Time, as time passes, my heart heals yes, but as time passes, the heavy hand of finality sets in, time begs for a sort of acceptance, or I find myself racing against it, bound to lose, because time keeps moving, as fast or as slow as I please. Time, it was his time, his soul chose this time to leave, this time to be born, and we are just a little out of sync with our timing it seems... Time passes, he wants to go fast, I want to go slow, we slow down the clock so I can rest, he slows down and he lays down to rest, yes, but time was unforgiving, because it was his time and not mine, and so I accept this time and hope that next time we last the whole time, together. Knowing that it was his souls time, and now this feels like my second time, I better make it count. Slowly. So I meditate, I heal in my own time, make peace with my time that's left until next time.
Celebrating Our Successes
Last week after I gave my second workshop on meditation, I was aware after I finished giving it that I should be very proud of myself, and I was, until I quickly moved on to what needed to be done next... How many of us dwell on our failures without taking proper time to celebrate our successes? Last week, I had much to celebrate; I was less nervous than when I gave the first workshop, those who attended seemed to really enjoy it, I felt like my authentic self, and the workshop seemed to really flow... But, rather than taking time to bask in my success and celebrate myself a little, I ran out the door to run errands, and began planning the workshop for the coming week. In neglecting to take time to rejoice a bit, we may very well end up working ourselves to the bone, seeking approval from others to feel good about ourselves (of course we all want to be loved by others, but I'm talking about not giving ourselves the proper love and praise we deserve, so much so that we're practically begging for it from others), and we miss the fun of celebrating a job well done. And celebrating may just mean sitting for a few minutes with how good it feels to have cultivated a new quality of being (such as patience with our children that afternoon), or to have accomplished something new or difficult, (a meditation practice, new skill, or professional task), or celebration may mean sharing the success with a friend or family member, taking ourselves out for a special treat, ordering take-out, or watching a movie just because. Whatever it is, it is so good to celebrate not only because it feels good to do so, but also because it can counteract all the focus on our “failures.” So, I encourage you all to take some time to celebrate yourself in some way this week because it feels good and because you deserve it!
Weathering through the pain in order to fully enjoy the pleasure
In the still of the afternoon after both girls have gone down for their nap, I let myself feel the sadness that has been welling up inside me since Ava's birthday party two days ago. I tried to feel happy today for Ava, but then after we ate lunch, she asked me why I wasn't happy... I guess I wasn't fooling anyone... I think putting aside certain feelings and allowing release at the appropriate time (aka not at your daughters birthday party), is one thing, but it is quite another thing to try and pretend that all is happy when it isn't. And to be okay with that. To let that emotion arise, find healthy expression, so that you can move on, a bit lighter, a bit more healed. But trying to pretend to be happy, to see all the bright things, all the while ignoring the dark things, is just simply bound to drive a person mad. And so I tried to pretend all was well. Be strong to send Mitch only love and peace, but right now, I am feeling sad, I am sad for my daughter, I am sad for myself, I am sad for Mitch, and I am sad for my family. But, time has taught me that these feelings don't last forever, I was never completely consumed by a sadness I couldn't come up from... In fact, time has taught me when I've ignored real feelings, the painful ones, they just linger in my body, eat away at my soul until I cry, write, and simply let go, and stop trying so hard to be happy all the time. But, seeing as it's Ava's Birthday, I will work through some of this stagnant emotion that has been lingering, begging for expression now while both girls are napping, so that when they are awake, I can be fully present to the joy and excitement of my daughters very special day. And then I won't be faking it because I am acknowledging what has been lying below the surface, I will express it, and I will allow for more healing. I will weather through the pain so I can fully enjoy the pleasure that is sure to follow.
Inviting in a little pleasure amidst the chaos of parenting...
All of a sudden in the midst of what felt like pure chaos, a stream of awareness stopped me in the midst of it all; my toddler refusing to nap while peeing on the kitchen floor, tiny ants crowding the juice spill on top of the kitchen counter, my three month old sitting in her bouncy chair looking like she was on the verge of tears, the sound of rain pelting the roof, dishes in the sink, and a full bladder (so busy, literally putting off peeing)... And I began to laugh, I lightened up, gathered a little perspective as the stream cleared through the muck in my mind. Everything in it's seemingly chaotic state was okay, but if I went ahead and “lost it” in that moment, things would not have been so okay... My toddler and I cleaned up her accident on the floor, we hugged, and I told her it was okay (although there have been plenty of times that I have not been so cool, calm, and collected). I turned on my i-pod, turned up the speakers and started to dance, a complete letting go, feeling-the-music kind of dancing, it felt wonderful, and it was the pleasure I needed to invite into my day at that exact moment... My toddler joined in, my newborn watched in awe, and all was truly good, except for the fact that I almost peed my pants as I was jumping through the air... I decided to allow myself time for a bathroom break. And then I went ahead and worked in squats amidst the dancing and playing because I heard that helps strengthen the pelvic floor... Yes, all was good.
