My navigation through grief has brought me many blessings in the form of human and metaphysical connection, much softness in my empathy and compassion toward others, and much hardness in my steadfastness in boundary setting and keeping and willingness to speak my truth. It’s not all rainbows and unicorns of course; darkness precedes light, and I am likely somewhere in the pre-dawn/dawn stage. Where I am is unimportant though. What’s important is that I am here.
My search to live in my own truth and authenticity
Has been a timid one
First, I rebelled loudly
Not authentic
I turned my back on loved ones
Not authentic
Raged against previously set expectations
Not authentic
Choosing an identity like I chose outfits
Changing both often
Not authentic
Sacrificing myself repeatedly
Not authentic
No regrets
A beautiful sunset signaled an end
And the next sunrise
The gift of a new day
My firstborn son
Requiring me to stand
To find authenticity
No regrets
Through time
Focus blurs and sharpens
Go this way or that
Guided by outside influences
Wrong turns
Corrections
Over-corrections
Calm waters
Typhoons
Presence
Avoidance
No regrets
The darkest of nights
My firstborn crosses into the next realm
I’m lost
I wail from somewhere foreign to me
A deep crack in my soul’s core
Authentic
The mothers ahead of me hold me
Giving me space
Holding it and me
I take their hands
Their energy courses through me
My eyes look into theirs
Truth
Authenticity
My grief map
Offers a key and tools for understanding
My map belongs only to me
It is part of a larger map
The map to self
The fire of grief
Burns fear of authenticity
No longer time to hide
I am willingly and willfully standing
In my truth
My authentic self rising
No regrets
Belonging to a family
Does not require alignment of belief
Belonging to a family
Should guarantee unconditional love
No need to rebel or rage
I can love
Be authentically me
And be loved
Today
No regrets.
I had no plan of what to write when I sat down this afternoon. I’ve been acquiring tools for sometime now. I have crystals, candles, tarot, sage, oils, journals, books. I know about the power of meditation. I hold these tools for healing in sacredness in my mind. I read and learn more. I have been frustrated with my lack of action. It feels like a block, and deep down I know. These things, this belief, does not align with the teachings that were heaped on me through childhood and adolescence.
Yesterday I bought a book titled Prayers for Honoring Grief by Pixie Lighthorse at a local apothecary shop. The herbalist working at the shop led me to it. I opened it and used my tools this afternoon. The first prayer is for honoring awareness, using these words and phrases: overcome my fear, calm my uneasiness, soothe my desire to numb out, activate my miraculous systems for coping, untether me from my illusions of safe harbor, the earth anchors me, I didn’t come this far to abandon myself now. The whole prayer is included below. I think the abandonment of myself happened first, and my adulthood has been a steady return. The loss of Blake and the wave of grief forcefully dislodged any illusion for a need to pretend .
Page 7, Prayers of Honoring Grief by Pixie Lighthorse
I’m not exactly confident in my practices, but I’m willing to listen to my heart and tap into resources and Source. I used my crystals and set up a grid for awareness.
Beginnings are equal in importance to endings, just as light is equal in importance to darkness. The cycles are separate and intertwined, one grasping onto the next and the one that came before.
In Chapter 5 of Broken Open: How Difficult Times Can Help Us Grow, Elizabeth Lesser tells about her friend, Ram Dass, and his experience with a stoke that he suffered in his 60s. He explained that the stoke created a crack in his ego. His description of the cracked ego provided clarity to the quote of Leonard Cohen, “The crack is where the light gets in,” and of Rumi’s “The wound is where the light enters.” Ram Dass explained that the loss that he experienced as a result of the stroke coincided with grace taking his ego. His perception shifted from ego to soul, where ego caused fear of such things as a stroke. He said, “When you bear the unbearable, something within you dies. My identity flipped over and I said, “so that’s who I am – I’m a soul” I ended up where looking at the world from the soul level is my ordinary everyday state. And that’s grace.” Further, he says, “When you’re secure in your soul, what’s to fear? Since the stroke, I can say to you with an assurance I couldn’t have felt before, that faith and love are stronger than any changes, stronger than aging, and I am very sure, stronger than death.”
The loss of Blake is physical in nature, but not an illness like Ram Dass’s stroke. The day before I listened to these words, a former student and person who has had her own struggles and fought her way back from the depths, wrote to me that she was telling a friend about how I’ve stood up and advocated and shown my soul. She said that I’m a “bright light and soulful person.”
Then I heard and felt the words of Ram Dass. I cannot imagine an event that will break my ego more than the physical death of one of my children. By saying this, I am certainly not challenging the Universe to show me anything different. I know though, that the breaking of my ego allowed the light of my soul to shine brighter.
In the shadow of Blake’s departure from his physical being-ness, I didn’t want to gain anything, no matter what it might be – personal growth, kindness from others, much less anything tangible. It wasn’t for me to decide. I just saw a meme that reflects this. It says, “Darkness gives birth to new light.” The new light comes from the cataclysmic earthquake that knocked my ego off of its comfortable axis, giving birth to more soul presence. With more soul presence, I too feel “faith and love are stronger than any changes, stronger than aging, and. . . stronger than death.”
This is my experience. My first ego shattering event occurred at a tender age, vey early in the development of my ego. Through the years, my feelings about my mother’s abandonment of me have ranged from sadness to anger to bewilderment, but these days, I wonder if it wasn’t a preparation. But for that initial event, I may have just shattered altogether. This primal wound installed the first layers of hard and soft, of courage and soulfulness.
I was listening to Broken Open on Audible while driving, when I heard these words from Ram Dass. Before this section, there were other paragraphs and sentences that got my attention, but when I heard these words, I knew I needed a hard copy of the book immediately so that I could read and re-read as needed. These words literally took my breath away. They are a message from Blake. I stopped the recording after the sentence about faith and love and drove in silence.
If you’ve followed my blog, you know that the words ‘faith’ and ‘love’ were part of the last conversation that Blake and I shared just hours before his fatal overdose. I have written about why he may have chosen to have those words tattooed in prayer hands at his next tattoo appointment.
I believe that addiction took Blake’s ego away, even though this would most often be equated to being a necessary component of recovery. Addiction shattered Blake, and he literally had nothing more to lose. His soul saw the evil all around him – in the desperation of people stealing his clothing, even his underwear, while he was in rehab, the greed of people who illegally coordinated his health insurance and sent him to certain treatment centers, the actions of people who brought substances into the very treatment centers where he was supposed to be finding recovery. He saw it all, and he was relieved from what he saw. He was provided a physical exit from soul searing pain. This was his recovery – the way he was shown fierce grace.
But before his exit, Blake dropped the words ‘faith’ and ‘love’ on me. Yesterday he let me know, through Ram Dass’s words, that “faith and love are stronger than any aging, and . . . stronger than death.” He already knew this. His exit gave me fierce grace.
On Monday, I had the opportunity and honor to be on a Zoom call with 2 other moms and representatives from an Oregon recovery advocacy group regarding the start up of a parent led advocacy/support group as an arm of that organization. At one point, it became evident that the reason for telling our stories was misunderstood. The misunderstanding caught me off guard for a second until I remembered that perspective is everything.
Specifically, the words ‘exploiting’ and ‘sympathy’ were used. The organization was concerned that they did not want to exploit us for our stories, and another mom, who was not present, was concerned that she would cause people to feel sympathy by telling her story.
I had to address this, and sometimes in the moment, I surprise myself with my spoken truth. I asked for further clarification and then explained my position as a parent.
