Highlands Ranch, CO, USA, about 8:00 p.m. MDT
Our instructions for today were to post the Hunter’s Moon as it rose, from wherever we are in the world. Then we were to “retreat” and take a break from our daily postings. So I retreat to my studies and leave you with this:
Though I did not set my alarm and get out for a photo precisely at moon-rise as I did for sunrise on day 1, here is my moon shot from my front yard, already making its way into the sky.
An excerpt from my Spirituality and Counseling class benchmark paper:
The most dramatic shift I have experienced in my spirituality was after the death of my first born, Kade, four years ago. He was 19 and I was nearly 40. Like Moore’s (2011) “Jonah and the whale” analogy, my spiritual dark night was colossal in size, much bigger than I was. It affected every fiber of my being, every experience I had, and every thought in my head.
Explosion
My spiritual dark night was an explosion of planetary proportions. The fragments and pieces have yet to settle. Some have disintegrated completely. Some were charred to ugliness beyond recognition. Some have been blown to such heights that it is indeterminable if they will ever land. If I trust, as the ash rains down and coats me grey, that a transformation is taking place, I can bear the fallout easier.
Tenderfoot Trail, Dillon, CO, 10/14/16
The best heart rock I’ve found yet
We are spending a couple days in the mountains on a mini-vacation. Aaahhh, day 1 has been so nice and relaxing. But at dinner, in the restaurant that we had all to ourselves because it’s the off-season, I realized something. The happier I am and the more joy in my heart—like on a mini-vacation in the mountains—the more I miss Kade.
I asked my math-inclined hubby, “What kind of equation is that?” He said it was a proportional equation.
y = kx where k is the constant.
Yes, k is the constant.
An empty chair
An evening walk
Sunset walk
Peek-a-boo moon
LEMONS + LEMONADE: Have you made anything positive come from this unimaginable loss? Did you find any blessings among all the sadness and sorrow?
Oooooooo, how this could be read made me cringe. Learning to find meaning in my life after the accidental death of my 19-year-old does not equal the cheery quip: “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade!” This is not a criticism of CarlyMarie or her topic. I just wanted to share my first reaction.
Now on to the topic of positive things that have happened after Kade’s death (not that have come FROM his death, because nothing positive has come from his no longer being in the world):
Kade’s friends at his 23rd birthday party: Jason, Beau, Chadd, Chrissie, Dylan, Craig, Tyler, Shay, Johnny, Ari, (Autumn’s friend), and Autumn
I have a pendant that I had made to remember Kade. It’s something I didn’t even know existed before he died: cremation jewelry. A teeny portion of his ashes are within the colorful center “stone.” They are mixed with photo-luminescent powder and faintly glow in the dark. Like a star. The artist, Lynn, helped me come up with a design. She, too, lost a son. She was so kind during the process. She was one of the first other mothers who lost a child that I ever talked to after Kade died.
I love that it is unique, so personal, and that it is somewhat heavy. I wanted big. Substantial. If I could have had a brick hung around my neck in those early days I would have done that.
I wear my Kade pendant nearly every day. Maybe I’ll have Lynn design me a ring…
Our pendants designed by Lynn at StarSeed Gems. Mine is a shooting star and Mom’s is fireflies. 12/2012.
I’m glad to have a concrete topic for today. I’m just going to talk about symbols and not signs tonight. I’ve written a lot about signs in the past; perhaps I’ll post those writings to my blog one day.
Kade liked birds of prey. There is a local organization called Hawk Quest that put on live bird programs for Cub and Boy Scouts over the years, so I have fond memories of seeing those with Kade. We have red-tailed hawks, golden eagles, and peregrine falcons around here, among other raptors. He knew which one was sailing high overhead. He would say, “Mom, you can tell that’s a red-tailed/Harris’s Hawk by the tail/wings.” I wish I remembered exactly what he was teaching me.
He told me that in Buena Vista, on one street near his dad’s house, vultures would descend at a certain time of year. He said that the number of vultures that roosted was unbelievable, that it was a little creepy, and quite a sight to behold. I think I remember he said that the pavement was white underneath.
After Kade died, I thought of his spirit soaring. I so hoped that his spirit was soaring, unencumbered, and blissful.
The first horrible Christmas without him we drove to Santa Fe. I picked Santa Fe because it had no memories associated with him, and it was within driving distance. Our crazily grieving family that didn’t know what to do with ourselves, rented a mini-van and headed the hell out of town. I kept seeing crows flying alongside the van along the desolate landscape. At the hotel, on our last day I believe, we saw gigantic crows (or were they ravens? Kade would know) alight on top of a large streetlight outside our room. We took pictures (I think my brother took them). Looking at the pictures later, there was the streetlight but no crows. Did they fly away before the picture snapped? We thought we would have noticed that at the time…
“Huge crows”
Birds, raptors, and especially hawks are a symbol of Kade for me.
