One Tiny Feather Lightens the Load

   

   
 






     Sunday morning, my husband and I headed out for a walk in the canyon, decked out in rain gear, from head to toe. The few people we encountered along the trail were all accompanied by a dog or two - in that inclement weather it seemed that, other than ourselves, only those who had to be out, were. We joked about walking our two invisible dogs and the bonus of not having to "scoop the poop".

     We both felt the heavy weight of this emotionally charged day as we would later be meeting our children and grandchildren at Boal Memorial for our annual tradition of decorating of a little Christmas tree, honouring our angels.
     Arriving at the midway mark of our canyon walk, I stopped on the sidewalk atop the dam and gazed down over the railing into the huge volume of water roaring down into the river below. Empty of thought, I became mesmerized. The spell was broken when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a tiny, white object drift down beside me. Looking down at my feet, I noticed that a small feather had landed in the very narrow space between myself and the railing.  I instinctively looked up for birds, but there were none. I checked the area around me to see if more had fallen. No, only the one. It had been six months since I last saw this sign from my son, and I was overjoyed to notice this feather, today.

     By late afternoon, the rain had subsided, and by the time we arrived at Boal, the sun even made a brief appearance. After decorating the tree, lighting the candles, and singing some carols, a brilliant sunset became the backdrop for this tranquil forest setting. Later, after enjoying a fabulous family dinner, I reflected on this challenging day and felt overwhelming gratitude for the perfect way it had unfolded. It could not have gone any better.
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Spirits not Dampened, Despite it Raining on our Parade

     

     I had never taken in our city's Santa Claus parade, now in its twelfth year, but a few days ago, decided it was something I wanted to experience, so despite the soggy forecast, we headed over town yesterday afternoon - my husband, granddaughter and I. Claiming a small strip along the curb with our folded picnic blanket, we sat huddled together drinking hot chocolate under a shared umbrella for over an hour. The unrelenting rain did not dampen the lively energy of the participants or spectators. Waving and singing along, we enjoyed a steady stream of marching bands, colourfully costumed dancers, elaborate floats, and festively decorated horses. After the parade wrapped up with Santa gliding by on his sleigh, we packed up our blanket and strolled back up the sidewalk hand-in-hand with wet bums, rosy cheeks and filled hearts, all agreeing it had been a wonderful outing. Perhaps next year, our grandson can forgo his nap and snuggle in with us to experience it too.
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Healing Energy for All

     

     Outside of my native Vancouver, the city of Paris lies closest to my heart. I have never lived there but have treasured memories of visiting over the decades. I have always felt a strong connection to everything French, perhaps due, in part, to previous incarnations. The sights, sounds and smells of Paris resonate deeply. Its lively neighbourhoods, magnificent museums, striking architecture, incredible food and lovely public spaces, to say nothing of the beautiful language and passionate people, all contribute to the vibrant pulse of this beloved city.
     So when the tragic news of malicious attacks in Paris erupted on Friday, my heart broke. It broke for the innocent victims. It broke for my beloved city of love and lights. It broke for humanity.
     And later, upon learning that many of the dead had been young people in their twenties and thirties, an added layer of sadness descended over me while thinking of all the mothers and fathers who will have to endure the added grief of losing their child.
     The card I wrote, the flowers I placed, the love I send will not undo the damage done, but with millions of people around the world doing the same, collectively we imprint healing energy on everyone affected, including ourselves. 
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Celebrating Souls

    

     Born to a Catholic mother fifty-nine years ago today, I share my birthday with All Souls' Day, the holy day set aside for honouring the dead. On November 2nd, Catholics pray for the souls of loved ones who have died. My understanding is that they specifically pray for the purification of souls stuck in purgatory, in order that they may reach heaven. 
     My exposure to the Catholic teachings during my upbringing was minimal, limited to Christmas and Easter celebrations. And it has never occurred to me to pray for my mother's soul over the thirteen years she's been gone. I trust that her soul is exploring an existence in the perfect location, exactly where it is meant to be. However, today it occurred to me that choosing to be born to a Catholic mother on November 2nd may, on some level, be connected to my sense of serenity when considering life, death and beyond. The specific intention behind All Souls' Day does not resonate with me; instead, as I celebrate my birth, I send much love to the souls of my departed loved ones, wherever they may be. 
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Skeletal Perspective

     I love deep tissue massages; nurturing, healing body work enhancing my physical and emotional well-being. However, I know people who, after completing a session, described it as being akin to torture. And no doubt, others would describe their deep tissue massage experience as falling somewhere between heaven and hell.
     During our hour-long appointments, the therapist and I may engage in conversation, but often, the massage occurs in silence. This way, I can consciously tune in to each area of my body as it is being worked on, adding a serene meditative aspect to the experience. 
     Near the end of my last session, while lying face up on the massage table with eyes closed, covered only with a thin blanket, the notion of being on a gurney in a morgue came to mind. It occurred to me that the position I was lying in on the table will likely be the same one my body will be placed in once my life force has departed. Adorned with a toe tag, there may be some poking and prodding before being whisked away to its final destination. And for those choosing burial rather than cremation, their body would be buried in this same position, and years later, only their skeleton would remain.
     This observation came without any sadness or fear; a neutral perspective positioned between the macabre connotations of skeletons during Hallowe'en festivities and the upbeat energy it represents during Day of the Dead celebrations. A vivid reminder of how integral perspective is in terms of how one experiences life, and death.
Artist: Jacques Gamlin
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Following Sacred Footsteps

   











     Powerful waterfalls, stark black lava fields, massive glaciers, flora-covered tundra, imposing volcanic mountains, boiling mud-filled cauldrons and dramatic coastlines ... this is Iceland's impressive, and at times surreal, landscape. While circumnavigating this country by car, at almost every turn, we found yet another striking new scene waiting to greet us. So one morning, near the end of our trip, I was surprised to discover that the first recommended stop of the day appeared to be nothing more than a lowly hill.  And as was the case with many other points of interest during our travels, my husband and I had the place to ourselves.