Green-eyed-monster as teacher...
So I noticed I was starting to feel envious and irritated with my friend because her facebook posts were always expressing how joyful, successful, and beautiful she felt. After sitting with these feelings and not liking them very much, I decided to refocus on myself, to see what these feelings of envy and irritation were trying to communicate to me. It seemed everything I read that my friend wrote began illuminating my own gnawing self-doubts and challenges to feeling joyful, successful, and beautiful. This was about my own self-imposed limits, and not about her. Thankfully she was the catalyst that begged me to look deeper within myself. I could have dwelled on my irritation and envy, and come up with a whole host of justifications for feeling that way, continuing to blame her for being her, and neglecting an issue within myself that clearly needed my loving attention. And instead of using this as an excuse to feel bad about myself, by judging myself for having those feelings of envy and irritation, as we all tend to do sometimes, I used it as intel that I needed to give myself more love and more faith. I needed to embrace my own own joy, success, and beauty. We can go deeper into our darker feelings that often lurk in the shadows of our awareness to illuminate areas within ourselves that are in need of our caring attention, and let go of trying to be anyone other than ourselves.
Life is messy...
I am practicing being mindful about letting my daughter Ava make messes, life is messy... Letting her take out all of her barbie clothes, dolls, dress up stuff, dr stuff, without cringing, already anxious about cleaning it all up, just letting her be, letting her play. Letting her get lost in her world of make-believe, and when she asks me to play, play, really play, without playing on my phone, thinking about other things that take me away from being present with her, just being there, all there, playing, really playing. Letting go a bit and leaving the dishes until after she goes to bed some times, and fully engaging with her, learning from my daughter the art of presence, the art that we as adults re-learn through a meditation practice. Little kids know how to do this intrinsically, their minds are with their bodies, they are all present, always eager to teach us what we have forgotten; that life is now, and as we awaken to that, we stop getting lost in the past or the future. We awaken to living life by being grateful for our relationships, really listening to others, being spontaneous, seeing the beauty all around us, realizing our potential and self-worth, and loving ourselves, others, and life. A few days ago when my daughter wanted to paint, instead of thinking about the messiness of it, I painted too, and then when we were finished painting, we cleaned up together. It was beautiful.
Cause I am a superwoman...
Accepting my life for what it is now, means accepting Mitch for what he is now, a purely spiritual being. I was brought to this place, this place of surrender the other day when all of a sudden Mitch started to communicate to my friend, he communicated his overwhelming sadness. In that moment, knowing he was being affected by how I was feeling, I made a choice, an act of love really, to send him only love and peace. I couldn't and can't bear the thought of him being in any pain, and so I let go of another layer of my suffering, another layer of resistance to his passing. Except I'm finding that this is no easy feat... A part of me simply doesn't want to accept it, even though I know this is the only way. But knowing that ever tear I cry pains him as well, helps me to move more and more toward healing. And the Alicia Keys song pops into my head, “Cause I am a superwoman, yes I am... Even when I'm a mess, I still put on my vest with an S on my chest, oh yes, I'm a superwoman...” And once I made that choice in my heart, to send him love and peace, to work through another layer of my grief in order to feel more peace in my heart, my friend could feel Mitch's peace and I could too. And now a part of my mindfulness practice becomes sending him love and peace. I surrender to what is.
The story of my life after you died; A letter to my husband
There just aren't quite words to describe the depths of my pain at your passing, I feel it was just too soon, but what do I know? Perhaps I knew it all along, perhaps we agreed to this before we were born into this lifetime. Why? I don't know, you did so much good in your 32 years, and perhaps through your passing, I will do so much good with the rest of my life. I'll never forget the voice of officer Machado on the night he told me you died, “I'm sorry, I don't like to do this sort of thing over the phone...” I just knew. I dropped to the floor. He said many other things, but I was in an altered state of reality, nothing made any sense. All time ceased to exist, you were no longer apart of the reality I knew and I couldn't even begin to comprehend a world without you. I just remember laying on the floor, confused, shocked, listening but not really hearing, and the screaming and crying of my mom, the crying of my dad, and then our two year old daughter Ava woke up... I immediately went to her, laid with her, hugged her close, what just happened, how did that just happen? Take it back! Take it back! Let this be a horrible nightmare, but alas it was not, and in the ensuing days, it was like the nightmare just wouldn't end.
