I went to sleep late on Monday night. I lay awake in bed at 1:45 a.m. with the reading light on overhead. I still think of it as Ted's reading light... on his side of the bed. As I readied myself for sleep, I noticed the light was acting up. It was dimming lighter and darker, lighter and darker. When I would stop and look, the light seemed to stop. And when I looked away, it would dim again. Freaked out, I called Kevin to come look at it. While we both thought it was strange, we passed it off as a electrical glitch and turned off the light. I went to sleep.
Late in the Summer of 2014, I was making coffee in the kitchen when I got a call from my mother. I sensed heaviness in her voice immediately, or maybe she had sent me a cryptic text so I expected bad news before even answering the phone, I can't remember the details but I knew it was bad. She informed me that our dear friend, essentially family, Jennifer Rockwood had been terminally diagnosed with cancer with maybe just months to live. This news was sudden and shocking. I had been blessed with living a mostly grief-free life up until that year. First my grandmother in the Spring of 2014, and now this news. I was devastated.
Jennifer was without a doubt the most "alive" woman I knew. How could she be dying? I cried. Ted held me. And then, just a couple months later, Ted died. I went home to Toledo for the holidays, cloaked in grief and confusion. And Jennifer held me.
Jennifer and her husband John have been two of my parents closest friends since sometime in the 1970s. My mom, Jenny, and Rayna were all pregnant at the same time, two or three times in a row. Decades of family potlucks, vacations, swim meets, school plays, and summer camps ensued. Between the three families, there were 7 boys... and me. Long before Jennys' sons Ian and Julian married beautiful women and Jenny finally had daughter-in-laws, she claimed that I was her 'adoptive' daughter. I remember her telling me that when I was very young. Jenny was the coolest, so obviously I was beyond honored that she wanted ME as the 'daughter' she'd never had. Ever since then, I felt a kindred spirit with Jenny – like we had a secret. I continued to always admire her unabashed glamour, her robust personality, her dramatic presence, her rockstar edginess, and her automatic role as the life-of-the-party. I sought to be like her as I grew up.
When I went home to Toledo last winter after Teddy passed, much of me resisted going, yet a huge pull towards home was that I needed to see Jenny. On my first night back, despite my own spirals, I met Jenny for dinner. You could hardly tell she was sick, her thinness was the only sign. As usual, she was vivacious and full of spirit (and spirits)! During dinner that night, while watching her throw back vodkas and hearing her belly-laughs echoing through the dark room, I remember feeling an ounce of nostaligic happiness. You see, I didn't feel happiness back then; so when I felt the emotion creep up, it was painfully hard to ignore.
Also that night, Jenny told me me that she did not believe in life after death. She did not believe in energy continuing on. She believed that death was the end of it all. So, she would live big until her end. Jenny's perspective was hard for me. My whole life had just been crumbled and I was rebuilding it on the faith in something bigger. I needed that faith. And, in my opinion, so did she. I bought Jenny a book to change her mind. I don't know if she ever read it. But in truth, as I look back, it was my own fear that felt the need to make her believe. I didn't want to hear her doubting, because what if I doubted?
Despite the difference of opinions, I asked Jenny a huge favor.
I asked that if she was wrong, and that when she passed she learned that indeed there was something after this realm, to let me know. I asked her to find Ted over there, wherever 'there' was, and to send me a sign. She agreed; although I knew it was just to be nice, because she didn't believe.
I woke up Tuesday morning with the news that around 1:45 a.m., the same time that my lights had been flickering, Jenny had passed away. I called my mom. Our conversation was brief because a call came in. My phone acted weird and I missed the call. I set my phone on the counter and before I could turn away the screen started to move. Buttons were pressed as if someone was operating the screen, but nobody was. The search page pulled up and letters were typed in as I stared, "W. A. L..." Then, the imaginary hand scrolled the cursor down, clicked on something and iTunes popped up. I don't use iTunes, and have almost no music synced to it, but somehow a song appeared that I didn't own, "Walking Far From Home" by Iron & Wine started to play. I stood and listened. I felt tears on my cheeks. I felt a knowingness. I felt a shiver of energy. I felt like I was getting a hug.