For many of us, our children’s addiction/SUD started in their teens, a time when ‘normal’ teens are going to homecoming and prom and playing sports or going to sporting events. The parents of these ‘normal’ teens support their kids by showing up and being involved in these activities. Not us. We’re home, hiding in the shadows, often afraid that someone will find out what’s happening behind our front door.
This was true for me as a school district employee. There were a couple of trusted friends who I could talk with, but for the most part, I probably suffered from imposter syndrome. I was so good at being present for and making a difference for other people’s kids, and I couldn’t figure out how to fix my own son!
So, no, I cannot be exploited by being asked to speak about my son and the disease that plagued him. I showed up for him by making phone calls and doing research and getting him to appointments. When his SUD was active in his young adulthood, I showed up by picking him up in the middle of the night, by visiting him and sending him books when he was incarcerated, by sitting with him while he was sick from detoxing, by taking him to his monthly Suboxone appointments 3 hours away,… No one who hasn’t loved their child with SUD can understand. I want them to understand!!!!
I did all of these things for my beautiful boy in the shadows, where SUD thrives. I was not ashamed of my son, but I felt the shame that society would cast on us, on him, if they knew. I felt the look of the pharmacist’s eyes as they glanced in our direction to get a look at who was picking up this prescription. I would silently stand next to Blake in a show of solidarity, and then we would walk out together and I would take him to lunch. We would sometimes check-in on Facebook at one of our favorite sushi places, but we never checked in at Fresh Start (the Suboxone prescriber) or Rite Aid.
Blake tried, he really really tried, he wanted it enough, he hit rock bottom, we had boundaries, our relationship was strong always, and he and we still lost. So you know what? I’m taking that spotlight, and I’m shining it on this fucking disease at any opportunity I get! I’m doing that for Blake, because he expects nothing less, and I’m doing it for all the families who have lost and for their children who are with my son. Mostly though, I’m doing it for the ones still fighting, who might feel like I did, who would do anything to help their child and feel the need to protect them at the same time.
So no, I cannot be exploited by asking me to tell our story. It’s how I show up for my son and support him now. It’s all I have left. And if our story evokes sympathy, well, we don’t need or want any sympathy, but if that’s all a person feels, at least they’re feeling something.
I want to add that I recognize that not everyone will feel compelled to stand up in front of an audience and tell their story the way I have and will continue to do, and that’s completely okay. We all have different talents and all of us are needed. And I’m sorry if my use of the f-word offends you, but SUD, and the stigma that surrounds it, deeply, deeply offends me, and I feel that word is appropriate in the context.
It has been quite the month! I’m going to go all the way back to Mother’s Day with this letter to you. I want to acknowledge all of the ways you’ve shown up for me and express my gratitude and explain the impact this has made on me.
Mother’s Day
This was my second Mother’s Day without your physical presence. I told dad that I didn’t want to be at home, that I felt a need to get away from the daily responsibilities that even present themselves on weekends. It would have been fine with me if we just got up in the morning and went somewhere, but dad suggested that we find somewhere to go Saturday night.
We ended up getting a cabin at Diamond Lake. Even though we live just a little over an hour from this lake, I have not been there since I was nine weeks pregnant with you. There are so many beautiful places near us, that we just haven’t gone there.
We set out late Saturday afternoon and stopped to get some snacks at Grocery Outlet. I ran in and dad stayed in the truck with Sarafina. After grabbing the items we wanted, I stood in line behind a boy of probably ten or eleven years old. He had a card in his hand. His mom passed by pushing a basket. She told him that he would need to get the envelope that goes with the card. He got out of line and retrieved an envelope that the card would fit into. This is where it gets cool. He returned to his spot in front of me and started talking to me about the variety of cards available and how with all of those cards, they didn’t have a Mother’s Day specific card. He showed me the card he picked for his mom and read it to me. The gist of the card was that on the dog’s special day, it was the human’s turn to fetch while the dog relaxed. Pretty smart boy. He told me that he was going to mark through the Birthday part of ‘Happy Birthday’ and write Mother’s Day. I assured him that his mom would love it. He was concerned about the cost of the card because he only had $5 and didn’t know where the price was. I showed him and he went ahead paid for the card. Before he left, he looked back and gave me a big smile. I gave him a thumbs up.
Thank you for sending sons who love their mamas to me, for reminding me of how you loved me in your physical form. Thank you for managing to gift me with a Mother’s Day card from you on that day. That’s what it felt like – like you found a way to send me a card.
On Mother’s Day morning, we woke up to a cold and cloudy morning at Diamond Lake. We got everything loaded back up in the truck and went to the lodge where dad and I both ordered you favorite restaurant breakfast of chicken fried steak. By the time we finished, the sun broke through the clouds and it was warming a bit. Without any real plan, we set out to explore. We headed West on Oregon Highway 138 to Watson Falls, where we hiked to what is the 3rd highest waterfall in Oregon. This was Sarafina’s first hike like this. She did pretty well, but she needs more leash training.
Heading East, our next stop was Whitehorse Falls. This waterfall was right next to the parking lot, so there was no real hike required. There were lots of logs in the water that made for pretty formations and waterways. We spent some time breathing in the beauty and taking pictures, and resumed our journey to the next stop.
There was a short hike at Clearwater Falls. Above the falls was very clear water. Dad said the clarity of the water reminded him of Fall River. We got some beautiful pictures here too. As we were almost back to the parking lot, dad headed to the restroom, and a beautiful and uniquely colored light purple and aquamarine butterfly flew in front of me. I asked you to send it back to me, thinking you may have sent it to begin with. It flew right back to me and landed on my shoe. I took multiple pictures of it. It then stayed nearby, repeatedly taking flight and landing, opening its wings, seemingly for my enjoyment and amazement. I enjoyed this sign for at least five minutes.
The last stop of the day was at Lemolo Lake. What a great discovery this lake was! Guess who learned that she could swim? Sarafina! This was such a joyful stop. It reminded me so much of you and Nala and how much you loved her. I’m so happy to be Sarafina’s hu-mom, so that I can experience and remember the love and joy you shared with Nala.
I felt so refreshed and revitalized after this day. I felt full of love. I felt alive.
Here’s the slideshow video that I created of this adventure.
The song, “Lovely Day”, used in this slideshow, was written by Bill Withers and Skip Scarborough and recorded and released by Bill Withers in 1977.
Boise
Over Memorial Day weekend, we took Pop to Boise to visit the gravesite of his wife who transitioned last August. It is admittedly very difficult to be in a semi care-taking role of an elderly father-in-law. It is complicated to say the least. Dad took Pop to visit Anita, and I spent time at the pool reading a book called “Together Forever” by Anna Marie Enea. Anna suddenly lost her 24-year-old son after a motorcycle accident. It’s not about what took him though, it’s about the journey that she made in connecting with him, in recognizing signs, and establishing a new relationship with him. I actually just finished the book, and it has really been helpful. Anyway, I’m out by the pool reading this book, and I’m at a part where she’s talking about receiving a beautiful scent from her son Sal. She noticed this same scent repeatedly in the morning and before bed and there was no explanation for it. I thought that was really cool. So I said quietly, “Hey Blake, could you send me a scent like maybe honeysuckle or some other scent that you’d like to send me, that doesn’t smell like freshly poured blacktop – because that was what was happening in the parking lot just beyond the pool?” No sooner had I made this request and I hear your name. I thought I had imagined it, but then I heard it again. One of the blacktop workers was talking with his co-workers about someone he knew named Blake. I thought that was pretty humorous. Such a comedian you are!
