Letting Go - Part II

I am very suddenly, very harshly, jolted out of a deep sleep. 

I hear Erik say, “Hi”.

I know it is him, even though, bizarrely, the voice sounds like one of those electronic voices.  The kind they use on TV when they are interviewing someone and black out their faces and make them talk through a voice synthesizer, or whatever they call it.  Yet I know it is him.

I am frozen into my fetal, sleep on my side position in bed.  My heart is pounding so hard and I feel terrified.  Darn you Erik, you scared the living daylights out of me!

I cannot bring myself to turn around toward the sound of the voice, and am upset with myself.  Why am I so scared?  I had hoped something like this would happen.  Now I can’t deal with it...

So I stay huddled under the covers, my eyes trying to look through the back of my head, and listening.  There is nothing.  NOTHING.

Still, I am convinced it was Erik, and he said hi in the electronic voice.  I decide he realized he frightened me so badly, he figured he better leave again.  I am disappointed and angry at myself, thinking that maybe if I hadn’t gotten so upset, he would have stuck around and said more.

I don’t think I fell back to sleep after that.  It was as if I could feel every nerve ending in my body, like I was wired at 80,000 volts.  Also, I think I was hoping he might come back, now that I had composed myself.  But to no avail, and the morning came, another regular day.

As I went about my routine on this day, I could not stop thinking about my little tiny message.  Why had he just said hi?  What was he going to tell me if he hadn’t left so quickly?  What the heck was this all about?

Ironically, I had no problem quickly devising a logical explanation for the electronic voice.  I often think of our spiritual selves as energy.  Our thoughts are electronic impulses from our nerves, and our hearts beat on electric impulses.  Modern medicine can even keep our hearts going with electronic devices – pacemakers.

When debating afterlife with non-believers, I sometimes resort to this fact.  You must believe in electricity, I tell people.  And it is a first law of physics, energy cannot be created or destroyed…so, where do you think the energy of our hearts and minds go after bodily death?  I just love when something is so logical.

So I had no issue with the sound of Erik’s voice, in spite of my chagrin that he left so quickly.  Leave it to Erik to aggravate me from the afterlife!

Then the light bulb went off in my head, and I decided I would call Peter when I got home from work.  He would have something profound to say I was sure.

It was actually such a brief story, that Peter didn’t have a lot to say, it seemed.  He was very quiet on the other end of the phone.  Certainly he agreed that it was Erik, but it’s pretty difficult to put great meaning into the word “Hi.”  So we talked for a while, and it was good to be able to tell someone who first of all believed me, and secondly, understood so well. (And of course, didn’t think I was loony.)

I went to bed hoping for another visit, but of course it didn’t happen.

The next day, I was starting my car, and looked down at the pink change purse.  Lightning bolt.  Erik came to me the night I had hidden his picture.  Two small moments, but both had taken my breath away.  Was he trying to tell me he wasn’t mad at me?

When I got home, I bolted for the phone and called Peter.  I told him I had figured something out, but couldn’t quite put my finger on what it meant.  And so, I told him, very carefully, about holding Erik’s picture, weighing my decision so heavily, and how I had remembered our conversations about letting go.  He told me he had thought a lot about the visitation too.  He told me that he had thought of something about the contact, not being confident of what he was thinking.  But then he said that with my story of putting the picture in a different place, away from my everyday sight, he felt that he may have the answer to Erik’s visit, but didn’t want me to be upset. 

With my promise to not get upset with him, and that I would deal with whatever he said, he told me his very simple and brief explanation.

He said:  “Mary Ann, I think you didn’t hear Erik exactly right.  I think he didn’t say ‘hi’.  Mary Ann, he was saying ‘bye’, because he was at peace and able to crossover…you helped him when you changed the picture.”

I have that picture in that hidden spot still.  I never moved it further.  It always makes me smile when I look at it.  And it is always with me, just like Erik.  And I know Erik is his usual, twinkly eyed, smirky self, beaming down on us all.

 

 

A Story of Letting Go - Part I

Letting Go  (part one) 

I’m sitting in the driver seat of my car, like always.  I’m holding the keys to start the ignition, like always.  I am staring down at my favorite picture of the son I lost to the monster of mental illness and suicide, like I have done so many times in the past six months. 

Suddenly with the stab of pain that literally pierces my heart, I think, maybe I need to change this.  Maybe this just isn’t working any more.  And I stare out the windshield toward the gloomy weather.