In the early days, weeks, and months after Ted passed many strange things happened – lights flickering, TVs turning on, electronics acting up, songs playing, animals appearing at opportune moments, weird things showing up in photos... the amount of occurrences was so large that I simply could not overlook them as coincidence or happenstance. Also, I didn't want to. It is often discovered that after a loved one passes on, they hang around for a while. They show their presence in different ways. I remember being scared by the way the energy appeared sometimes, like when I would feel it while lying alone in bed. I remember deciding that Ted didn't really know how to control his new state and that his ways of communicating were awkward or creepy. But I was still thankful that he was communicating.
As time has apparently continued (though my perception of 'time' is a whole other subject in itself) I have become less aware of these energetic happenings. Maybe Ted's place in the realm he is in now is more settled. He no longer has as much of a pull towards tinkering with where I am. Also, perhaps I am less open to noticing his paranormal tickles. I'm hardened. And my sadness has progressed to a constant numbness, versus a frantic hysteria. I now live with sorrow, instead of for sorrow.
Time creeps towards the anniversary of Ted's death, now just a few weeks away. I don't care what calendars and clocks and scientists say, this year was without-a-doubt shorter than all of my thirty other years. On Monday night, when the lights began to dim, and the next morning, when my phone played that song, I again felt that familiar bittersweet nostalgia. I again felt that rush of lively, effervescent, unseen energy. I was reconnected to my own faith in the deeper web between us and the others. Jenny, in her playful exit from this place and her stubborn realization that perhaps she was wrong and there was more, reopened a door that I had turned my back to. She sent me the sign I had asked her for, and she reminded me of the beautiful magic that coincides with devastating loss.
The house feels particularly energized now. It's as though if I touch something, I'm more likely to get a static shock. A year ago, it felt eerie. But now, it feels comforting.
While I am heartbroken by Jenny's passing and particularly for those who now feel consuming loneliness without her, I also find comfort in knowing that the cosmic web just got a whole lot more charged. When a big life leaves here, that energy is consumed by what see as 'empty space' – but what is actually a plenum of the exact opposite.
So now, as I continue my countdown towards the sad anniversary that I am trying so hard not to anticipate, I will be more open to the magic. Jenny has unblocked a channel that allows me to feel closer to Ted. Her death and continuing life has helped cleared of the filter of judgement and doubt that I contend with in my ego-mind and my humanness. I find a sense of solace as she wraps her energetic, mother-like arms around me, her 'daughter,' allowing me to see into the eyes of my soulmate, and my truth.
Walking Far From Home: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fg5403yj4II
In loving memory of Jennifer Rockwood (1951-infinity)
Showing posts with label belief. Show all posts
Showing posts with label belief. Show all posts
Quartz Mountains
Since arriving back in Colorado I've been subject to the magic that is this place. I'm so glad you brought me here. If anyone were to have to go through the pain and loss that I am dealing with, doing it here, in these mountains, in grounding nature, in this beautiful house, and surrounded by these magical people is the best possible option.
As I sit in our home and look out on the acres of pines cascading down the slopes, the beauty is sublime. It has been snowing since I arrived home. I watch the snow cover surfaces, spilling white peace over all that's both alive and nonliving. The powder reminds me of softness and of femininity. Grief is a feminine process. It requires a deep vulnerability, a chasm of emotions, gentleness, a willingness to come apart, and hope. There is no fast forward button, there is no fight that will help one win, and there is no way to bully through it with toughness. There is simply unraveling, opening, and letting grace shine in. This morning, I see that grace in the cool and camouflaging snow. It tells me, "Sami. Things may look monotone now. You may only see one element of this world – loss. But when I melt away, in time, after this frigid season, life will reappear. In time, dear one."