Later on, we were looking for a place to eat dinner. I found a new food truck pod that had just opened that weekend, so we went to check it out. On our way there, I saw these sunflowers, probably steel, maybe plastic, that were in front of this building. They were so pretty and bright. I took some pictures of them. Among the sunflowers were orbs and a rainbow. Thank you.
We arrived at the food truck pod. The location was really nice, but there were only about 6 trucks. I convinced Dad to check it out anyway. The first truck was not really a truck, but more of a canopy covered spot. The guy there, his name is Ben, was selling bottled kava. He has a company called Karuna Kava, and a website with the same name. When I first walked up to his table, he was talking with a couple of people about kava and his struggles with addiction, so I meandered around the remaining trucks before returning to his spot. I explained to him that I’ve been curious if kava might help me with my sleep issues. I also told him I heard him discussing his struggles with his previous customers and that my sleep issues started after you transitioned following a long battle with substance use disorder. We shared back and forth a bit and he offered some facts about kava and his process. He said he wished he would have known you. I told him that the two of you would have been friends. Before pouring our drink, he asked if he could give me a hug. It was such a good hug – the intensity of it brought me to tears. In the moment, I knew that hug was from Ben and from you.
New Job and Tahoe
I’m starting a new job as a Health Educator, through La Pine Community Health Clinic. I am absolutely ecstatic. I actually start tomorrow. I will be working with youth and their families, through the school based health clinics, the main clinic, and in the schools, to educate and advocate in support of prevention and treatment. This will include substance abuse and substance use disorder. I am so excited to begin this work. I know that I will be shaky sometimes, but I realize that this is my space, and that I need to have courage to stand in my space. Working as a paralegal for the last ten months affirmed to me that I cannot just decide to not be who I am or turn my back on my purpose. I needed this reminder, and I needed the time away from my calling to completely realize this. It also helped that the management style of my now previous work place was not conducive to my positive well being. This increased the pressure in me that catapulted me back to where I belong. About five hours after my in person interview at the clinic, the nursing supervisor called me to offer me the job. She told me that I had made their day, and she told me that you would be proud. I know you are proud, and so am I. Proud and humbled and honored and ready.
I knew I wanted to take a quick vacation before starting my new job. Dad couldn’t go with me because he just started a new job. Initially I thought a trip to the Oregon coast would be just what I needed. I checked the weather, and it was just not warm enough to be fully enjoyable to me. I looked at some other areas, but I kept thinking about Lake Tahoe – the place I lived when I was pregnant with you and the shores we visited so many summer days and you snowboarded the mountains overlooking the basin during the winters.
I splurged on a room for myself, staying at a place with its own private beach. The trip was miraculous in so many ways. I spent the evening of my arrival soaking up the last warm sun rays of the day. There was a man on the beach with his two daughters. He was swimming under the water and coming up with what he called “butterfly wings” – the connected shell house of Tahoe’s native mussel. He was scooping up as many as he could find and excitedly told his daughters they were going to do an art project with these treasures. I asked if I could see them as I was passing by on my way to my studio. He was happy to oblige.
The next morning, I got up, dressed warmly, and went down to the beach with the same book I mentioned earlier. I took a few moments and breathed in the cool morning lake air. I felt peace. I read for awhile, returned to my room for a workout and went back to the beach with a journal for writing. I met the man and his daughters on the path to the beach. I asked if he was going to find more butterfly wings. He said he hoped so and said that he was thinking of calling them angel wings instead of butterfly wings. I said, “Oh, I love that. I have a very special angel.” I shared just a bit and showed him the tattoo of you in the moon. He had actually commented on my tattoos the day before. There was a woman with him that morning- maybe a cousin or niece, because his wife came down later. She was listening to this conversation. She offered her condolences for my loss of you. I thanked her and for some reason explained that I didn’t lose you though – only the physicality of you – that everything is energy and that I feel your presence all around me and that that presence is love. I wrote this as I sat on the beach:
Earth, wind, water, fire
Body, soul, spirit
Energy
Love
Sweet Love
Eternally
And this…..
This place, Another time
This woman, A different version
Then filled with impending life, Now filled with infinite love
So much to prove, looking out, So much to feel, looking in
Restless, longing to be loved, Courageous, realizing I am love
His birth sparked my first true love, His transition ignited its power
I return to this place, As love, forever loving, and forever loved.
It was windy that day, and the man and his family grew tired of its interference with their desired activity. He came to where I was writing and said, ‘Hi, I don’t want to kick sand in your face.’ Kneeling on one knee, he said, ‘I just wanted to come over and wish you a beautiful life. Maybe our paths will cross again.’ I asked his name and he answered “Ryan.” I told him my name and thanked him. And tears filled my eyes.
I spent a bit more time at the beach before realizing that just because I wasn’t sweating didn’t mean I wasn’t burning. I went up to my room, changed, and went to do some shopping and then had an early dinner, where my server gave me a 20% locals’ discount, saying that some people deserve that treatment. Maybe she could tell I was local in another time; maybe I looked comfortable.
I got up the next morning, worked out, showered, and went in search of the beach where we spent so many summer days – just you and me, then you, me, and Dad, and then you, me, Dad, and Lucas. It took a bit of searching, and when I felt I had passed it, I turned around, drove a few hundred feet and pulled off the road into a parking area. I don’t know what I was planning to do there, but as soon as I put my truck in park and looked around a second, I laughed. This was the spot!
It was freezing cold that day, and the wind was blowing that cold air right through me. There was no one on the beach, which is now a private beach that belongs to the cabins that sit a few hundred feet from the shoreline. They had lounge chairs out, so I sat down on one and covered myself with a beach towel, attempting to shield myself from the frigid gusts of air. I was filled with sweet memories of days of curiosity, play, and freedom shared with my life’s most precious gifts.
I met my dad and youngest brother for lunch and then took a leisurely drive back to my place, stopping to take pictures along the way. I laid down for a little bit before getting enough energy restored to drive to Eagle Falls Trail. The drive there took me by Inspiration point which overlooks Emerald Bay. More picture taking. I felt a bit timid when I got to the Falls trailhead because it was a bit of a climb and that fear of heights kicked in. I wanted to do it though, so I just took my time, and was rewarded with beautiful nature and energy. As soon as I returned to my truck, Dad called. I had him on bluetooth, so I talked to him while I navigated the 10mph hairpin turns on the roadway. When I came upon a beautiful creek, I pulled off the road and took him with me, explaining what I was seeing. I looked across the road, and noticed a trail, so I crossed over to investigate. The trail was called Rainbow Trail, and there were rainbows everywhere!!! It was absolutely magickal! I felt like you guided me to this spot. I didn’t know anything about it. I just felt this urge to pull off the road and I followed it.
I put together this collage of your infant and toddler days on the shores of Lake Tahoe and this slide show of my time there this last week.
The song, “Let Your Love Flow”, used in this slideshow, was written by Larry E. Williams and recorded and released by The Belamy Brothers in 1976.
I returned home the next day. It was a long drive after such a beautiful time with you. I am so grateful for your continued teachings, for your love, for your presence, for your humor, and for all of the twirling orbs, the rainbows, and the people that you send my way to love on me for you. I certainly could not have anticipated when I stood next to your bed blessing you and inviting you to visit anytime, that this is where we’d be now. You are still, and always will be, my beautiful boy.
Advocacy Day
Now let me wipe my tears, and tell you that I woke up early the next day to write a speech to be delivered shortly after noon for Oregon Recovers Advocacy Day in front of Oregon’s state capitol. I wrote the speech, showered, and drove to Salem, a three hour, much slower than necessary, drive after driving seven plus hours the day before. After the speech, I shook some hands of legislators, talked with other moms, advocates, and people in recovery. The young people in recovery filled my cup. Jack came right up to me and wrapped me up with a huge hug. He’s trying. A young woman shared that she has six weeks – she’s trying too. Please watch out for them. For all of them.
