grief haiku
Medicinal drops,
fallen of the soul’s life blood,
tears cleansing heart wounds
Medicinal drops,
fallen of the soul’s life blood,
tears cleansing heart wounds
The tracks on my face, deeply carved from salted tears, weep to mix with blood.
I’ve been going through my old journals lately - the ones I’ve kept since my beloved son was killed.
Here is a reflection of discovery from one of them:
It is not the material stuff in your life, it is the immaterial stuff of life that makes it good or not.
That which is abstract, undefined and seemingly insignificant, is the true concrete substance of life.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
You really learn a lot of things when a beloved child that you poured your entire heart into, is killed. You are forced into learning what life is really all about and what is actually meaningless. Perspectives change to a degree that no other education can provide. The thought notated above may not pertain specifically to the subject of grief but it was definitely born from the grief.
I am so haunted by the fact that my son’s favorite thing to do was “helping other people.” He considered that “the greatest feeling in the world” and proclaimed it on his MySpace page before his death. Why didn’t he get to finish doing all he wanted to do? Why am I given the opportunity and he is not?
Two weeks before his death, my son was the first ever Junior (normally only high school seniors were ever considered) to ever be invited and attend a Leadership conference at a university connected with the collegiate high school program he was enrolled in. I have all of the papers from that two-day conference as well as a necklace ID pouch hanging in my son’s bedroom. In the pouch was a card filled out of what he wanted to accomplish. My son wrote, “I want to make people happy.”
This also haunts me….Why oh why was his opportunity to do this cut so short? So rare this quality in the world as it is……
I do know one thing - my son’s death has changed my life so much and he has made me into a better person even through his death. I feel his essence lives in my heart.
I’ve always wanted to join AmeriCorps to be a help to others even before my son’s death. He knew this, of course. I somehow always thought my son would one day join me in the endeavor. I pictured us, side by side working together and enjoying a closer adult relationship. But maybe it will be true….Maybe my son will really be there with me, working with me, just in a different way than I imagined…Maybe he will be there, just in my heart.
Some days I’m better at all this than others. Today is one of those days that I’m haunted by the questions, wondering, “Why?” and those familiar tears in the place of answers…
(I really miss you Blake….so very much….)
Yesterday, I received a wedding invitation in the mail from one of my son’s friends who I never got to know until after he was killed. I feel so honored that she not only remembers my son but she remembers and thinks enough of my family to invite us to her wedding (a fancy one too).
Today, my son’s girlfriend right before his death, came over to give me an invitation to her upcoming baby shower. What a great and healing (for both of us) visit that was!
Also today, I was again struck with one of my sayings that I’ve repeated many times since the beginning days of choosing the high road of this rugged path I was thrown on: You can never go wrong when you do what is right.
And this evening I once again think: How can I not extend grace to others who may not deserve it when grace was/is extended to me? How can I ever be unforgiving toward another person when so much forgiveness was gifted to me?
How many times are the poor mentioned in the Bible? Qute a few times! The poor are obviously very dear to the heart of God. Our calling to help them is evidentally very important to God.
Here are just a few verses about the poor from only one of the books of the Bible:
I can think of none more “deserving” than the forgotten Native Americans - those whose lands were robbed from them while descendents of the invaders prospered in the name of “progress.”
Today I heard from one organization I had not contributed to before - American Indian Education Foundation. Although they help students, especially toward higher education, the form letter sent out, touched on the plight of the people:
“…And I wonder if you realize just how difficult life is for American Indians today.” (Yes, I certainly do.)
“The media likes to focus on a handful of northeastern American Indian reservations that operate casinos. But the fact is that most American Indian reservations are located in some of the poorest areas of the country.
“On Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota, one area where AIEF works, more than 2/3 of the people live below the poverty line.
“As an American Indian, it hurts me to see the great-grandchildren of Sitting Bull, Chief Red Cloud or Crazy Horse attend schools with crumbling walls, leaking roofs, broken windows, and shortages of books, paper, and teachers.”
As an American that breaks my heart. How can this be in America? But it is.
“Out of sight, out of mind” seems to be how we treat our poor, down-trodden and unjustly-treated people.
The Creator will have the last word
There is great beauty in power - restrained.
Tonight marks 798 days without my son being anywhere on this earth. (That is 2 years, 2 months and 6 days or 114 weeks.)
As it stands right now, that is 798 hugs to be given and received when I see my beloved son again. All of the missing hugs are really starting to add up, but I will continue counting them all as I’m sure he’s doing too.
Gone from my sight but never really gone at all….
Dead from this world of mortality but resurrected into a new life…
The longer the separation,
the sweeter the reunion.
(Rest in Paradise, my most beloved, Blake. It has been 790 days - 2 years, 1 month and 29 days. Tomorrow marks 113 weeks without you. The day following, marks 26 long months without you.)