Magic is bred in the mountains. I've been witnessing its reveal since I've been home. Seeing enchantment or maybe even your supernatural hand in my life is heartening. On my first night back in the house, I said my gratitudes and prayers and drifted off to sleep. I was supine in our bed, nestled into the middle, because I no longer have a side. At some point in the night, I woke from my unconscious, yet still in a dreamlike state. I realized I'd awoken because I felt the weight of your body on top of me. I still was laying on my back, but you were laying on top of me. I heard your breath in my ears and felt it on my body, you breathed calmly and deeply, as if trying to relax me. Although I was lucid, I couldn't see you. I knew it was you, but the vision was so real that I became scared. There was someone in my bed with me. I could feel the hands holding me, fingers pressing into by torso, hair near my face, and legs down near mine. How could this be? You rolled to the side onto your half of the bed, taking your weight off of me so my breath could deepen. You spooned me and cradled me in your arms, but I'd become frightened. What if it wasn't you? What if this was a stranger in my bed? I still couldn't open my eyes and felt trapped even though I wanted to feel comforted. Once you sensed my fear, your body drifted away from mine. I felt it lift up into a plane in space over me. With my eyes still closed, I heard and felt what I can only describe as the flapping of wings over my body. It was as though a fan was turned on above my body. Cool air spilled onto me, chilling me enough to allow me to open my eyes and gasp. Awake, eyes open, I saw black and white swirls above me, your pixie dust. I watched the stripes circle on our ceiling for about a minute until they drifted off, and I was alone again. I closed my eyes, shaken up but thankful for your clumsy visit. I think you visited me for both of us. For me, so I am reminded that you are here. And for you, to infuse some of yourself in me. Because since that visit, I've felt different – I've felt a bit more like you.
Wonder continues. As I paced around our house last night in hazy stride, I found a stack of greeting cards that I've received over the past couple months. I went through the stack again, because many of them I'd been too devastated and shocked to actually take the time to really read when I'd received them. I found one that had been sent from Spoons and Daren, an old Vail roomie of yours and her husband. I studied the picture on the front of their card – it was a snowy scene with a smiling bear and a smiling fox in the foreground. The inside of the card was blank and a typed message had been glued into it. I had received that card along with smiley balloons just days after you passed. The bear and fox have carried such poignant symbolism through this journey, but I hadn't noticed them on the card prior to yesterday. I sent Spoons a message, telling her how much I appreciated the card she chose. I know they live overseas, so it couldn't have been easy to find one so perfect and get it to me so quickly. I woke up this morning with a response waiting from her. She told me that they hadn't chosen the card – the local flower shop had. It was just a coincidence that the shop had sent a card with a smiling bear and a smiling fox. I don't know if I believe in coincidence anymore. So I will take the synchronicity as a grinning 'hello' from you.
Last night I watched the String Cheese Incident's show on the internet. The show was nearby, but I'm headed there tonight and tomorrow and felt that three nights is more than I can handle in my current state. I've never watched a show from home before. However, I felt a need to be a part of it last night. I knew if you were going to be around, you would be there. And as I said, I think you've infused yourself in me. It was as though there was no other option than to watch the show.
The second song the band played was 'Sirens'. The lyrics are nearly a literal explanation of what happened the night you died. Members of the band played the song at your memorial. Also, when you were living, you and I had cried and danced to the song. It was a very special moment to witness. I had wanted to be at the show if they played that song. I'd wanted to be held in a blanket of love. I stood in our bathroom and watched the song on my computer screen, alone. I was crying. Beats came into the room. She tends to ignore me most times. She was really your cat. She loved you, mostly. But as I cried and watched, Beats pawed at my leg and meowed repeatedly until I picked her up. It was unlike her. She stared at the screen, watching the lights, listening to the rhythm of the music and my sobs, and purred for the entire song. It's probably the longest she's ever let me hold her. She offered support in a moment when I needed it most though I believe you helped her out with that. The band never finished the song. Maybe at some point over the next two days they'll go back to it and I'll be surrounded with the camaraderie and love from our loved ones when they close it out.
Beneath Boulder lies a layer of natural quartz. In crystal lore, quartz offers balancing clarity, healing, and energy. Quartz also offers third-eye access to psychic vision. It can help manifest ancient wisdom and channeled communication with spirits and other worlds. It also is useful in dream recall. I'm grateful to be nestled into the powerful earth here in these mountains. Life and connection with the spiritual realm feels more intense and unavoidable here. Your signs may be obscure, they may be mistaken as synchronicity or serendipity, but I choose belief. I also think you have a lot to learn in your new dimension. Knowing you, you are figuring it all out, you are pushing the limits, and you are enjoying the ride. I hope that you continue to visit us and you learn to do it less mysteriously. But I will take what I can get. Even when on earth, your love was magic.