Here’s the recording of my speech:
New Chapter
I look forward to this new chapter that I turn the page to after one more sleep. I know I’ll see you there. I’ll need you there, you know? We’ve got work to do, together. I love you to infinity and beyond!
It’s 5pm on a Sunday evening. I’ve been meaning to get to the sanctuary of my loft to write all day, but first a task that I must accomplish, and then the sun is out, and I must read in the sun. And it might just be too late now, but I’m going to write anyway. I have a lot of this and thats, not any one thing in particular to write about. Maybe a theme will emerge, and maybe not. Since it feels like it might be just some rambling right now, I am addressing this blog entry as a letter to Blake, but Blake is in everyone. He is in all that are hurting, all that are loving, all that are driven to escape, and all that are seeking truth. He is we, and we are us.
My Dearest Blaker,
I have so much to tell you, and it is with deep gratitude that I know that you already know. I also know that you will listen to me tell you these stories and replay little snippets of my life for you, because love. Where to start…
I was just on the phone with Heather, and we were talking about a very special person’s journey to healing. She said that she believes this person’s healing really took hold because of her connection to her counselor. I believe that’s where all healing starts – with connection to another human. Johann Hari said that, “The opposite of addiction is not sobriety; the opposite of addiction is connection.” I believe this to be true. But I believe it goes further than this. The opposite of greed, the opposite of jealousy, the opposite of hatred, the opposite of self doubt,…and the list goes on, maybe not the opposite, but the antidote. We have the power to heal each other, if we just show up, ya know? It doesn’t have to be perfect; we just have to be willing. It’s going to be messy, and we’re going to make mistakes, but we’re also going to discover beauty within ourselves and within each other. That beauty, that light, inspires further healing, and the light radiates further, and allows us to reach out even more. There is no end to our capacity for healing, but we have to take that first step. We have to show up.
Why is it so hard to show up, so easy to hide away when we are feeling pain? For myself, sometimes I just want to crawl into a hole and isolate. I even know that showing up is the answer to my despair. And it’s not even that I want to stay in my pity party of one. Admittedly, I do like to spend time alone, but the being alone that I’m referring to is different than wanting to be alone to recharge. This kind of isolation is knowingly doing the opposite of what I know would boost my spirit. I don’t know why I do this. I bet you did this when you were in your physical form too. I know you did. I bet most people do this at one time or another.
I believe we have a choice to make. I have a choice to make. I can take all that I am, bottle it up, and stop becoming, or I can reach out and show up, even when the tears are flowing and the ‘ugly’ crying face is real, and I can be seen. And you know what happens when you or I show up like this? Other people cry too, because they have a similar experience or they can share our feelings or acknowledge the pain of what we’re feeling. Sometimes we show up to love, and sometimes we show up to be loved. When we don’t have enough love for ourselves or when we’re afraid we’re going to break if we’re in the presence of others, we have to show up. I’m not talking about showing up for obligations, I’m talking about showing up for a cup of coffee or tea with a friend, a walk, or a trip to the beach. It seems we occupy most of our time with the obligations and pass on the opportunities that contribute to our well being.
Just two weeks ago, I made a decision to refocus on my health and nutrition. You may have noticed that I’ve been throwing lots of stuff in the f#*! it bucket lately. That is the opposite of showing up. So I’m back on track and feeling better already. That helps me show up. It’s not easy to turn things around when you get off track, but baby steps are a good place to start.
Last weekend was a huge step. I’ve been trying to figure out a way to pay tribute to you. So many of the things I’ve thought about feel heavy to me right now. The shaman that I met with a few months ago told me that you advised that I didn’t need to continue fighting addiction, because I had done my time, and that if I did choose to continue fighting addiction, that it was my choice. I don’t feel like I can turn away from addiction because I have knowledge gained from an experience that is now killing 250 people a day. I cannot turn away from that. If my speaking up saves even one life, then it is worth it. So there will be an education and advocacy component. For those 250 lives lost though, there are 250 mothers, fathers, and siblings that are suddenly overcome with grief. For the ones that find themselves in this place, I want to show up. I want to show up with them. I want to celebrate you and all that you were, without this disease, and I want to celebrate their children too.
Someone posted this paragraph from the book “Beartown” by Fredrick Backman, on Facebook yesterday. It is such a beautiful and true description of the love between a parent and their child:
“The love a parent feels for a child is strange. There is a starting point to our love for everyone else, but not this person. This one, we have always loved, we loved them before they even existed. No matter how well-prepared they are, all moms and dads experience a moment of total shock, when the tidal waves of feelings first washes through them, knocking them off their feet. It’s incomprehensible, because there’s nothing to compare it to. It’s like trying to describe sand between your toes or snowflakes on your tongue, to someone who’s lived their whole life in a dark room. It sends the soul flying.”
It makes sense then, that when the physical being of a child is stripped from this Earth, from the arms of their parents, forever, that the souls of the parents would plummet to depths not meant to be seen. It is work to climb from those depths. It is the most unfair thing that could happen. It takes faith that the love remains and always will. The meaning that I make out of our last conversation including these two words continues to evolve. “Faith” and “love,” that is what this is all about – this child loss journey. And in the broader sense, that is what life is all about.
So last weekend, I went with friends to Lincoln City. We rented an AirBnB right on the beach. We had a view of the ocean from a big window in the living room. One of my friends has a child, Sean, who is with you on the Otherside. Two of my friends have children who are fighting addiction. We all know the realities of this disease. It is exhausting to parents who have a child with substance use disorder, but know that I’d do it all again knowing the outcome. I’m glad that the four of us moms found each other, and I wish that I had known them when you were present on Earth. I believe we are the only ones that can sit with each other, without judgment, and hear the details of how addiction steals our children, leaving us feeling frightened and helpless, although never hopeless, unless we lose.
But, we must go on right? I know, with every ounce of my being, that you expect me to go on, that you do not want me to bottle myself up. I know you want me to continue being the person you saw. So together, Kim and I, Jenn and Brandee, along with you and Sean, and many other angel children sent to us by their mothers, held a ceremony of dance and celebration on the beach at sunset. It was beautiful Blake. I know you were there. I know we were surrounded by angels. This ritual, as it will become, done with others, brought so much healing. It took me to another place – a place of deep connection and knowing, a place of being seen, where the love was acknowledged and celebrated and held in sacred space. It was freedom Blake.
The power of healing together.
Kim and I want more moms to experience this. We’re going to work on this with Jen and Brandee. It was Kim’s idea to invite Sacred Mamas to send us pictures of their angel children so that we could take them to the beach. I joined in after listening to an episode of Irene Weinberg’s “Grief and Rebirth” podcast with Paige W. Lee. I have since purchased Ms. Lee’s book “Choose to Believe: A Story of Miracles, Healing, and the Afterlife,” which I recommend. While listening to this podcast, I got chills that vibrated up and down my whole body. It was a knowing that healing is possible. In that moment, I felt inspired to show up for healing, to take action for my own healing, and in that process, the healing of others. Like I said before, it doesn’t have to be perfect; we just have to be willing. I know that healing the self inspires others to heal, even if they think they can’t or they think they aren’t ready. We can sit side by side and just accept each other where we are, and we can take each others’ hand, and walk together. I wish you had found that profound sense of connection.
We played in the sand Blake. I built rock creatures, one representing you, and one representing Sean. Kim and I talked to our rock creature sons and posed for pictures. You and Sean were probably laughing with each other at your silly moms. But you know we did this because we love you both so much. Play is healing, and playing together is exponentially more healing.