Driving to your mom's house in the morning to pick her up so we could go to see you, the prayer group that came over to pray for us, to share their condolences, all of the pictures of you in your mom's house, in the room we shared together for the last eight months of our lives, your clothes still smelling like you, and then we started the 14 hour drive to Yreka to see you, your body, what was left of your earthly existence. The the long drive listening to the haunting songs you posted to your facebook, studying the bible verses you posted in the weeks prior, reading and re-reading our last texts, trying to determine exactly when it was that you passed based on your last messages to me, speculating how it was that you had passed, was it appendicitis? Overcome with guilt for not going with you on that trip, I changed my mind at the last minute... Yes, that long car ride, everyone grieving, Ava wondering about all of the sadness, our dog, Chi Chi knowing something was wrong. And then arriving at the funeral home, trying to prepare to see you, but we couldn't because they had just finished the autopsy to determine how you died, and the man said it was kind of messy and to come back in the morning when you'd be all ready for us to see... That's when we made the arrangements for your cremation for the following week, they said they didn't do that sort of thing on the weekends.
Eating breakfast in the hotel cafeteria in the morning, throwing up all that I ate in the anxious anticipation of seeing you, your body, with you no longer in it... Walking into the funeral home, walking into the room where you laid, there you were, just laying there, like you were sleeping, yet I couldn't wake you. At first I hesitantly touched you, you felt so hard, so cold, you had a look of peace on your face tinged with sadness, with heartbreak that only I could see. I touched your face, touched your lips, traced your features with my finger, wanted your face to imprint into my memory forever, breathed in your smell like my own life depended on it, and I cried, how could this be? We came back to see you once more after that, we played your music, talked to you, I tried shaking you to wake you up, even though I knew you would not come to, you just looked so painfully normal, laying there, as you always did each night. As if in a dream, a horrible, horrible dream that I couldn't wake from, that I couldn't wake you from. I was forced to just sit with the reality of the life I would have to face without you.
We drove to see the horses after that last visit with you, the horses we'd visited with you on our last visit to northern california. These horses were loving on me, all over me, I felt they were you, I smiled from my heart for the first time in days. I explained to our two year old daughter when she asked for you that you were an angel now... We went to our cabin, the place where you lit that last fire to keep you warm that night, and there it was, that little wood burning heater/bbq just sitting there, right by where you laid your head that night for the last time, your poor body poisoned with carbon monoxide while you slept peacefully. Your tooth brush, your shoes, your machete, your hat, everything was just the same as you'd left it. I cleaned that day, it was painfully cold, Ava cried wondering where you were... we had never come without you. And there was our car parked underneath the oak tree, right where you left it, the oak tree that we were going to hang a swing from for Ava. Yes, everything just as I remembered, just so much colder, so much more painful, my heart now missing, you were missing, I was broken into a thousand pieces.
I went into the police station to retrieve your more valuable belongings, the keys to our car, your i-phone, your camera, and there it was, all that was left of you that I could still hold onto, all that was “valuable,” in my two hands. And in the ensuing days we waited, waited for your body to be burned to ashes, so that we could take you back home with us. The heavy urn, metal contained filled with what was left of you. We drove home with heavy hearts. In the days that followed once we got back to my parents were a blur. Crying on the floor in my room, a room that we had once shared, asking you to show me your presence if you were still with me, tingles and warmth on the left side of my body, that was your confirmation to me, you were here. Just as you told my brother on the night we found out, you told him while he was praying that you were ok, and that you would never leave my side. I began going to intensive meditation sessions so I could learn how to more fully connect with you, that was all I had. I prepared for my daughter and I's move to costa rica, the place we had planned to return to, and the place I decided to birth our second daughter due seven months later. I settled your debts, I finished my Master's program. And miracles, miraculous happenings to prove your presence to me amidst my confusion and doubts, like the playlist on your i-phone that appeared soon after you passed named horses...