I had put this picture of Erik in the plastic window of my worn out pink change purse, attached to my keys.  It is his last picture from high school.  It’s my favorite because...

Symbols

As I write about my Erik's funeral, and how I feel about it in looking back, it occurs to me that in some way, the ceremony of burying our loved ones is one very momentous symbol, or at the least, a sequenced collection of many types of symbols.  Suddenly I realize that it is no accident that I have always believed in symbols.

In trying to do research regarding symbols for my blog, I immediately found that it is a term that is loosely used, and perhaps not truly what I have in mind when I use the word.  When I think of symbols in my life, they are concrete objects which have very significant meaning to me.  I am not a materialistic person, but have always treasured things from my family’s past…not necessarily antiques…but items which evoke images, spur memories, and cause a smile or sigh in remembrance of a person or event.

I have a mantel clock with chimes which used to be in my grandmother’s house.  Having fond memories of being a little girl and staying overnight at her house, I remember lying in bed in the still quiet house and hearing these chimes from downstairs.  Hearing them is almost like falling through a time warp, and I am a small girl again, safe and secure in a bed at my grandma’s, looking forward to whatever adventure she has planned for us the next day. ...

January 12, 2013

I apparently have become the queen of putting a positive spin on almost anything.  As I was anticipating this past Saturday, our third anniversary for Erik, it suddenly occurred to me to think of it as my first three years being over, a major milestone it seemed to me, and that instead of thinking of just about Erik, to think of it in terms of myself.  In other words, to try to make it “the first day of the rest of my life.”   Pondering this, I decided it didn’t “feel” right, so in my mind, I made Saturday Erik’s remembrance day, and Sunday, my day to think about what my future holds. 

Saturday turned out to be a big surprise weather-wise, and I spent it at the zoo with a friend.  I was feeling pretty good, thinking of Erik all day, but also enjoying the day and focusing on other things.  A few times I felt a little teary-eyed, but still good.  Then, that “thing” happened that I talk about so often.  My friend and I were watching a video, it was about a baby and family party, and I had the “melt-down”.  I just got so upset.  Even then though, I seemed to just need to cry a bit, say the words…”I miss him so much, I just want him back”…and I was okay again. 

To some folks that may sound a little odd, to be that sad for a few minutes and then put it aside.  But depending on your own experiences, I know that some of you understand all too well.  It is part of the getting by and doing what you need to do to salvage your life.  Or put another way, to aim high hoping to get through the whole day in a pleasant way, accept it when it doesn’t work out that way, and move forward.  Hoping that in the big picture, each year is a little better than the year before, or that some years will be a lot better than the year before.

Because the morning after, you can open your eyes and the deathday is over.  Another thing you have gotten through.  Another sign post on the road.  Further along in the journey.

So I am thinking that I have survived three years of this process.  I have learned more than I could have wanted to learn about death, loved ones, afterlife, sadness, and grieving.  But I have also discovered and been showered with more kindness, caring, loyalty, and warmth, than I might have known in other circumstances.

So I am okay.  I look forward to the future.  I count my blessings.

Sunday, January 13^th, was the first day of the rest of my life.  I can have another first day of the rest of my life next year.  I am making up my own annual holiday for myself.  I am going to do that…because…hhmmmmm…I can.

 

 

Deathday

In two days it will be the third anniversary of Erik's death...his "deathday".  I tend to call it that in my own head, but I know it sounds gruesome to other people so I don't usually say it. I have to wonder why it isn't a common terminology - birthday - deathday - makes sense to me.  Maybe it's too harsh of a reality to say it.

The funny thing is, I don't know how I feel about it.  I don't know what to write.  And I don't know what that all means.

I had already realized last year that it wasn't something I wanted to do something "special" about.  I guess I don't want to acknowledge it and it doesn't make sense to have a "remembrance" about it.  And it goes without saying you can't celebrate it.  So what the heck do you do about it?

As per my logical mind, you do have to get up in the morning and live it, and even though I have been through only two of Erik's deathdays before, I know there is no avoiding it altogether.  In fact, in a vague subconscious way, no matter what other activities I am involved in, I know I will relive the first deathday minute by minute.  The worrying in the morning, attempting to file the missing persons report, trying to be at work, the phone call, the detectives, the crying, the house flooding with people, and on and on, minute by minute.  It's as if some other power takes over my mind, or as if I have fallen through a time warp, and I am back to that day again. 