Play is healing.Thanks to you and Sean for being with us!
As a group, we made a mandala. The first time the four of us got together after we met as a group for the first time on Advocacy Day (which was on your birthday last year), we met to pick fruit. Out in the orchard, we made our first group mandala. I believe it will be a thing we do together wherever we go. Mandalas are a creation of beauty and connection. The circle, representing the concept of no beginning and no end, is a representation of our love for our children. I also believe that it is a representation of life, although in human form, we recognize a beginning and an end. We worked on the design together and carefully set the rocks for symmetry, so that one side mirrored the other, which to me signifies giving and receiving light. Stepping inside our mandala creation, we joined hands and shared energy.
It was a beautiful weekend and very difficult to return to the work week. On Friday morning, you showed up as a robin, or you sent a robin, to get my attention by repeatedly flying into the living room window. You know, some people might think believing in signs like I do is crazy, but it doesn’t matter. It’s what I feel in my heart. It’s faith and love, right? So the robin – I’ve read before that this bird has spiritual significance, so I looked it up. On learnreligions.com, it says, “A little robin, with its quirks, is a messenger sent by the divine and the angels to remind you that you are not alone. Even when inside you are not alone. A robin looks for a mate to create a family. Robins leave their home to migrate, and they gather together as a community when food is scarce. They have to go out into that big world, and it takes all their strength to do so…Your robin brings the message of strength. It reminds you to never give up and that you are strong. Have faith in your strength and in your future. Your robin is here to teach you that it may not seem so quite yet, but the world is a safe place for you.”
Then yesterday, I was sitting outside reading the book I talked about earlier. The shade started creeping up on me, so I moved to a sunnier spot. I was sitting there for a few minutes, when I noticed this big white rock about four feet away from me. This was a glistening rock and not native to our area. It looked like it had been outside for some time, as it was dirty on one side. I picked it up and moved it to the table on the deck, intending to research its healing properties later. This morning, dad saw the rock as soon as he woke up. I told him where I found it, and he went out to look at it, determining that it was quartzite. Crystalangelwings.com has this to say about quartzite: “Quartzite stabilizes positive changes by anchoring them in the fabric of your physical subtle bodies. It helps prevent you from slipping back to your old state after you undergo any uplifting change, such as a healing or spiritual experience.” What a beautiful and meaningful gift – an acknowledgment of this journey!
Thank you for the gift of you, in life and in death. I’d do anything to bring you back to your physical form, free from the grips of addiction, if that was possible. Since I know it’s not, I must be with what is, and what is is a continuation of our relationship of love and discovery and learning. You’ve always ignited my curiosity in possibility and challenged my understanding of what is seen and unseen. Of course you would continue to do that in your new free form.
Standing at the storefront in the rain next to Thom, I handed Sarafina’s leash to him, as I told him, “You know I have to go in here.” Stepping through the door, I was surrounded in rich colors and fantastic patterns, clothing that sparks my imagination and appeals to my funky and free style.
I moved slowly through the store, soaking up the textures of the materials through my fingertips, forgetting that Thom was waiting outside with our puppy. I was aware that I was the only person in the store besides the person at the counter. As I got closer to him, I commented on how much I appreciated the store and expressed my wish to be able to dress in clothing like this every day. He responded that he heard this sentiment from many of the people who came into the store.
As I continued to meander through the fabrics and designs, we engaged in casual conversation. Some may not think the conversation was casual, but as a mother to a son on the Otherside, whose birthday it was that day, it was casual. He shared that the store is his mom’s and that he made the decision to move from Colorado to Bandon to help his mom. He was knowledgeable about the merchandise, and the extent that his mother went to in bringing this store’s products to this location. I remarked that just being in the store, I know I would like his mom, that she must be just magical. He said, “That’s a good description of her – yes she is.”
Trying to choose one thing, or a couple of things, I was overwhelmed. It took me back to a shopping trip that we took with Blake to Woodburn Factory Outlet. I told my new friend about this, how I saw these shoes, grey high-tops that were adorned with silver studs and chains, designed by a daughter of one of the rappers from Run DMC. I tried them on and walked around the store in them. I loved them, but they were pretty impractical and kind of expensive. They surely weren’t shoes that I would wear on the daily and probably not even monthly. So, I left them at the store. When we were putting our purchased items in the car, Blake stopped and looked at me, kind of accusatorily. “Mom, where are your shoes!?!” I told him that I decided not to get them, that I didn’t need them. He said, “Mom, you love those shoes. You need to go back and get them.” And I did. And I am so so glad that I did. I have this memory of him recognizing how much I loved something – some thing – that he knew I wanted, and because of that, he wanted it for me, even more than I wanted it for myself.
I told my new friend that it was my firstborn son’s birthday and that he was on the Otherside. I told him that he would tell me I could pick whatever I wanted. I could feel that. It was not just some excuse to go crazy in this store, which I didn’t. It was a message of gratitude from him. But there was this dress, this flowy purple and blue dress of creamy fabric and so much free spirit style that it nearly sashayed itself right off the hanger and across the floor. The blue and purple are significant because sapphire and amethyst are mine and Blake’s birthstones.
I didn’t buy the dress. The price tag was heavy, and it wasn’t really practical. It wasn’t a need. I told my new friend I would think about it and come back the next day if I decided to buy it. We parted ways.
That night, as Thom and I were enjoying our Happy Birthday Tribute to Blake Sushi Dinner, I was thinking about the day. There were really no signs. I’m especially aware of and open to signs on days like this. We planned to enjoy meals that Blake would enjoy, and really, with very little open for a weekday breakfast where we were, it was a sign that we found some really good chicken fried steak that morning.
There were no orbs though, no coins on the ground, no messages sent through technology. These are the signs that I’ve been most familiar with, although I am aware of deeper signs. The deeper ones though, might be missed if I’m not paying attention. I no longer believe in coincidence.
Then I realized that the biggest sign, the most beautiful sign, was this interaction with this person, who before I walked into The Spirit of Oregon in Old Town Bandon, I had not spoken with. This person shared the extent to which he was willing to go for his mother; he shared the love that he has for his mother. I knew – that was my sign.
I went back the next day and tried on and bought the dress. It makes me feel ‘magickal.’ Feeling magickal is practical and necessary and love. I told this person – his name is Jack – the name of my paternal grandpa – that before Blake passed, I didn’t think about the afterlife, but since his passing, I think about it often. I intentionally read about and talk about signs. I told him that he was the messenger of the sign that I received on Blake’s birthday, and I thanked him for sharing the love that he has for his mom with me. He told me that he was glad that he shared with me, and he provided a little more of the backstory. When you know, you cannot unknow, and I know – Blake took me to that shop on his birthday, and he blessed me with this message and this magickal dress. From Jack’s compassion and openness to my gratitude, which I realize might seem over the top to many, I believe he may have needed to hear the story of Blake just as much as I needed to hear the story of his mom.
Last year at this time, I was so scared to leave 2019 behind. I had this ebbing pain that came with the loss of Blake – this fear that turning the page to a new year and a new decade would somehow separate us even more. What I’ve learned is that while time measures how long we’ve been physically distant from each other, my heart cannot read a clock or a calendar. I know there are hundreds of mothers joining the club of mothers who have lost a child to substance use disorder/overdose/poisoning every day, and we should all be alarmed. We should all rise up and demand better from our systems, our communities, and each other. What I would tell these mothers though, is that you will always love your child. You will think of them every single day, every waking hour. Look for them, they are with you. Look for them in the good times; and be aware of their encouraging presence during the challenges.