And now, the question of forgiveness... I haven't had it in my heart to be mad at you, just horribly saddened, angry at what I believe to be fate, that you were simply a part of, that I was simply a part of. I look forward, I look all around me for signs of you, I depend on friends and family hearing songs that remind them of you, or seeing visions of you, or receiving messages from you in dreams, and then passing these along to me, because sometimes it's not so easy to feel you, to connect with you, but now I am learning to see you, or perhaps some of my grief is lessening a bit so you can more easily come through to me, I thank God for all of the ways that I can see you, feel you, hear you, touch you... Yes, I have since given birth to our darling Amelie, who I'm sure you visit... And take care of our nearly three year old daughter, who I pray to God that you visit in dreams, and I pray for the wisdom to help my children through understanding your transition into a purely spiritual being and out of a physical daddy body, and I pray for the strength of heart to fulfill my dream of being here in Costa Rica now with our girls, yes, prayer, meditation, good friends and family, signs of your presence, and purpose have gotten me through this madness of losing you as I had always known you. I forgive you my love, I know we would be together if we could and I thank you for being here with me now in the ways that you can. I send you only love, and I know I will get through this, I am getting through this, and I will help people because of it. I will honor you by lovingly and patiently raising our children as close to the kind of life we would have given them together, beach, freedom, culture, travel, creativity, and lots and lots of love. Yes, I will love you forever, I almost said until the day I die, but I know our love extends way beyond those measures of time and space, yes, I will love you as I have always loved you.
Just say something
It's strange because as time goes on in the grieving process, I start to feel like I “shouldn't” talk about it, like, enough time has gone by, and I "should" be moving on, I don't want to burden others with my sadness, nobody wants to hold space for that kind of pain... That voice inside that we all have sometimes that keeps us separate from one another... So, I write. But it ends up making me feel sort of alienated from people when I don't talk about it, because even though the pain has lessened, it is still a process that is very much a part of my everyday reality. I feel my husband's physical absence everyday. It's been nine months. It is getting easier, I cry less now, I express my emotions as they arise and let them move through me, but why do I feel like I have to apologize for my sadness when it arises? I think it is difficult for people to hold space for the kind of sadness I have experienced. Right after my husband passed away, even good friends weren't quite sure how to approach me, worried about what to say and what not to say... I will tell you what I told them, there is no “right” thing to say to someone who is grieving the loss of their husband, just stop worrying about what the “right” thing to say is and just say something, anything. If someone asks about what happened, or asks about my husband, or asks how I'm doing, I welcome sharing, I need to share, and if I cry, don't worry, it means I needed to cry, but I don't always cry now. So, if you know someone who has experienced a loss, don't worry about saying the right thing or the wrong thing, and just say something, from the heart is always a good option, it's not like it's not on their mind anyway, trust me.
Living life fully awake
And just when I think the day's work is done, I remember that there is still more to do, and then I remember to surrender to the work so that it becomes no better or worse, no more or less than what I'll do when I'm done with the work. Surrender to it, accept it, so it becomes a part of my meditation, a part of my spiritual practice, and then I realize this is what I have to offer others, what I have given to myself that has helped me out of the darkness. So, what has helped me? A daily spiritual practice, which happens to be writing, learning the art of being present and still through a meditation practice that has allowed me to bring this way of being into other parts of my life, being committed to seeing the spiritual in all things, circumstances, and roles, allowing emotions to move through me without judgement or resistance, the same way we birth our children, without resistance to the pain, but rather by surrendering to it, allowing it to move through us, our children, our ideas, our emotions, our thoughts, without guilt, without struggle. Finding a way of creatively expressing my emotions, leaning on friends and family that support me, lift me up, letting go of ways that no longer serve me (first becoming aware of those ways), and really allowing myself to be silently drawn to pull of what I really love -Rumi, and making that my career. Five years ago, googling spirituality and psychology and discovering a perfectly suited educational track and creating a career for myself based on how I could best serve others while utilizing all of my gifts, passions, joys, and learning how to follow my bliss, my peace, and my joy. Yes, we can all live a life fully awake, with hearts wide open to let in love and let go of pain.