Another symbol of Kade for me are shooting stars and stars. At the memorial service that his dad had for him in Buena Vista, his dad said: “The flame that burns twice as bright burns half as long.” That immediately made me think of a shooting star, and the image stuck. I have a pendant that I had designed especially for Kade in the shape of a shooting star. I have shirts, earrings, candles, and pieces of art that I ordered with a shooting star or star shape. (Grieving can be expensive). My mom has given me star bracelets. I had an artist come over and guide girlfriends and me in a canvas oil painting. The picture she designed had mountains and stars. Star pictures and stickers have popped up at meaningful times. I’ve spotted shooting stars (decorations and the real deal) at poignant times when they seem like they’ve been thrown from Kade, like the crow example above.
Our masterpieces
My sweet friends, game for my crazy schemes
We had “Kade stars” made to leave in places we remembered him. This was left on our day of sledding outside of Santa Fe.
My tattoo incorporates a hawk and a shooting star. I think the symbols of hawks and stars will be in my life for years to come. Oh, and flannels, and the color purple, and rivers, and exotic animals, and skateboards, and bass guitars, and skis, and fishing poles, and dinosaurs, and…
Early on I learned the phrase, Lean in to your grief. I have a grief counselor who has imparted that the crazy feelings I come in with are OK and normal. I’ve gone to an incredible bereaved parent retreat with a focus on mindfulness and being with your grief.
Does it suck to surrender to the sadness? Is it hard to embrace the emotions? Of course. Is it easier to avoid, and not go there? Yes, and I often do. Well, when I get through the things I need to get through in a day, like being around other people, going to my part-time job, or going to class, I am likely actively avoiding going there. Sometimes I’ve put off journaling for months. It’s been so hard to physically open it up, get my Kleenex, and know the pain that will ensue. But it’s cleansing. It’s…surrendering.
This may sound strange, but at four years out, I schedule time for going there. When I go to Buena Vista for the anniversary, I carve out alone time to journal by his river. When we go on vacation (it’s especially hard because I wish he was with us), I set aside time to journal. When it’s been too long, I crave things like being with my grief friends, going to Kade’s stone, going to a grief retreat, and journaling.
I suppose I crave those things, as a mom craves being near her child.
This topic, Surrender & Embrace, reminds me of other powerful sentiments: You can’t get around it, you have to go through it and If you don’t deal with it, it deals with you.
October 9, 2016, the Front Range at sunset
In my counseling program we are taught to be OK with ambiguity, that it will be a part of our jobs. We won’t always know the whole backstory. We won’t always know the whys. We won’t always know how it turned out. In class often the answer to a question is, “It depends.” Often there are no black and white answers, even in our ethics class, where I thought for sure there would be black and white answers.
What would Kade be like today? He would be 23, to turn 24 in January (I froze a bit, thinking of what will transpire in the next 3 months: four major holidays and his birthday. Again, even though I don’t want them to be, those times of the year are so impacting. I want to throw up when I see decorations in a store. It’s crazy, but it’s true; for now, anyway.)
At 23-going-on-24, Kade’s prefrontal cortex will not have even completed its growth yet. That is the center for executive function: judgment, inhibitory control, and planning, among others. It will have matured at around age 26. But today, he will have been closer, closer to the days where impulsivity, thrill-seeking, and questionable judgment do not physiologically reign.
He was getting there. Moving away from the city to the mountains to be a whitewater rafting guide, he was getting there. Getting a second job at the behest of his parents, a night job that made him so tired, he was getting there. I learned he talked about going to CSU in the fall with one of his rafting guide friends who went there, to pursue zoology. He was getting there. If only he got there.
Today, in an alternate universe on Saturday, October 8th, 2016, Kade would be a little broader, a little heavier, and in this world of beard popularity, a little hairier. He would whitewater-raft guide in Buena Vista by summer, and perhaps student at community college, Colorado Mountain College, or Colorado State University by fall, winter, and spring.
I wish he would, but I don’t think he would come back home to live in the non-rafting months. He would live with roommates. I would visit him and bring him a coffee, and care packages. He would visit us, and be amused with Asher’s growing so fast. He would try to teach Asher bad words and I would try to keep him from doing it. Asher would adore his great big brother. Instead of Asher bringing Kade’s skateboard up to his room to keep, Kade would teach him to balance on it outside. Instead of Asher asking to strum unguided on guitars on their stands, Kade would teach him a few proper riffs on his bed. Our family pictures would have Kade’s whole, grown, handsome, real self in them instead of a blown-up picture of part of him that we hold.