This past year has been a mixed bag for me personally. I entered 2020 knowing that I needed to take some time for myself. I had been showing up to do the work of my previously unbroken heart during the months since Blake’s passing, smiling pleasantly for the children, trying to be present for them, all while carrying this immense weight that I could not let them see or feel. This made me incredibly tired. I also felt guilty because I knew that they were not getting what they deserved. I saw a doctor who granted my request for a medical leave of absence for the month of February.
February – Blake’s birth month, and the first birthday that we would spend without his physical presence on Earth. While he spent his 22nd and his 28th birthdays in in-patient treatment, and his 27th in sober living in Los Angeles, this new separation was final. We were navigating a new normal. It just so happened that his actual birthday was Advocacy Day at the state legislature, and I was offered a platform to speak about my heartbreak, as a mother who lost her child to substance use disorder. The afternoon before the event, I sat in the passenger seat and wrote, as Thom drove us to Salem.
The next day, we got up early. I put the final touches on my poem that I would read on the steps of the state capitol, and we found our way there. It felt good to keep his memory alive in the presence of so many who understood, and to speak with legislators about what this disease is doing to families and communities and what is needed to make positive change. I made lifelong friends that day – other mothers who know and understand the pain, whether their children are with Blake or are still struggling to break the chains. By the end of the day, I was tired. Thom and I stopped at a favorite sushi place that we both frequented with Blake when one of us would take him to his monthly appointment with his Suboxone doctor in Portland. The sushi didn’t taste near as good that night.
That weekend, we celebrated Blake’s birthday with a couple of Blake’s friends and some new friends of ours, preparing some of his favorite foods. This is often a question from moms newly on this journey, “How do you get through their birthday?” What I’ve learned about myself, is that I must intentionally grant myself time to just be with him. After I’ve done that, I can emerge and give myself to the needs and attention of others. On this day especially, I need to love and care for him. I need to cook for him and share him with others.
The next week, I spent two days at La Pine High School, speaking with youth about the realities of substance use and substance use disorder, using my story, and Blake’s story, in an effort to normalize what so many are struggling with, whether it is them personally, a family member, or a friend. I can definitely see myself doing more of this work, perhaps while RVing throughout the United States.
Thom and I ended the month of February with a retreat to Ashland, where we lazily walked through the park, shopped downtown, ate some really good food, and even found and walked into Tunnel 13, the site of the country’s last train robbery. That was a fun hike, but it was admittedly also kind of creepy. We returned home, somewhat invigorated, and I returned to work on March 2nd.
I worked for two whole weeks. I can’t say that I was upset by the news that spring break was being extended by a week, and then a month, and then the rest of the school year. I was suddenly forced to sit my butt down and be still with my grief, and I felt grateful. I settled into a pattern of more rest, more exercise, more cooking and reading, and learning about and doing yoga. I took care of my mind and body and paid attention to my needs. I soaked up the sun, raked our yard, and painted my kitchen.
Blake’s one year angelversary, July 23rd, found us taking a trip to Eagle Point, where we spent the day with him at Lost Creek Lake. We saw him everywhere and could feel the magic of his presence in nature, his favorite place to be.
By August, I felt an ominous cloud hanging over me in regard to the impending return-to-school date. I really didn’t know what to do. What I wanted to do was sell the house, buy an RV, and hit the road. I still want to do that, but it’s not quite time – yet. I had been watching various job sites, and I was struggling with the pros and cons of leaving my 20 year career in education. What I knew was that the stress of the pandemic and the uncertainty that it brought to the daily lives of all I would be involved with would be too much for my mental health. That was the bottom line. I responded to a job posting for a paralegal after researching the firm. Almost two weeks later, I answered a call from an unfamiliar number and passed the initial screening for the paralegal position. The first interview was set and then the second. The job offer arrived in my inbox within the hour on Friday afternoon – two and a half days before I was scheduled to report back to school. Happy dance with tears!
I started my new job on August 31st, shortly after Thom’s dad’s wife passed away. Throughout September, Thom helped his dad settle his affairs in Boise. By the beginning of October, Thom moved his dad into a travel trailer on our property. There is challenge and reward in this transition. Overall, I am happy to be in a position to be able to have Thom help his elderly father. It is challenging to watch the effects of physical aging and to accept the reality of the continuation of the process, both the known and the unknown.
Also in October, Lucas, our youngest son, and his fiance, Kristen, (yes, he proposed in September, and she said YES!) took a long vacation to Montana, where her family lives. I had a suspicion that this vacation would turn into something more. Sitting together at the table, after eating Thanksgiving dinner, it was confirmed. Lucas and Kristen were planning to move to Paradise Valley, Montana at the beginning of 2021. The next day I put a deposit on a puppy.
Knowing that they were getting ready to move out of our home and out of the state, I poured every ounce of myself into the Christmas holiday. We hunted for the perfect tree with Lucas. I scoured the Internet, mostly Etsy, for heartfelt gifts. I shopped downtown stores for local items. I created our breakfast and dinner menu and grocery shopping lists. Right in the middle of December, I picked up my new love, Sarafina. On Christmas, we celebrated a perfect day, our family, as it is, the end of a chapter, and the beginning of a new adventure.
The day ended with a phone call that my PawPaw had passed from COVID, a month and a day shy of his 98th birthday. He was my maternal grandpa. He had been in a nursing home for a number of years, as he had debilitating arthritis, among other ailments. Having not had a close relationship with him, as my mother prefers to deny my existence, I was more happy than sad, that he was not in pain anymore and could now dance on the Otherside. In the days ahead though, I was reminded, once again, that my mother does not consider me to be part of the family that is indeed mine, and I felt the stabbing of her dagger in my heart. I cried that night and rose the next morning. Driving to work, the full moon still in the sky, Blake seemed to be deejaying the radio station. First Train and then G. Love and Special Sauce. I don’t know if Blake ever heard the song “Diggin’ Roots”, but it always makes me think of him when I hear it.
With everything that has happened, especially in the last quarter of 2020, I have neglected my physical self-care, which is tied to my overall well-being. I enter into 2021 with a bit more anxiety and knowledge that I have work to do. That is a constant though. I always have work to do. I am willing to do it. Sometimes it’s two steps forward and one step back. 2020 was a year of huge evolution, a year of experiencing love to and from the Otherside, a year of realizing that sorrow and joy can co-exist, a year of understanding that life is about more than meets the eye, and a year of courage. I am and will remain curious and resilient. I will take courage with me and develop it further, as I carry it into unknown places and spaces. I will take intentional steps to manifest the future that I see, which starts with a recommitment to my physical health, a Zoom meeting with Anna B. David on Tuesday afternoon about writing a book, an 8-week “Sacred Time – Space: Grief and Psychic Phenomena” course that begins in three weeks, and research into starting a non-profit..
I read a page from a book, title unknown, that was posted yesterday in a group that I belong to on Facebook, and it really resonated with how I’m coming to understand life and death. I am going to quote each paragraph of the page, beginning with a quote by Frederick Buechner, and respond with my personal experience as it relates to knowing Blake, from the Otherside, and knowing myself in the before and after.
“Dead and gone though they may be, as we come to understand them in new ways, it is as though they come to understand us – and through them we come to understand ourselves – in new ways, too.”
Frederick Buechner
Growing up, I was exposed to religious beliefs that were harsh, instilling fear and finality. I turned my back to those beliefs on the day I graduated from high school, leaving my home and losing most of my support system. While I physically walked away, the impact of the exposure stayed with me and still impacts me to this day, although I can say that it does not control my thoughts or behaviors as it once did. In my upbringing, this quote would have been considered ridiculous. In fact, it would not have even been considered. Dead was dead. The end. Well, until the Second Coming, but that’s not what this is about.