Moments to start anew
Yesterday, I nearly got carried away on waves of bitterness, resentment, and in general feeling low and very sorry for myself. It is very easy to get over-identified with one particular emotion or thought, especially if it is a very potent one. Yes, yesterday by the end of the day, my back hurt from carrying around my newborn, my toddler had two accidents on the floor (very uncharacteristic of her), it was three days into a brand new routine of my toddler returning to school, and nearly marked two weeks of adjusting to caring for the girls without the help of my family, and oh yes, without the help of my husband that passed away nine months ago. Yes, I began to completely identify with my negative feelings... And then I remembered my meditation practice. I am experimenting with a chanting mantra meditation right now, and so I did that. It reminded me that I am also experiencing many other thoughts and feelings besides those that threaten to take me down a not-so-nice rabbit hole, and that helped dilute the potency of the bitterness, resentment, and victim-mentality that was starting to build. I began moving my body into yoga stretches to ease the pain of my back and hips, I washed the dishes from dinner, and then I called a friend with whom I could vent with, cry with, and then finally laugh with. Yes right now is a challenging time in my life, but is also providing me with an opportunity to grow and evolve through it. And now today is a new day, filled to the brim with moments to start anew and see the silver lining...
Wings to fly
In my dream I jump off a high mountain peak, at first I am free falling, my stomach drops, I feel fear. And then all of a sudden I realize that I can fly... I begin to do somersaults through the air, I spread my arms wide, I float along freely and after a while, I land safely on the Earth. This feels like a visual metaphor of my life right now, I must simply spread my wings and trust I will fly, and for me spreading my wings means sending letters to editors to publish my writings, it means creating more therapeutic workshops, and it means fully embracing my life as it is right now with my two little girls knowing full and well that I will triumph above adversity and fully realize all of my dreams. Yes, we all must jump off that mountain peak, or we'll always wonder what it would have been like to feel the wind beneath our wings and step outside of our fears. My dream also reminded me that I am already being carried, even if I am afraid to fall. I'm being carried by my loving family that came in rotation to help me with the girls for the first five weeks. I'm being carried by my friends who are taking turns cooking me dinner this week while I transition into flying solo without the help of family. I am being carried by the faith that others have in me, which gives me strength to have faith in myself even when life seems a challenge. Yes, I will rise to meet the challenges that we all face during this life, and I will spread my wings and fly.
Take a leap of faith off that mountaintop
What does my life look like these days? My life is in transition right now. I gave birth four weeks ago, have had lots of help with family that have flown in from California (I'm in Costa Rica), and now I am preparing to go it alone... Well, not alone, I have a wonderfully supportive community and group of friends, but the last of the family members that have been helping me with the cooking, cleaning, and caring for the little ones will be gone a week from today. I feel ready. Each day I feel stronger, more focused, more confident, and more trusting in my ability to not only care for my little ones, but to thrive while doing so. I am also feeling more and more ready to embrace my unique gifts in order to serve others, and financially support myself and the girls in the process. Yes, I have come a long way in the past four weeks since I gave birth. My mom arrived the day after I gave birth four weeks ago, and I think within days of her arrival I was already crying about her leaving two weeks later, and thinking, how the hell am I going to do this without her, and then ultimately without the full time help of anyone? Well, I cried to her about it, and then had the strong thought that my knowing that I needed to move to Costa Rica was so strong and clear six months ago, and that in the ensuing weeks and months to come, my knowing of what do to and when to do it next, would be just as strong and clear. And at this point, what choice do I have other than to simply trust it will all work out as it should? I know too much to allow myself to fall down the rabbit hole of angst and worry about tomorrow... For right now, I am right where I am meant to be. I will look to tomorrow with hope, with trust, and with excitement for all that is unfolding. I honor Mitch's spirit when I remember to live that way, and I teach my girls to not only trust in themselves, but to trust in life itself. And so for now, I take a leap of faith off of that mountaintop, and trust that my wings will carry me to heights greater than I ever could have imagined, and I go where the winds take me...
My story of home birthing my daughter in Costa Rica
Just 20 days before Amelie's arrival.
It was 7:00pm on the night I gave birth to Amelie, in the little house I rented in Costa Rica, and I had just kissed my two and half year old daughter Ava good-night and watched her fall into a peaceful sleep... My contractions were coming with more frequency and more intensity, about every six minutes. I began to create the sacred space in our little rented house to birth Amelie while I waited for the arrival of the midwife and her assistant. I lit candles, placed framed photos of my late husband, Mitch, in easy view, burned sage, laid out the yoga mat to stretch through my contractions, and put Mitch's i-phone music on shuffle. As I was creating the space, I was overcome by big heavy tears of grief for Mitch's physical absence. I let them come to move through me as I knew pretty soon I would need all of my focus and energy directed toward one thing and one thing only, birthing Amelie.