Roots run deep, rock deeper, and fire deeper yet. Snow appears as a guise on the surface. We know what is below, but above us is the unknown. Just because we can't see it with our naked, human eye does not mean it doesn't exist. In fact, in my mind, I believe that means it really exists. It exists in a way that is beyond our understanding and it is godly.
As I sit in our home and look out on the acres of pines cascading down the slopes, the beauty is sublime. It has been snowing since I arrived home. I watch the snow cover surfaces, spilling white peace over all that's both alive and nonliving. The powder reminds me of softness and of femininity. Grief is a feminine process. It requires a deep vulnerability, a chasm of emotions, gentleness, a willingness to come apart, and hope. There is no fast forward button, there is no fight that will help one win, and there is no way to bully through it with toughness. There is simply unraveling, opening, and letting grace shine in. This morning, I see that grace in the cool and camouflaging snow. It tells me, "Sami. Things may look monotone now. You may only see one element of this world – loss. But when I melt away, in time, after this frigid season, life will reappear. In time, dear one."
Magic is bred in the mountains. I've been witnessing its reveal since I've been home. Seeing enchantment or maybe even your supernatural hand in my life is heartening. On my first night back in the house, I said my gratitudes and prayers and drifted off to sleep. I was supine in our bed, nestled into the middle, because I no longer have a side. At some point in the night, I woke from my unconscious, yet still in a dreamlike state. I realized I'd awoken because I felt the weight of your body on top of me. I still was laying on my back, but you were laying on top of me. I heard your breath in my ears and felt it on my body, you breathed calmly and deeply, as if trying to relax me. Although I was lucid, I couldn't see you. I knew it was you, but the vision was so real that I became scared. There was someone in my bed with me. I could feel the hands holding me, fingers pressing into by torso, hair near my face, and legs down near mine. How could this be? You rolled to the side onto your half of the bed, taking your weight off of me so my breath could deepen. You spooned me and cradled me in your arms, but I'd become frightened. What if it wasn't you? What if this was a stranger in my bed? I still couldn't open my eyes and felt trapped even though I wanted to feel comforted. Once you sensed my fear, your body drifted away from mine. I felt it lift up into a plane in space over me. With my eyes still closed, I heard and felt what I can only describe as the flapping of wings over my body. It was as though a fan was turned on above my body. Cool air spilled onto me, chilling me enough to allow me to open my eyes and gasp. Awake, eyes open, I saw black and white swirls above me, your pixie dust. I watched the stripes circle on our ceiling for about a minute until they drifted off, and I was alone again. I closed my eyes, shaken up but thankful for your clumsy visit. I think you visited me for both of us. For me, so I am reminded that you are here. And for you, to infuse some of yourself in me. Because since that visit, I've felt different – I've felt a bit more like you.
Wonder continues. As I paced around our house last night in hazy stride, I found a stack of greeting cards that I've received over the past couple months. I went through the stack again, because many of them I'd been too devastated and shocked to actually take the time to really read when I'd received them. I found one that had been sent from Spoons and Daren, an old Vail roomie of yours and her husband. I studied the picture on the front of their card – it was a snowy scene with a smiling bear and a smiling fox in the foreground. The inside of the card was blank and a typed message had been glued into it. I had received that card along with smiley balloons just days after you passed. The bear and fox have carried such poignant symbolism through this journey, but I hadn't noticed them on the card prior to yesterday. I sent Spoons a message, telling her how much I appreciated the card she chose. I know they live overseas, so it couldn't have been easy to find one so perfect and get it to me so quickly. I woke up this morning with a response waiting from her. She told me that they hadn't chosen the card – the local flower shop had. It was just a coincidence that the shop had sent a card with a smiling bear and a smiling fox. I don't know if I believe in coincidence anymore. So I will take the synchronicity as a grinning 'hello' from you.
Last night I watched the String Cheese Incident's show on the internet. The show was nearby, but I'm headed there tonight and tomorrow and felt that three nights is more than I can handle in my current state. I've never watched a show from home before. However, I felt a need to be a part of it last night. I knew if you were going to be around, you would be there. And as I said, I think you've infused yourself in me. It was as though there was no other option than to watch the show.