That mostly stuck. I have lost some people throughout my life. I lost my maternal grandmother when Blake was a baby, but we were not particularly close due to my mother’s abandonment of me. We lost Thom’s mother to cancer when I was 9 weeks pregnant with Lucas. I lost an older friend who worked down the hall from me, who came to watch out for me. I lost my paternal grandparents, my grandpa to heart failure and later my grandma, after a long battle with Alzheimers. I lost my brother to addiction. All of these deaths were somewhat understandable. Most of them occurred after a life well lived. I experienced some sadness, but I didn’t question what happened to them or look for them after the loss.
Losing a child is different. The pain can sometimes be excruciating; there is guilt; there is questioning; there is sorrow, for what is gone and what will never be. For me there is also an awakening and a new sense of being present. I understand a depth of duality in my own human existence that I’ve never been truly aware of. I’ve read about the soul and the ego and listened to podcasts on those topics, but because of Blake’s travel to the Otherside, my understanding is evolving.
“This delicate dance with the souls of the dead is something we don’t begin to understand right away. We think the immediate relationship is ended, though we know we will continue to remember, and to grieve.”
This takes me back to the first days, even to the days sitting at Blake’s bedside in the hospital. I felt the absence of Blake’s soul before he was declared dead. Those machines could not prevent his soul’s departure. The night before he left, I invited him to visit from the Otherside. I believed it was possible. I had to. But I didn’t know. Those two words that he said during our last conversation, that are tattooed around my wrist with infinity signs separating them, ‘faith’ and ‘love’ have proven constant reminders to stay open to the possibility. And I’m learning, because he’s teaching me, showing me, that it’s not just a possibility.
I don’t remember the sequence, but I believe I know, or rather, my soul knows. Sometime during Blake’s hospital stay, I’ll venture to say it was after his soul departed, I started receiving inspirational quotes from an app called ‘Shine.’ I don’t recall subscribing to this app, and I had never before received these motivations. I thought it was odd, and even considered if Blake might be sending me messages. These messages continued, consistently for awhile. I still receive them on occasion, but not like during those first days and months. Here’s a screenshot of one of the messages:
“But as we dwell in memory on our experiences with the one who is physically gone, his or her psychic presence, rather than being confined to the the body we knew and loved, seems somehow to expand and surround us with its gentle understanding, its compassion and love.”
I snapped the screenshot above after I accepted that these messages were intended for me, after birds visited, seeming to hang out, and after seeing his orb dance in the moonlight. His psychic presence is astounding, expanding my understanding and experience of unconditional love, cracking open my sense of the reality of what is, and filling it with magick. I get to experience the purity of him, the unblemished, unscarred him, the him that has no fear – only love and joy.
In experiencing him this way, I’m understanding that this exists in me too, that this is my soul, that my soul knows, truly knows. There are things that Blake said before he left that indicated a knowing. I believe he said these things intuitively. He acted on the message he received from his soul, with or without intention.
Because of him, I want to be more in touch with myself – not the self that is deluged and corrupted with information that keeps me distracted and confused, but the self that knows already, the self that sees beauty and love and that just is. It really is amazing, isn’t it?
“So we enter upon different kinds of conversations, often exchanges without words. We seem to arrive at a mutual understanding and appreciation for the goodness and the difficulty we were in each other’s life. We’re able to smile benevolently at all that flurry and to relish, instead, this deep love and peace.”
I think about him and feel him everyday. I’m listening better now, to this angel child of mine, than I likely ever did when he was my earth child. I listen to my intuition, my knowing. Just last night, I put on the movie Finding Forrester, a movie I’ve been thinking about for some time, since before Sean Connery’s passing. I’ve watched this movie numerous times. I scrolled through all the movies and thought about instead watching one of the Christmas movies, since we just decorated our tree. I told myself, soul to brain, ‘No, there’s some reason I’ve been thinking about this movie. This is the one I’m supposed to watch.’ And I watched through a new lens, and listened, and heard. I know I watched this movie with Blake, when he was here and last night. He told me this:
There was deep love between Blake and I here, unconditional love as I then understood it. I know he has peace now, and for that I’m grateful. I do wish he could have found it here. I think that William Forrester, through his friendship with Jamal, found peace after experiencing the consequences of anguish from losing his brother. I think Blake wants me to be tuned in to his brother, to help him in whatever way I can, to have peace from the loss of him.
Any difficulty that Blake brought to my life was through the disease that afflicted his mind. His soul though, overshadowed at times by addiction, remained out of its reach.
I’m not sure I’ll ever be at true peace with Blake’s departure. The idea of that is incomprehensible. I am, however, grateful to feel the gentle and beautiful rhythm of the earth mom and angel child dance.
Blake was a perfectionist. A child learns what they live. This philosophical belief resonated with me when I read the poem by Dorothy Nolte, probably in my late teens. I’ve never really thought of myself as a perfectionist, but I’m coming to understand that, like Blake, I don’t like to do anything I’m not good at. I’m good at giving grace and space to others, but not to myself. While I consider that failure only applies in very limited situations, I also don’t attempt, or even consider, that which I perceive I will be unable to master – quickly. I set goals that I’m fairly certain I can accomplish.
Perfectionism is from the ego. It’s the voice that says not to show up because someone, outside of self, will judge. It’s the inner voice of self criticism that says, ‘I suck at this,’ ‘I’m not good enough to show up here,’ It’s about controlling the outside perception of self, from the inside.
In these situations, I find comfort in the shadows. If I don’t show up, my inability won’t be seen. There will be no judgment, at least from others. At the same time, I deny myself opportunities for learning, for overcoming, for being vulnerable, for relying on the expertise of others, for welcoming others who may be feeling ‘not good enough.’
I think about this in relation to addiction. The relapses. The need for and reliance on medication assisted treatment. What others tell them about this. The avoidance of family gatherings. The rejection of love. The desire to stay in the shadows. The danger of the shadows. Because shame.
Perfectionism. Control. Shame.
My boy continues to teach me. When Blake first left his physical body, I didn’t want to learn anything from the experience of losing him. I wanted to stay the same. I wanted to be miserable and wanted to rise at the same time. I’m learning so much. I don’t know how, but it’s like he cracked me wide open, the first time when he was born, and the ‘infinity and beyond’ time, when he left me here, to reach me and teach me from the Otherside.
I remember the first, and actually only, time I was accused of thinking I am perfect. I was on the phone with my dad, probably 20 years ago. “You think you’re so perfect, don’t you Tonya!?!” I literally crumbled to the floor in my kitchen. Thinking you’re perfect and being a perfectionist are polar opposites. I responded that he had no idea who I was. He still doesn’t and likely never will.
I have been driven to please – others. I have tried to control situations for the sake of maintaining peace – but not my own. This is often the outcome of childhood trauma. I have been the chameleon. The layers of damaged skin are peeling away, and I’m letting it. I’m showing up, more and more, as I am. It’s not easy. It’s scary and paralyzing and anxiety provoking, and freeing. There’s loss and acceptance and celebration in all of it. Sometimes I resist that which I know will help me be my best self, like proper nutrition. Sometimes I want to escape into the numbness of an extra glass of wine.
But I’m showing up. I’m doing things that I’m not great at, besides bowling. I’m terrible at bowling, but I can laugh at myself, and bowl anyway. Today I drew myself in the arms of my guardian angel, because it was an assignment in a workshop that I’m taking. And I posted it in the “21-Day Angel Adventure” private FB group, not because I think it is so good, but because I did it. I’ve always avoided drawing, because I decided I wasn’t good at it. Blake was an amazing artist. He was really amazing at anything he tried to do.