Family portraits…how adorable would they be with Little Asher and Big Kade? Is it too much to ask that both of my children be in a fucking family portrait? Can you see why anger is a part of grief? Is that too much for a mother to ask? Who thought this was alright, anyway? Who’s in charge here and thought that anything close to this would be alright?
OK, you were just witness to what a griefburst looks like, digitally.
Bitter tears wiped. Worked on a different project for a while. Back to Beautiful Mysteries.
Our relationship wasn’t perfect but it was improving. Kade was growing, as was I. We had lots of family counseling, lots of techniques learned, and I am sure we would continue to learn and grow separately, as well as together. Maybe we would have coffee dates. Maybe he would share more than he did before. Maybe, at 23-going-on-24, things would be distant, shaky, rough, and precarious. Maybe after 26 would our adult relationship start to flourish. Oh God, if we had gotten to 26.
Looking at his friends and their capacity to be loving, deeply pondering, and supporting human beings, I have high hopes for Alternate Universe October 8th, 2016. At 12:54 p.m., instead of writing on a grief blog, I would be heading to the grocery store to get some things to barbeque, and extras to throw in a box for him to take with. Because my son is coming over for dinner.
The myth that comes to mind is the five stages of grief. Though I see this knowledge becoming more known and disseminated in grief circles, it does not seem to be widely known in popular culture:
Elizabeth Kubler-Ross formulated her five stages of grief for the dying, not for the grieving. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance were stages of a theory, that people who were terminally ill may experience. It’s not so much a myth, as a misapplication.
There. Got that out of the way.
I suppose another myth is that profound grief is finite. Before Kade died I might have thought that losing a child would be a horribly rough road, but that after a period of hell (like a year), one would “get over it” and life would go back to how it was. What I’ve learned is that grief doesn’t end. I have friends 5, 10, 20 years out. They are not negative people, nor are they “stuck.” But they still miss their kids. They still get angry. They still require support sometimes. They still cry. Not in the same manner as the terrible early months, but they are forever changed.
Even though I lost a child, I find myself still wondering what to do, and what to say to others going through hard times. I know I’ve been guilty of the “at leasts.” I know I’ve tried to fill space by trying to intellectualize, or make it better for someone. I need very frequent reminders like CarlyMarie’s below. What she has to say on empathy and holding space for a person is worth repeating.
Caring, empathetic people showed up for me right away…and continue to in surprising ways. After Kade died, my mom flew out the next day and stayed with me for a month. Aunts, uncles, and cousins flew to CO right away and helped while they were here. Friends flew out. My best friends came over and made untold behind the scenes arrangements. Tons of coworkers and friends came to the funeral. Lots of people reached out by e-mail or Facebook.
Some people are really good at empathy, and I look up to their example:
And then there are thoughtful acts that might not exactly fit into CarlyMarie’s description of empathy:
Of course my list is not comprehensive and there are too many examples of thoughtfulness and empathy for me to mention. I hope to learn from and emulate the empathy I’ve witnessed, and I hope to remember this, in my life:
From CarlyMarie:
Capture Your Grief Day 6: EMPATHY
Empathy is about holding space for a person who is hurting. It is about allowing them to fall apart in your presence without judging them. It is about just simply showing up and being there without trying to fix them or show them a silver lining. When a baby or child has died, there is no “At least”. There is no “God needed another angel”. There is no “You should be thankful.” But! There is “I am here for you”. There is “Cry as much as you need to”. There is “Take as long as you like”.
Loved ones often say the wrong things because they are desperately attempting to make you feel better. They hate seeing you so hurt. Their intentions are usually always from the heart. They feel they have to try and fix things. Only there is no fixing any of this. It is what it is and nothing can make any of this right. Other times people say the wrong things because they just have no idea what to say.
Some people find showing empathy difficult because they hate awkward silences. But here is the thing… You can get over your fear of awkwardness by wrapping your arms around your friend! Sit and be with them in silence, even if it is difficult. If you can sit with your friend while they cry their heart out you are a true gift to them. Allowing your friend to release their emotions in your presence is an honour. Embrace that moment. Be proud of yourself for stepping out of your comfort zone. And if you don’t know what to say – tell your friend that. Remind them that you are there to listen.
Being empathetic in my opinion is much easier than trying to fix the impossible. It all comes down to acceptance. Accepting that sometimes in life, really horrible things happen and often to really good people and no silver lining will help right now.
Sending out all my love to anyone who has been on the receiving end of a hurtful comment while grieving, to anyone who struggles with showing empathy (breathe, you can do this!) and to everyone who is really good at it 🙂
he wore flannel 