I don't go to the cemetery often, but it seems I should go on this day.  I usually don't go because as I have said many times, I don't feel a need to go, I feel always close to Erik.  However, the thought of going on the deathday, makes me actually upset.  And weirdly, I feel like if I went, I think if I had to look at that stone on the gravesite and the words on it, his name, the dates, I think it would make me really angry at him.  I have been spared that confusion of feeling angry at him because I understood his illness and how full of despair he was, but somehow, being forced to remember this day again, remembering that bottom line is he chose to leave me, makes me really angry, just for a day.

So, I won't be going to the cemetery.  There is no need to have a reminder to remember.  The day will be there, moment by moment, in the back of my brain, heart, and soul.  I will make plans to try to have a nice day, and get through it and remember how much I love Erik.  I will plan on being with someone who cares about me and understands, and reminds me that there is still goodness and beauty in the world to be had.  I will probably worry about my son Jason because I know it is such a hard day for him.

Then it will be over and we will go into another year without Erik.  Maybe that's what is bothering me.  It is just another step in the journey, and a reminder I am always moving forward without him, and I wish that weren't true.  I wish he was here.  I wish that day three years ago didn't happen.  But it did, so now I have to have a deathday.  Darn you, Erik, I wish you were here!  I miss you and love you.  I will do okay, I promise.

Quiet Heroes

I got a phone call this morning, from someone who I have been fortunate to have in my life since the Fall.

Since I have known him, I have become familiar with many of the members of his family, just through his stories about them and the fact that he speaks of them so fondly so often.  I was supposed to meet most of his family the day after Christmas, but this was precluded by two things, first, the host of the family party had taken a sudden downturn with his fight with cancer and spent Christmas in the hospital, and then, since I had to travel a distance to get there, the one big snow storm of the winter prevented me from driving to join them...

The man who was taken to the hospital was my friend's brother-in-law, his younger sister's husband.  This couple had three daughters of their own, many grandchildren, and had assumed a special role in the life of my friend's daughter when she lost her mother when she was thirteen.

I have listened to the progression of the end of this man's life since Christmas, wanting to offer support to my friend when I could, as he was spending a good part of each day at hospice to offer support to his sister and her daughters, and also to spend this last period of time with his brother-in-law, Don.

The thing that kept leaping out to me in his conversations, was how loved and respected this man was.  I did not know him, yet now I feel I do, at least a little bit.  And I am thinking that he was one of what I like to call the "quiet heroes".

Don will not be famous in the traditional sense of the word, with the exception of a traditional obituary, he will not be written about in newspapers and books.  He passed last night quietly in a hospice room surrounded by his family and friends.  He will be buried with traditional services, which will not be televised or announced.

But here is what is significant.  His life and passing are notable for all of the truly important reasons many of us have come to appreciate and hold dear.  He was a hard worker with a value system of caring for and about his family.  He built a home and life for his wife and daughters, instilling family values of caring for the other person, and appreciating the small moments of loved ones spending good times and bad together.  He embraced the wedding vows of "for richer and poorer, for better or worse", dedicated to a marriage of over 40 years.  He then became a much loved grampa to his nine grandchildren, who will remember him and pass down stories and snapshots of their time with him for years to come. 

This man is a hero to me for his perseverence of leading a good, simple life in this world which we know has become so erratic and crazy at times. 

This  was evidenced by the scenario at his passing.  A quiet room, but a room filled with loved ones saying their farewells.  A room filled with so many memories, so much gratitude for all he had done for others, and so many promises to carry on this legacy of a good life. 

And if I had to choose between notoriety and this scene of family love and values, I would only hope that my departure from this earth is so gently celebrated by those who love me as his is, and that my legacy will be in the memories of those whose lives I have touched as his is.  Don and those like him who carry on simple and unassuming lives with love and faith at the their core, are my heroes.

Don, I never met you, yet I feel I know you a little bit.  I salute you for the good life you led, and for the legacy you have left for your children, grandchildren, and all of us who survive you. 

 

You were truly a quiet hero.  God bless you and your family.

A New Year

My wish for all is for a peaceful new year,
filled with hope and progress,
filled with strength and renewed spirit,
filled with some joy and laughter;
a year which brings some unexpected surprises to renew faith and wonder,
to remind us if the present moment is hard, the next may be much better,
and that while our journey is ongoing,
it is okay to pause for a moment, and say,
"This is a fresh start".