On Mother’s Day it will be a year since my son, Kyle, died. For those of you who have lost the unthinkable, your child, you
wonder how you will get through it. There are no signposts on this road. You just manage and then you manage some more. A part of your own life is over. You experience intense heartache and nothing relieves it. Part of you dies with your child and you now will live your life with part of you gone. The rest of you will wrap yourself around this gaping wound and patch yourself together. It’s as if someone severed off a vital body part and the remains reconfigure themselves to survive.
It was Mother’s Day morning that he succumbed to cancer. He cried that he couldn’t take care of me when I became too old to care for myself. It was the most poignant phone call. To the end of my days, that conversation is seared in my brain. His file of writings that he kept of me have never been opened. I don’t read over his old emails now as it is too painful. I am sure one day I will smile when I read them but not yet. My phone was lost so all his texts are gone.
The first year has been healing, however. In some way his leaving has freed me to go and do what I want or need to do in the time I have remaining here on earth. When you lose what you don’t think you could ever stand to lose and survive it, you somehow don’t care any more if you exceed protocol. You can live your life full throttle knowing that you don’t care any more about dumb stuff or what people say or might think–or worse, self-censorship. You never take things for granted again and you don’t plan too far in advance as things can change on a dime. You live your life from a guided perspective rather than a controlling perspective. You now know, for sure, you can’t control anything.
Kyle has visited me three times since he left. They were all in the dream world but they were very clear visits. One of them he was in repose and said he couldn’t talk but to be sure to know that no man dies. In another, he visited me in Armstrong’s nursery here in Los Angeles and delivered a joke while I was purchasing bedding plants. In yet another dream, he was living upstairs over me (I thought the metaphor perfect) and he needed to come downstairs to borrow one of my microphones.
I learned more about the dying process since he left. I have learned that it is most important to live while the body is preparing to leave rather than trying to postpone death. I have learned that we come to earth in spirit form and encapsulate the spirit and soul in this physical body in order to work in this gravitational environment called earth. When the soul needs to leave and this physical form is no longer needed, we then create a means to get out of here. Some choose disease, others accidents, others suicide and various other forms to exit this place. We execute our plans and get rid of the physical and return to our spirit body taking with us what we learned and all the senses that were attached to the physical body.
We cannot travel the universe in this dense physical body. This is why it looks like such a black, dark space. We are frightened by death and most of us panic at the end. Perhaps, we will begin to educate ourselves about the dying process and death itself. It is still almost never discussed in our society. We have funerals and celebrate birth we still don’t touch the dying process. We all will have this experience one day.
For all of us Mothers on Mother’s Day, it is a day of unconditional love, or Mother’s love. We rejoice in what we have and the gift of life we delivered. We honor those who gave life and helped to bring in a new Soul with the promise of another opportunity to grow, learn and graduate. Life itself was always the gift.