“Yes, I will take you. I will love you, again”
I read this line over and over: "Then you hold life, like a face, between your palms; a plain face, no charming smile, no violet eyes, and you say, Yes, I will take you, I will love you, again." It makes me weep despite looking up and seeing my beloved wife on the outdoor couch in front of me, sunlight sparkling through the palm fronds; despite the wet hair the drips down my back after swimming freely in our private pool; despite the canary yellow butterflies and lime green iguanas that appear at just the right moment, evoking a smile and deep inhale of thick, fragrant air.
...
When I was at the beach yesterday, fully immersed in the balmy sea, there were children at play and young people flirting and I did not feel the pang of loss in my gut as I would have expected. Instead, I understood their joy, their seeming immunity to the harsh blows life can deliver in an instant. I think of all the people that have said to me, "your loss is unimaginable, inconceivable, immeasurable" and my thought in return is "Don't try to imagine this... just cherish each moment. Ask the hard questions. Love with every ounce of your being even as you are also letting go. Don't live in fear of losing your child, live in fear of not knowing them, of not attending to the moment, of being too busy to see their loneliness or heartbreak or brilliant little victories."
...
For decades, whenever I've heard of a tragedy-- a plane crash, a shooting, 9/11, an overdose, a suicide, an illness beyond healing-- I always thought of the mother who just lost her child. I felt for her. I would start to imagine how I would manage such a loss and would have to put the thought out of my head, even before Hunter was born. Once I had him in my arms there seemed to be so much more to fear-- the what-ifs expanded exponentially and this fearless gypsy got a dose of a new reality. It is so easy to focus on what we fear-- always saying "Be careful, be safe, watch out!"-- instead of saying, "Find the joy; Notice what lights you up; Help someone lighten their burden today." For all my loving and protecting, I could not or rather, did not save Hunter. He had his own appointment with destiny. This accident that took his life was his journey whether I like it or not. My job, every day, is to face what is. Hunter is gone and Hunter is everywhere. I can't hold him or help him move into a new apartment, but I can feel his presence in my life.
...
In my meditation this morning I found myself sitting by the tree of life-- like the one in Avatar, but it was clearly a deciduous tree from the forests of the Northwest. I sat there feeling tired from the journey and started to feel Hunter's energy bouncing from place to place, showing me and telling me, "Look Mom, I'm here-- and over here, and up here!" He was darting around so fast it was dizzying. He sensed my overwhelm and came right into my heart and said, "It's okay Mom. I'm right here. I'll always be right here." He was steady and attentive just as he was even when little. I immediately felt calmer and able to breathe more deeply.
...
I'm trying to accept this new relationship I have with him. It's real and profound, but so is the wailing ache of not having him on the planet in physical form. I live in between worlds; in between uncertainty and clarity, in between knowing the path will unfold and raging that a different path is in front of me, in between what is and what was. On the way to Key West, I watched the movie Unstoppable, about Bethany Hamilton, an extraordinary surfer, and mom who survived a shark attack. I will take lessons from her. All the effort it took to get back on her board, to master surfing with one arm, to accept defeat without giving up, to get pummeled by monster waves and not lose faith. It's interesting how often I've thought I had to do something (be more loving, set a better example, master a skill) for Hunter-- but I ultimately I have to do it for love, for the world. I have to get back on the surfboard of life and ride the big waves of grief for love. That's all there is.
...
We spent yesterday morning communing with butterflies at the conservatory. I was blessed with several Blue Morpho encounters. The first one landed on my outstretched hand and stayed with me for over five minutes slowly flowing and unfolding his wings-- from brown with eyes in the folded position to scare away predators, to glorious cobalt blue iridescence. I was calmed by this experience and once it flew off I walked slowly on the path, looking out for butterflies and birds on the walkway, past the two resident flamingos (Rhett & Scarlet) to a bench where I sat in perfect stillness, noticing everything: the male Morphos sparring, the kaleidoscope of butterflies streaming in and out of the foliage in a hundred shades of verdant, the baby quail that peeped nearby. I felt the whoosh of wings, the heavily humid air, laden with faint perfume, and the way this sanctuary lessened my grief as though each butterfly carried a morsel away from my body, to be transformed into something beautiful.
...
After completing my shrine to Hunter at the beach we did a ceremony to mark the end of Sh'loshim, which involved prayers and four ritual immersions in the ocean. I found it so helpful. It is a reminder that we need these sacred moments to mark the transition from one stage of mourning to another or one stage of life to another. I've included the ceremony here so that you can use should you feel called to.
UPON COMPLETING SH'LOSHIM: A Month of Mourning
An Immersion Ceremony
..
INTENTION
..
To be read before preparing for immersion:
"I come here today to mark the end of sh'loshim, thirty days of mourning. As I stand here ready to immerse in mayyim hayyim, living waters, I prepare to move beyond this phase of mourning, toward building a life without __________(name of beloved)"
..
IMMERSION
..
First IMMERSION --Immerse completely so that every part of your body is covered in the warm water of the mikveh/river/ocean.
When you emerge, recite the following blessing:
"Blessed are You, God, Majestic Spirit of the universe who makes us holy by embracing us in living waters.
..
Second IMMERSION --To be read before you immerse:
"To what does this compare? To the earth when it moves and quakes and shifts beneath one's feet. And when the movement stops, one walks away, touched, transformed."
..
Take a deep breath and exhale completely, while gently and completely immersing for the second time.
..
Third IMMERSION-- To be read before you immerse:
"Time flows through us like water. The past and the dead speak through us." (Marge Piercy)
"As long as I live, the memory of _________________ lives on within me. May his/her memory be a blessing.
..
Relax and let your body soften, as you slowly and completely immerse for the third time.
..
FOURTH IMMERSION To be read before you immerse:
"God strengthen in me the desire to strive for healing. Give me the courage to reach out across the abyss of grief and grasp the hands I need to hold."
..
Take a deep breath, exhale completely and immerse for the fourth time.
..
When you emerge, recite the following:
"May I have the courage to accept what this journey will bring. Amen."
Attributions: this ceremony was created by Matia Rania Angelou, Deborah Issokson & Judith D. Kummer.