The second song the band played was 'Sirens'. The lyrics are nearly a literal explanation of what happened the night you died. Members of the band played the song at your memorial. Also, when you were living, you and I had cried and danced to the song. It was a very special moment to witness. I had wanted to be at the show if they played that song. I'd wanted to be held in a blanket of love. I stood in our bathroom and watched the song on my computer screen, alone. I was crying. Beats came into the room. She tends to ignore me most times. She was really your cat. She loved you, mostly. But as I cried and watched, Beats pawed at my leg and meowed repeatedly until I picked her up. It was unlike her. She stared at the screen, watching the lights, listening to the rhythm of the music and my sobs, and purred for the entire song. It's probably the longest she's ever let me hold her. She offered support in a moment when I needed it most though I believe you helped her out with that. The band never finished the song. Maybe at some point over the next two days they'll go back to it and I'll be surrounded with the camaraderie and love from our loved ones when they close it out.
Beneath Boulder lies a layer of natural quartz. In crystal lore, quartz offers balancing clarity, healing, and energy. Quartz also offers third-eye access to psychic vision. It can help manifest ancient wisdom and channeled communication with spirits and other worlds. It also is useful in dream recall. I'm grateful to be nestled into the powerful earth here in these mountains. Life and connection with the spiritual realm feels more intense and unavoidable here. Your signs may be obscure, they may be mistaken as synchronicity or serendipity, but I choose belief. I also think you have a lot to learn in your new dimension. Knowing you, you are figuring it all out, you are pushing the limits, and you are enjoying the ride. I hope that you continue to visit us and you learn to do it less mysteriously. But I will take what I can get. Even when on earth, your love was magic.
Roots run deep, rock deeper, and fire deeper yet. Snow appears as a guise on the surface. We know what is below, but above us is the unknown. Just because we can't see it with our naked, human eye does not mean it doesn't exist. In fact, in my mind, I believe that means it really exists. It exists in a way that is beyond our understanding and it is godly.
Course in Miracles
"The miracle comes quietly into the mind that stops an instant and is still."
- A Course in Miracles
This afternoon I got to thinking about miracles. According to a statistic from NPR in 2008, 79% of Americans believe in miracles. This number remains consistent with a stat from USA Today/CNN/Gallup Poll in 1994. Today I sat at a lunch with seven adults and one three-year-old: five believed, two did not, and the remaining one kept quiet on the subject (it was not the three-year-old).
Today is Christmas Eve. As a Jew, I celebrate Christmas because of a pre-nuptial agreement my parents made before they married (dad: Jew, mom: Catholic). My father could raise us Jewish BUT we would always celebrate Christmas and have a Christmas tree. And so it went. We got Hanukkah and Christmas, a beautiful collaboration of two religions and American Capitalist excess.
Embarrassingly, today I actually had to Google what the "miracle of Christmas" is. Yes, I forgot we are celebrating Jesus's birthday. (Mind you, I've been tuning out all holiday cheer this year.) But now I remember, Jesus Christ was born to Mary, a virgin, as the son of God on December 25th. Honestly, this is not a miracle that I have ever really believed in. I tend to take the Bible's stories as metaphors and I also don't think women's words are very trustworthy, perhaps even saintly ones. They don't like to kiss and tell. In order to avoid pushing buttons, or maybe to push a few more, the miracle of Hanukkah celebrates oil burning in the Beit HaMikdash for eight days when it was claimed it would only last for one night – I don't know if I believe in that miracle either.
But over the past two months or so, I've been led to question all my beliefs – miracles, life, death, love, faith, and more. I don't know what I believe anymore. Maybe both of the miracles mentioned above are completely true! I mean, I can't tell you how many times over the past two months I've wished that I could be pregnant with your child despite the fact that you aren't here to make that happen! Why shouldn't I trust that if God or a higher power deems something like that to be possible, then it be possible? I mean, this whole universe thing is quite a miracle. Where did that come from? Something put it there. And I'm confident I saw a male figure standing in my living room the other day when no one was home... I barely thought twice about that miraculous vision. Through this grief, I've realized I need to believe in something. What has pulled me out of the darkness over the past week is the creation of faith. And when I say creation, I mean building something from relatively nothing.