Glamour selfies of me and Ava, just days before Amelie's birth.
The midwife and her assistant arrived at 7:30pm, they held space for my grieving, and then after I moved through my fears of a stalled labor, which was what happened with Ava's birth upon my entry into the hospital, my contractions began to come faster and stronger. I breathed through the pain, was massaged with essential oils during each contraction, and prayed for the support of Mitch, the angels, and God. Any conversation I had been having with the midwife and her assistant had come to a halt as the strength of each contraction took all of my focus, energy, and breath. At about 9:30, the midwife and her assistant began setting up the birthing pool in the living room while I laid in bed with Ava who had temporarily awoken. By 10:30pm, with Ava once again sleeping soundly, I got into the birthing pool, and with each contraction, I visualized my breath opening my cervix with as much ease as I could muster to allow the little one to pass through her birthing canal peacefully. I visualized being in bed with my two girls... When the pain was overwhelming, I remember hearing a song come through on the i-phone, “Walkin' on a dream,” by Empire of the Sun, a favorite of Mitch's... It was the only song I remember hearing during that intense period of labor. It was that song, and a memory of a dream I'd had the night before in which I gave birth in the squatting position, that gave me the energy to refocus my efforts and energy to safely and quickly deliver Amelie. I got into the squatting position in the pool, and asked my midwife if she could see Amelie's head with her pocket flashlight. She said she couldn't, but that I could reach into her birthing canal to feel for her head. Well, I reached into her passage to the world and felt her head through the amniotic encasing that was still intact. My midwife offered that I could keep my hand on her head while I pushed to help direct my energies. So I did just that, I prayed and pushed, and felt Amelie's head move further and further down the canal. I switched to a half laying/half seated position so my midwife could deliver Amelie as she made her entrance into the pool.
My girls, all three of us snuggled up in bed just hours after Amelie's birth.
With a few final pushes, at 12:23am, Amelie was pushed safely through her birthing canal, her cord was unwrapped from her body by my midwife, and she was placed into my arms. I did it. I home birthed Amelie in Costa Rica, with a midwife, in a birthing pool, without Mitch's physical presence, all while not waking Ava who was in the next room. I sat in the pool with Amelie for a few minutes before I got out and did one last minor push of the placenta, and then laid in bed while the midwife did a health check of both me and the baby; we were both fine. Just then Ava woke up and got to meet her baby sister for the first time, pure love and perfect timing... After showering, I crawled into bed with my two girls, and it was just pure heaven. All I could do was marvel at the little miracle that I had just birthed, thank Mitch, the angels, and God for her safe delivery. The new chapter of our lives was just beginning...
Meditation to open the heart and music to speak to the heart
Last night I meditated with my brother (thank you Ramsey) for the second night in a row, just a 15 minute session with a beautiful indian chant to begin, “thou and I never apart, wave of the sea, dissolves in the sea... I am a bubble, make me the sea...” The lyrics of the chant, “thou and I, never apart” played in my heart throughout both meditations and felt like a strong reminder that Mitch is always with me, and even more than a strong reminder, a felt sense of knowing that he is always with me. This was a shift in my grieving process because of the knowing, and the knowing was accompanied by a very receptive, peaceful feeling in my whole body. There have been many times throughout this grieving process where I have felt as if I was grasping around in the dark to connect with Mitch, but last night there was no grasping, just a knowing that was accompanied by a calm, peaceful feeling in my heart and spirit. I was reminded of my last night with Mitch when we were sitting in our car, and all of a sudden I was overcome by a wave of peace that I could feel in every part of my body, and all of a sudden I knew what peace truly felt like. I remember sharing that with him, and being aware in that moment of how damn lucky I was. And I always pay attention to songs that just “randomly” come into my mind, because they usually hold some kind of significance to me, either a glimpse into my unconscious, or communication from the divine... Well, the song that came into my mind last night during the meditation was a song by Mason Jennings called, Southern Cross, part of the chorus being, “have some faith...” Another reminder for me to keep my faith strong. It's amazing the difference just 15 minutes can make....
