are related to you-- like getting a refund on the plane ticket for your highly anticipated trip to NYC, cashing checks for refunds from your renter's insurance and apartment, talking to Oregon State and discovering that you made the honor roll in the Spring (despite Covid, despite being so anxious and hating school online) and dealing with your Roth IRA and Robinhood accounts (that we'd set up a few months ago-- you were so excited to learn about buying stocks).

I walked to your grave with a friend and we talked about how fucked up it is that you are gone. It makes no sense. It probably never will. When we arrived, I discovered that the beautiful lantern Stephanie made with your photos on it wasn't waterproof after all. When I saw the rippled pictures I took a deep breath, tears rolling down my cheeks, looked up at the trees, and reminded myself of the conversation I'd had the day before with Robert about impermanence. Nothing stays the same, ever. I see this every day when I discover how the weather or critters or visitors have impacted my art. Francis Weller said, "Everything you love you will lose". And Buddha said, "Pain is certain, Suffering is optional". I remember years ago when I was sailing across with Atlantic with a man who was a practicing Buddhist, that he had tried to explain this concept to me. I was 22 and arrogant. I thought I knew something about life and rejected the notion that pain and loss were part of life. But now my vantage point is different. It breaks me that you will not grow beyond youthful self-righteousness to the self-awareness that comes from traversing the plains of loss, disappointment, and other soul honing life experiences that develop character and help define your deepest values. I would have loved to have these conversations with you.

I just fucking miss you. And I'm done asking why you died. "Why" is a trap that holds me bleeding and torn; it hurts when I struggle against it. I believe the only question that will serve me at this point is this: "Now what?" Now, what will I do with my one wild and precious life-- a life that must go on without you-- without supporting you through the challenging choices and lessons, celebrating the wins, the milestones, the new experiences. I find myself looking for ways to channel you, to be your hands and heart. Like the other day. I was on my way home from your grave. I was calm and sad and quiet inside. I stopped for gas and I felt a tug to engage with the young man who was pumping the gas-- I had a choice: stay inside myself or reach out. I remembered Oralee's experience with asking people about their tattoos and how enlightening it was, and so I looked up at him, caught his eye, and said, "can you tell me the story of one of your tattoos?" He lit up and said, "Oh, there are so many stories-- I have tattoos over my entire body. Like this one I got for my mom (and he pointed to the back of his arm), and this one? This was when I made the decision to get off the streets, off drugs. My next tattoo will be for my 4-month-old daughter, Soleil." I said, "Your body is your canvas.. that's so cool. Thank you for sharing this with me." I drove off feeling connected, feeling you, feeling sad and alive, and aware of the clouds billowing in the sky. A few days later I went back when Ryan was working and told him about you. We talked about his dreams and I offered to help in any way I can. We exchanged phone numbers. Then yesterday after I drove by without stopping because I was crying, he sent me a text-- "Was that you driving by?" "Yes... I was too sad to stop." "You were in my prayers last night. If you ever need someone to talk with, even for a second, I'm here for you," he said. Which made me cry so hard, because Hunter, that is something you would have said.

Now what? We are going to Key West on Saturday for ten days... I'm afraid to leave your graveside, for the change in my ritual of grieving, yet I need to be by the ocean. I will create a new way to honor you daily while soaking up the comfort of sand and wave and balmy air. I've asked your friends to tend your grave in my absence. They are feeling lost and uncertain, with too much time on their hands and too much access to weed and alcohol. Effy came while I was working on the grave a couple of days ago... she told me that she had been coming to sit and read the book we gave her during Shiva (we gave each of your friends a copy of The Four Agreements). She told me that she's concerned about a few of your friends... they are drinking too much, and she doesn't know how to help them. Your friends are still stunned that you are gone. They saw your tender heart, your struggles with confidence, your desire to help others, and to save animals from harm. Turning the grave over to them for ten days will, I hope, call them into the gift of creative action-- who knows what they will discover in the process? Be with them, please. Let them know you are delighted by their presence and love. We need to help shine a light for them. Perhaps, together, we can be a beacon in the darkness they are currently lost in. Guide me, my sweet boy. I will listen and act on your behalf.

When I ask the question, "Now What?" what I hear is: Be present to every experience of aliveness, every opportunity to express love; Marvel at and create beauty everywhere; Feel it all and do not be afraid to rest-- the journey is arduous and reserves are needed; Continue to be in nature as much as possible-- move, dance, pray, scream into the wind and most importantly know that we were made to do hard things, it's in our DNA.

My love, I carry you in my heart. Always. In all ways.

Mama