Prior to this tragedy, religion was a part of my identity, rather than a belief system. Unlike so many, I was not pushed to put my faith in a God with a certain name. I was raised with an awareness of the stories but a choice to follow whatever path I was called towards. And to be honest, being raised in a house with mixed messages probably didn't help guide me one way or another. As I watched some friends follow their prescribed religions somewhat blindly (in my opinion, at the time), I became rather cynical about faith in general. It was kind of a dirty word. That being said, I was incredibly active in my Jewish youth group, to the extent of being an international chairwoman. Judaism gave me a social network, leadership training, the knowledge of a cool language not many people can read and write, and a sense of identity. But faith? Not so much. I have always been one of those people who says, "I'm not religious, I'm spiritual." But really, I wasn't that spiritual either.
Now, as I've been pushed to my emotional edge: raw, bleeding, and hopeless – one of the primary elements that's pulled me through is faith (the other main element is love). Faith in what? I'm not sure yet. I'm open to it all at this point. In fact, I've been reading about a book a day. Some are about quantum physics, a scientific methodology that explains 'the theory of everything'. Some are about reincarnation, samsara, past lives and future lives. Some are about the power of love. Some are about spirits and mediums. Some are about New Age mysticism like Kabbalah, the Jewish ancient wisdom that 'reveals how the universe and life work'. Some are about yogic philosophy. Some are poetry. Some are about miracles. Some are about Christian methodology. But what they all have in common is having hope and faith in something bigger than just this thing we call life – what we can see, touch, and be aware of through our five senses. I've been given the courage to choose to believe in the unknown.
In the past I've thought faith was blind – a blanket statement that I'd say I subscribed to. Now, I still believe faith CAN be blind. If we believe in the stories in the Bible verbatim and follow the words we are told without question, I maintain that those choices are blind and uneducated. But if faith is built through study, through questioning, through being able to have an open mind, and not say "I'm right, and you're wrong," I now believe faith is quite courageous. It's not easy to stand up for your faith in this world, I felt that today at my lunch!
I told my therapist this past week, "I wish I'd had a strong sense of faith instilled in my life. At least I'd have something to turn to now." She told me, "Yes, that would be easier. But now you have to build one. That is much harder but very beautiful." It will be a beautiful process. It already is.
I've opened to stillness. I've put down the remote control. I've turned off Instagram and Words With Friends. I've picked up the decision to learn. I've decided that what I thought was "right" is not necessarily "right". I've come to terms with the hard knowledge that I may never really "know". But, I have choosen to have faith in a few unknowns. I choose to believe that there is a truth beyond death. I choose to believe that I will see you again in some form. I choose to believe that you are still a witness to my life in some way. And I choose to continue my belief in miracles, no matter how bleak life looks.
"Miracles occur naturally as expressions of love. They are performed by those who temporarily have more for those who temporarily have less."
– A Course in Miracles
- A Course in Miracles
This afternoon I got to thinking about miracles. According to a statistic from NPR in 2008, 79% of Americans believe in miracles. This number remains consistent with a stat from USA Today/CNN/Gallup Poll in 1994. Today I sat at a lunch with seven adults and one three-year-old: five believed, two did not, and the remaining one kept quiet on the subject (it was not the three-year-old).
Today is Christmas Eve. As a Jew, I celebrate Christmas because of a pre-nuptial agreement my parents made before they married (dad: Jew, mom: Catholic). My father could raise us Jewish BUT we would always celebrate Christmas and have a Christmas tree. And so it went. We got Hanukkah and Christmas, a beautiful collaboration of two religions and American Capitalist excess.
Embarrassingly, today I actually had to Google what the "miracle of Christmas" is. Yes, I forgot we are celebrating Jesus's birthday. (Mind you, I've been tuning out all holiday cheer this year.) But now I remember, Jesus Christ was born to Mary, a virgin, as the son of God on December 25th. Honestly, this is not a miracle that I have ever really believed in. I tend to take the Bible's stories as metaphors and I also don't think women's words are very trustworthy, perhaps even saintly ones. They don't like to kiss and tell. In order to avoid pushing buttons, or maybe to push a few more, the miracle of Hanukkah celebrates oil burning in the Beit HaMikdash for eight days when it was claimed it would only last for one night – I don't know if I believe in that miracle either.