The human factor of being a parent
I was tired, feeling slightly overwhelmed, and I lost my temper with my toddler... As usual (recently), Ava was fighting me tooth and nail about getting into the shower, and finally after much coaxing, I got her into the bathroom. Since we shower together, I was already in and adjusting the water temperature, urging her to hurry up and take off her undies and rain boots (her outfit of choice that afternoon). She was sitting on the floor, fumbling with taking off her second rain boot, which I mistook as her trying to be difficult and postpone showering. So finally, I stepped halfway out of the shower, and took her remaining boot off with a yank. Well, her boot came off, but she also fell backward from her seated position and hit her head on the floor. I felt terrible; terrible she hit her head, and extra terrible because had I not lost my patience with her, I probably would have pulled her boot off more gently, thus preventing the unpleasant experience altogether... She began bawling immediately, I scooped her up in my arms, and for the next few hours felt like the most terrible mother ever. How often do we give our children time-outs, when perhaps we are the ones who may need time-outs from time to time... How often are we reacting rather than patiently and thoughtfully responding to our children... This experience reminded me to slow down, breathe, and practice loving patience with my daughter and myself as a spiritual practice, especially now as we are both adjusting to the new addition to our family, baby Amelie, who is just one week old. I was also reminded to listen more intently to, and honor both of our needs more fully. Ava was clearly feeling extra tired that evening, and probably could have forgone her shower for a little wipe down/sponge bath, and seeing as I was feeling extra tired and short-tempered, that would have been a good compromise for both of us. And when I began to feel very reactive rather than responsive, ie. Feeling frustrated, angry, overwhelmed, I could have and will try my best in the future to take a time-out for myself to breathe, release tension in my body, and go into my heart space. And realize that sometimes it's better for both parent and child to deviate from the routine a bit to cue into what is needed in the moment, which sometimes means forgoing the shower to keep the peace...
Everything is okay in the face of a newborn
Amelie is four days old now, and each day I find that I fall more and more in love with her, and all of my fears about welcoming her into the world have vanished. I feel Mitch's physical absence so strong right now, piercing through my heart really, as I look into Amelie and Ava's sweet faces, I wonder what he would be saying, how he would be gazing at their beautiful little faces, and I play his music, I want to keep his presence as felt as I can for my own sake, and for the girls- I never want them to feel very far away from their daddy. I wonder if they can see or feel him more easily than I can, I can only hope. As I watch Amelie smile in her sleep, and listen to Ava and my mom's happy chatter from the other room as they color together, I can't help but cry as I think about what's missing. Although I know I must try as hard as I can to see all of the signs he is here with us, gazing lovingly at Amelie, giving Ava peace in her heart, filling our house with music from his i-phone, sending me messages in my dreams, and sending visions of all of us together to loving others who are more open to seeing, who thankfully share with me what they see... And then the sun outside shines a little brighter, a strong wind blows in through the open window, and I am reminded to be strong, have faith, and feel peace in my heart. I hold my memories close, and have the thought that Mitch's love is a part of my own heart beat now. I know intrinsically I needn't look far to find him. And then with that thought, my sweet newborn looks lovingly and intently into my eyes and I feel that somehow everything is okay as it is in this moment.
Receptivity and intention to light up the darkness
Ava and I arrived at the birthing house nearly two weeks ago, and I have found myself mentally, emotionally, and spiritually preparing for Amelie's entrance into the world, as well as grieving another aspect of the loss I feel over Mitch's passing. My intention for the stay at the house was to enjoy the heck out of Ava, really make it a special time of bonding for the two of us, connect to the special surroundings of the house, the mountainous rainforest, feel very connected to Mitch's spirit, and welcome Amelie into the world. At the start of our stay, upon Ava's request, we watched a very up close and personal video of Mitch, and it had me reeling for the next several days, and very focused on all of the ways he was not here... I struggled with connecting to the ways he was here with us, and then one afternoon while Ava was napping, I was sitting outside on the patio looking out into the vast mountains and tropical forest. A strong, calming breeze came over me, and in that instant, I could feel him, I was overcome by an overwhelming feeling of peace and joy. And then one evening a mutual friend of Mitch and I's posted a music video called “shine on,” that she felt called to share with me when she was all of a sudden filled with thoughts of Mitch and I. In those three of so minutes of watching the video, again, I very strongly could feel Mitch's presence, and was so grateful for my friend who was able to send me his message and remind me to have faith. And then one evening of instant messaging with a friend, with such a knowing, she reassured me that Mitch was with me in that moment, and would be with me during the birth. That faith that she had helped cast any shadows of doubts that I had in that moment of his absence. I was truly amazed at the power that her faith had in helping my guiding light shine just a little bit brighter. And then this morning, I was gently drawn into the town church, and although I am not a church goer, I have an appreciation for all places deemed holy. Upon entering into the church, I was overcome with feelings of a beautiful, compassionate, forgiving, divine presence that brought me to tears. I am sharing this out of pure gratitude and awe at the sometimes subtle and obvious ways that Spirit present itself to us, if we are simply open to receiving. As the days have passed here and I feel more connected to the sacred, I have found myself more and more ready to give birth and begin the new chapter of our lives... I believe that with receptivity and intention, we can allow healing and miracles into our lives.