He stopped drawing. It broke my heart. I begged him to draw things for me, and I couldn’t understand when he turned away. But it was shame. He stopped doing all of the things he was good at. Maybe he was resisting too – resisting doing the things that brought him pride and confidence in himself and resisting doing things that brought praise from the outside. We noticed that after he maintained recovery for some time that we would recognize his effort, and without fail, he would relapse. We stopped expressing our pride. Recognizing wasn’t working – maybe silent cheering would. There was no way to control this.
I have a long history with addiction. Addiction and I go back to before I was born. Maybe generations. It still exists today, and I am trying to make sense of that which makes no sense. A disease that seems rooted in underlying trauma. I wonder about perfectionism, about the cost of not measuring up, of not feeling worthy, of hiding who you are for acceptance, when that acceptance will never last. Because the facade cannot last.
I’ve been sitting with this for a few weeks. I’ve come here to write a number of times. I’ve started and walked away. Tonight, I’ve written some words on the screen, thoughts. I’m sharing the picture I drew. It’s all a reflection of me, of not trying to reach perfection, because I’m not willing to pay the high cost of something that is absolutely unattainable, something that will only make me sick. Maybe you’re ready to stop paying the price as well.
A quote from Ellen Waterston’s book Then There Was No Mountain: A Parallel Odyssey of a Mother and Daughter Through Addiction:
“…maintaining facades to protect us from our own truth, prevents us from healing, distorts our sense of our own reality. Whatever the secret is, it should be told. As soon as it is, it loses its power, becomes a story, even a song. If we protect the enemy, individually or as a family, we cannot heal, can’t help others heal.
The secrets we keep stake their claim, keep part of us hostage, prevent that part of us from being in life, in love. Once the boulder is rolled away from the entrance to the cave, light can shine in. Resurrection truly takes place. Our children’s task is to survive their parents, but they have to know all they can about them in order to survive them. It is about claiming a right to life. If we don’t as parents tell our truth, and if, as Fay says, “children express what we suppress”…fill in the blank. We reap what we don’t sow.”
First, the word sin. I’m not comfortable with classifying behavior, as I believe that behavior is a form of communication. I also believe that language evolves and the same word can hold different meaning throughout time. That said, from age 8 to 18, I grew up in a very religious house. I could not help but absorb many of the teachings, some which instilled fear, but many that provided some food for thought through the years. I have come back to this phrase from the 2nd Commandment, ‘The sins of the father shall be born upon the children to the third and fourth generation…’ (Deuteronomy 5:9) To me, this verse speaks to traumas suffered by parents and how those traumas impact the generations that come after.
Renowned addiction and trauma expert, Dr. Gabor Mate, draws correlations between childhood trauma and addiction which point to addiction being a temporary relief from emotional pain that is repeated over and over without regard to negative consequences. Research has shown that we can suffer trauma through the traumas that those before us suffered. The results of this are evident among various groups who have been marginalized, oppressed, and victims of violence throughout history and today. This is not my opinion. This is proven through the study of epigenetics. I am not going to provide links to resources in this blog, as my purpose today is not to write a research paper, but to add words to my story, my family’s story.
I read the book containing the above quote eight years ago. Throughout Blake’s addiction, I constantly sought information through reading and Internet research. Nearly every mother who has a child who is sick becomes very educated about the disease that afflicts their child. This quote about secrets may not initially bring addiction to mind, but it is a huge part of our story.
I am a secret, although I have become less and less of a secret throughout my life. This has forced my children to also be secrets. I didn’t ask for this, and neither did they. If/when my youngest son, Lucas, has children, they will also be secrets, although I imagine the impact will begin to soften to the third and fourth generation. I have lived in defiance of this burden since Blake was born, but my defiance never was and cannot be an eraser. Real work remains.
As the secret, I am also the secret keeper. I came to be the secret through the choices of my biological mother. Her choices came from her experiences, which shaped her perspective. I know that she understood that her choice, in regard to me, would hurt me; however, she believed that the sacrifice was necessary. Over the years, I have gone through an array of feelings in regard to this, from sadness, anger, and apathy, to acceptance of what is.
And then this quote came up in my Facebook memories the other day. Combined with the recent passing of my youngest brother from my biological mother, and knowing that my nephew was struggling, a nephew that I’ve never met or talked with, I felt compelled to reach out to him. Thursday night, I sent him a DM:
Hey Christopher ~ I know Curtis talked to you about me. My family has always been super important to me, especially family that I have little access to because of decisions that were made about my life before I had any say. Unfortunately, the adults in my toddler life didn’t consider the loss that I would feel and how their decisions would affect so many. I held you when I met your mom. You were about 5 months old. I never spoke to her again after that day. I don’t know why. I’m your mom’s younger sister and your aunt, and for some reason I’ll likely never understand, I don’t exist. But believe me, that stops with your mom and grandma. I live life on my terms. I don’t hold any grudges, but I’m tired of being a secret. This is about me showing up after my little brother’s passing, knowing you’re hurting, and saying, “Hey Christopher!”
Thank you, Ellen Waterston, for the encouragement. That’s the power of the story, to encourage others. This is also why I tell my story.
In the story of me becoming or being a secret, I had to maintain a facade that I didn’t belong to my family. I had to toss aside my birthright, as if that is even possible. And then I had to put that expectation on my children, that they too should toss aside their birthright. I had to stay away from, and deny my children, experiences of family celebration and mourning and accept the void of absence in our own celebrations and times of mourning. I existed as authentically as possible, while simultaneously existing in a vacuum, being held hostage. I can hope that my resilience acted to nourish the souls of my children, but the realist in me knows that my strength could also be interpreted as a facade, a denial of what has been.
Throughout Friday and Saturday, much truth has been shared. I recognize that this is hard. I understand that I have had 50 years to comprehend and accept this bucket of truths. This truth was shared with Blake and Lucas throughout their lives. My niece also knows this truth, and has also been burdened with the weight of keeping the secret, living within the confines of the expectation that the secret is kept. There is no real padlock on this cage, only the padlock of fear of pain, when really, the pain is remaining in the cage and not walking wholeheartedly into the storm, because I expect there will be some storms.
I am only responsible for myself. I am a lover and a believer that the Universe reflects back to me what I project into the world. In hiding, the Universe keeps things hidden. In revealing myself, in loving, I get to know another, and to receive love. I get to live and love more fully. I get to heal. Others get to heal when they may not have even understood the wound. If I don’t kick open the cage door, I am not claiming what belongs to me – my life. My why? Of course, it’s for all of this, but it’s also for my children, and for my siblings’ children. As Ellen says when quoting a teacher in her memoir, “children express what we suppress…”
With each layer of the secret exposed, each person involved is terrified no more. The storms will not be without damage to repair, to rebuild. The work will be hard, but just like communities that come together and rebuild after a hurricane or wildfire, the efforts of those willing to do the heavy lifting will be rewarded. The next generation will reap the reward of today’s courage instead of the weight of the trauma.
Finally, I can’t know what would have been had I found the strength to go down this road before Blake passed. I believe that there is a time for everything, and I will not be burdened by the what ifs. They come, surely, and I let them go, like the tide. Blake wouldn’t want me to be bogged down. After yesterday’s FaceTime call with my nephew, Blake’s piano composition started playing on my computer, an ‘I love you’ from the Otherside. I love you too Blake, to infinity and beyond.