But over the past two months or so, I've been led to question all my beliefs – miracles, life, death, love, faith, and more. I don't know what I believe anymore. Maybe both of the miracles mentioned above are completely true! I mean, I can't tell you how many times over the past two months I've wished that I could be pregnant with your child despite the fact that you aren't here to make that happen! Why shouldn't I trust that if God or a higher power deems something like that to be possible, then it be possible? I mean, this whole universe thing is quite a miracle. Where did that come from? Something put it there. And I'm confident I saw a male figure standing in my living room the other day when no one was home... I barely thought twice about that miraculous vision. Through this grief, I've realized I need to believe in something. What has pulled me out of the darkness over the past week is the creation of faith. And when I say creation, I mean building something from relatively nothing.
Prior to this tragedy, religion was a part of my identity, rather than a belief system. Unlike so many, I was not pushed to put my faith in a God with a certain name. I was raised with an awareness of the stories but a choice to follow whatever path I was called towards. And to be honest, being raised in a house with mixed messages probably didn't help guide me one way or another. As I watched some friends follow their prescribed religions somewhat blindly (in my opinion, at the time), I became rather cynical about faith in general. It was kind of a dirty word. That being said, I was incredibly active in my Jewish youth group, to the extent of being an international chairwoman. Judaism gave me a social network, leadership training, the knowledge of a cool language not many people can read and write, and a sense of identity. But faith? Not so much. I have always been one of those people who says, "I'm not religious, I'm spiritual." But really, I wasn't that spiritual either.
Now, as I've been pushed to my emotional edge: raw, bleeding, and hopeless – one of the primary elements that's pulled me through is faith (the other main element is love). Faith in what? I'm not sure yet. I'm open to it all at this point. In fact, I've been reading about a book a day. Some are about quantum physics, a scientific methodology that explains 'the theory of everything'. Some are about reincarnation, samsara, past lives and future lives. Some are about the power of love. Some are about spirits and mediums. Some are about New Age mysticism like Kabbalah, the Jewish ancient wisdom that 'reveals how the universe and life work'. Some are about yogic philosophy. Some are poetry. Some are about miracles. Some are about Christian methodology. But what they all have in common is having hope and faith in something bigger than just this thing we call life – what we can see, touch, and be aware of through our five senses. I've been given the courage to choose to believe in the unknown.
In the past I've thought faith was blind – a blanket statement that I'd say I subscribed to. Now, I still believe faith CAN be blind. If we believe in the stories in the Bible verbatim and follow the words we are told without question, I maintain that those choices are blind and uneducated. But if faith is built through study, through questioning, through being able to have an open mind, and not say "I'm right, and you're wrong," I now believe faith is quite courageous. It's not easy to stand up for your faith in this world, I felt that today at my lunch!
I told my therapist this past week, "I wish I'd had a strong sense of faith instilled in my life. At least I'd have something to turn to now." She told me, "Yes, that would be easier. But now you have to build one. That is much harder but very beautiful." It will be a beautiful process. It already is.
I've opened to stillness. I've put down the remote control. I've turned off Instagram and Words With Friends. I've picked up the decision to learn. I've decided that what I thought was "right" is not necessarily "right". I've come to terms with the hard knowledge that I may never really "know". But, I have choosen to have faith in a few unknowns. I choose to believe that there is a truth beyond death. I choose to believe that I will see you again in some form. I choose to believe that you are still a witness to my life in some way. And I choose to continue my belief in miracles, no matter how bleak life looks.
"Miracles occur naturally as expressions of love. They are performed by those who temporarily have more for those who temporarily have less."
– A Course in Miracles
One Dimple
I have been told that someday the memories of you will bring a smile to my face rather than a storm of tears. Until then, I choke through the memories like taking my vitamins. I know they're good. I know they'll make me feel better. But they're so damn hard to swallow. They get stuck in my throat. I want to remember them, but I keep forgetting. Maybe someday looking at our photos will make me happy too. When I see them now it feels like someone is reaching their hand through my chest and grabbing my beating heart out of my body and squishing it until it's purple with bruises.
You're so handsome in all the photos, more handsome then I ever realized, in fact. I just look at your gorgeous face and think, "But he's supposed to be mine. We knew it. We were so sure!" It makes me so confused. The photos document that you were here. But also remind me again that you are not. That you were so beautiful and now you are intangible. That you were mine and now you're not. I don't understand.