Embracing birth-days, our own and our children's
Why is it that so many of us dread our birth-days? Have anxiety about our birth-days? When in reality, we ought to be celebrating the fact that we are alive? I wonder if it has something to do with how we felt leading up to our actual births... Perhaps our mother was frightened of labor and delivery, and passed her pre-birth-day anxiety onto us in the womb? Or perhaps, our mother feared how she would care for us, and there was some feelings of apprehension about our birth-day, thus leading us to feel apprehensive, perhaps a little dreadful of our annual day of which should be a celebration of our life....?
The reason I am pondering these questions is because as Amelie is preparing to enter into this world from her nine month incubation in her watery womb, I too am preparing and becoming aware of some fears and apprehensions I have about starting this new chapter of our lives. This process of fear examination of the labor or post-labor experience was encouraged by a hypno-birthing book I have been reading, which explains that these fears cause unnecessary restriction in the uterus during labor, thus causing more pain. So, upon examination, I realize I have been fearing how different our (Ava and I's) lives will be after Amelie is born, and wondering, will it all be okay? I have been fearing my ability to raise two young daughters without their father, and there has been a part of me that has been fearing the labor process, as I am planning on birthing in the birthing house we are currently residing in, without the use of an epidural (which I used for Ava's birth). Upon becoming aware of these fears, and understanding how they could make birthing more painful, and possibly affect how Amelie feels about her Birthday every year, I decided it was time to let them go. So, that is what I have been sitting with these past few days, trusting that all will be well during the laboring and birthing process, that Ava and I will have more than enough love to give Amelie, and that I will have the energy, creativity, and support of family and friends to help make the transition of caring for two as smooth and as beautiful as possible. So, now I encourage us all to embrace our Birthdays (if you don't already do) with gratitude for our lives, and compassion for our mothers who birthed us, with or without fear . :)
Two steps forward, two steps back...
Ava and I were listening to my i-pod earlier this evening and a Wallflowers song came on, a song that was played during Mitch's tribute video, and so Ava asked to watch a video of her daddy. I found a video that Mitch's friend took of Mitch rowing the dingie from his sailboat to the pier, talking, laughing, living... And it struck me so deeply to the core, the kind of teeth clenching pain that is hard to express, because it's the kind of pain where you just want to scream in agony and despair, tear your own hair out, lash out at the world (if you have never known this kind of pain, be glad, and if you are scared of this kind of pain, know that you will survive through it), but then there I was sitting with my sweet little toddler as she's saying, “hi daddy!” I felt a wave of pure gut wrenching pain, where all I could do was let my tears flow and hug my daughter hard. The teeth clenching is the sheer disbelief that I will never see him again in that same physical form in which I have always known him... Now, only in my dreams, and well, the afterlife, but for me that seems like a world away, especially as I am about to birth our next daughter. But then life goes on, and I start Ava's bedtime routine, knowing I will need to return to these feelings, somehow let them find expression... And so after she goes to sleep, I write, I cry, I call a friend, and let the pain soften a bit. And I feel Amelie moving around in my belly... And the peace, the sorrow, the agony, the anger, the acceptance, all take turns, all make their appearance in this grieving process, passing through me in waves.
When I write things like this, things that are full of a lot of pain, I know they can be difficult for others to read. But I'd like to respond to this discomfort or pain I may cause in others by saying if it's too much to read, then please don't read it. I don't want to cause pain for others, but I have to be honest with my process, and hope that in doing so, it allows someone else to be more authentic with theirs. This process of self-expression, these emotions that surface after the loss of a soulmate are imminent, and in my opinion, and can only be healed properly if expressed and moved through the body. My form of expression happens to be through writing, and through my education and experience, I know I must feel in order to heal, we all must, as painful as some things are to confront and feel. And to be honest, each time I write, I feel lighter, it helps me to express my experience, and move forward through it, sometimes two steps forward, two steps back... But nonetheless, with movement...