Looking at you in a photo, I see how alive your eyes are. I stare at them and wait for you to blink. But they don't. I see how warm your skin looks. I run my hand on the image and try to feel your pulse. But I can't find it. I notice the clothes you're wearing. They are hanging in the closet. They are still here. Where are you? I see your smile in the photos. You had a little dimple on one cheek. You had slightly crooked teeth and gold crowns that shined when you smiled big. I want to see you smile again, Teddy. When you smiled my whole body came alive!
When I smiled with you it was the most genuine grin I ever flashed. All of my smiles had been fakes until I was by your side. I was always happy when I was with you. I don't think I'll ever smile again and actually mean it. I feel like I'm rotting without you. I want my heart to just stop beating but instead it beats faster.
Sometimes I yell at God, "When will you see how sad I am and help me? Do something! Do anything! Perform a miracle, please!!!? Just bring him back. He didn't deserve to die. He was the most amazing man in the Universe. Can't you see how many people loved him? How he did NO wrong, ever? Please. Take anyone but him. Take me. Anyone but him."
I don't understand it. I never will. Why would you be the one to be taken? You had so much more to give. You had so much more joy to feel and love to share. You and I were going to show the whole world what true love was. Maybe it was just a glitch in the system. That some angel turned his head or took a pee break, and like that, you were gone. It was an accident. I hope God got really mad up there after that happened. I hope that the angel who turned his head got fired. Fuck, I hope he got beheaded.
I miss you so much. You were the only one who could just look into my eyes and tell me everything would be OK. You were the only one who could touch me and make me turn from sorrow to joy. You were the only one who could make me smile like that. You were the only one who could make me enjoy doing something I never thought I'd enjoy. You were the only one I ever saw down the aisle when I was dressed in white in my dreams. You were simply the one. I knew it. I couldn't wait to be yours forever. Life was supposed to be so beautiful. And now I don't know anything. I can't find you anywhere. I miss you so much.
You're so handsome in all the photos, more handsome then I ever realized, in fact. I just look at your gorgeous face and think, "But he's supposed to be mine. We knew it. We were so sure!" It makes me so confused. The photos document that you were here. But also remind me again that you are not. That you were so beautiful and now you are intangible. That you were mine and now you're not. I don't understand.
Looking at you in a photo, I see how alive your eyes are. I stare at them and wait for you to blink. But they don't. I see how warm your skin looks. I run my hand on the image and try to feel your pulse. But I can't find it. I notice the clothes you're wearing. They are hanging in the closet. They are still here. Where are you? I see your smile in the photos. You had a little dimple on one cheek. You had slightly crooked teeth and gold crowns that shined when you smiled big. I want to see you smile again, Teddy. When you smiled my whole body came alive!
When I smiled with you it was the most genuine grin I ever flashed. All of my smiles had been fakes until I was by your side. I was always happy when I was with you. I don't think I'll ever smile again and actually mean it. I feel like I'm rotting without you. I want my heart to just stop beating but instead it beats faster.
Sometimes I yell at God, "When will you see how sad I am and help me? Do something! Do anything! Perform a miracle, please!!!? Just bring him back. He didn't deserve to die. He was the most amazing man in the Universe. Can't you see how many people loved him? How he did NO wrong, ever? Please. Take anyone but him. Take me. Anyone but him."
I don't understand it. I never will. Why would you be the one to be taken? You had so much more to give. You had so much more joy to feel and love to share. You and I were going to show the whole world what true love was. Maybe it was just a glitch in the system. That some angel turned his head or took a pee break, and like that, you were gone. It was an accident. I hope God got really mad up there after that happened. I hope that the angel who turned his head got fired. Fuck, I hope he got beheaded.
I miss you so much. You were the only one who could just look into my eyes and tell me everything would be OK. You were the only one who could touch me and make me turn from sorrow to joy. You were the only one who could make me smile like that. You were the only one who could make me enjoy doing something I never thought I'd enjoy. You were the only one I ever saw down the aisle when I was dressed in white in my dreams. You were simply the one. I knew it. I couldn't wait to be yours forever. Life was supposed to be so beautiful. And now I don't know anything. I can't find you anywhere. I miss you so much.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)