     Helgafell (Holy Mountain) was considered highly sacred in heathen times, so sacred that elderly Icelanders would seek out the hill near the time of their death. According to folklore, travellers are granted three wishes when ascending it, but only if they refrain from looking back or speaking on the way. The wishes must be of good intent, should be made while facing east, and not shared with anyone else.

     So, beginning at the marked grave of a heroine from an ancient saga, I mindfully followed the winding path to the chapel ruins atop the hill. Standing within that sacred space, sun on my face and faith in my heart, I made my three wishes, feeling deeply connected to all that had come before me. This completely unexpected, short yet powerful, meditative experience upon this humble hill, left quite an impression. And the fact that my mother's name was Helga is sure to help with the odds that my three wishes will come true.
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Wedding Wonders

 This coming weekend, I will be officiating my first, and possibly only, wedding. An extraordinary experience on so many levels - one I never imagined having. The groom-to-be had been my son's best friend. A few months ago, when this young man (considered honorary son/brother in our family), and his fiancée invited me to conduct their ceremony, I was simultaneously shocked and honoured, beyond belief. Neither ordained minister nor marriage commissioner, I had to research the options for a lay person officiating a wedding. Thankfully, a friend who has conducted numerous weddings in her role as a minister, promptly offered up her support and explained how it could be done. So, here I am ... thrilled to be part of this young couple's upcoming nuptials where they will formally declare their love and commitment before one hundred and twenty guests. A wedding taking place in the same small, rural town where the accident occurred, where Mike and Kelly said goodbye to this world. The bride-to-be, who had never met those two, chose this location since her family has recreational property here. I would never in a million years have imagined I would attend a wedding here, let alone officiate one. The icing on the cake is that my husband, daughters, sons-in law and grandchildren will be there celebrating, as well. Eagerly awaiting this divine experience of being fully immersed in the expression of love, with the visible and invisible - perfect on so many levels!

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Still Trying to Finesse the Balancing Act

     Four and a half years ago today. While placing flowers at Boal Memorial this afternoon, the photo that resides there resonated even more deeply than usual. This picture of Michael and Kelly was taken five years ago, in early September 2010, at a lakeside cabin on the Sunshine Coast, during the rehearsal dinner for our oldest daughter's wedding. I love the energy these two exude in this scene, that of fully embracing life. During the past three days, however, this image unexpectedly evoked the opposite reaction within me, acting as a constant reminder of our loss, continually tugging at my heart, threatening to weigh me down. 
     My husband and I had been invited to spend the weekend at this cabin with the same daughter, her husband and two children - yes, we are that lucky. Eating dinner together on the deck, gazing up at the stars with my granddaughter snuggled in my lap, cuddling with my grandson by the fire - I am grateful for each of these beautiful moments, and many, many more. Yet, as always, the highs of being with my family coexist intimately with the lows of missing my son. Four and a half years in ... trying to finesse this balancing act has not become any easier. 
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Even More Precious Now

     Since our move a couple of years ago, this petite garden angel had been lingering in the darkness, on a shelf in the garage. Its small scale meant it would have been lost in our landscape here, so it had been stored away.

     It had suffered an accident at our previous home, becoming separated from its base, as well as breaking both legs and both wings. Normally, my nature would have dictated tossing something so broken, but I really cherished the sense of contentment and tranquility it exuded, so I had carefully glued all the pieces back together and brought it with us.

     Last week, while moving some supplies into my newly finished backyard studio, I was searching for a door stop. When I uncovered this angel, I took it out and realized it would be a perfect fit. It has found a new home, nestled in the corner of my studio, facing the greenery beyond the glass door. Despite its cracked foundation, damaged wings, and broken limbs, this cherubic figure is still beautiful, still valuable, and feels even more precious to me now.

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Om with Oma

     My three-year-old granddaughter has heard the word 'yoga' often enough, and knows that I practice it, but when she overheard me talking to someone about an upcoming class, she asked, "Oma, what's yoga?" I described it simply as a relaxing form of exercise, then asked if she would like me to show her some yoga poses. She certainly did. So after her nap, we each carried a mat out into the backyard, then placed them side by side on the grass, in the shade of a maple. Settling into seated Easy pose, I encouraged her to gaze at the trees and the clouds. Together, we then flowed through Cat, Downward Dog, Child, Sphinx, Butterfly and Happy Baby, before returning to Easy pose, to finish off by chanting Om several times.  She did not miss a beat during the entire process - effortless, yet engaged, she was fully in it.  Glancing over at her occasionally during our practice, and seeing the earnest expression on her sweet face, I was tempted to take a photo, but of course, that would have taken us both out of the experience. 
     After we finished, she spontaneously wrapped herself up in her mat and informed me that she was a newborn baby. Feeling reborn through yoga - she certainly picked up on that concept.
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No Ordinary Weekend

     









     A recent sunny Whistler weekend getaway was filled with incredible moments of synchronicity. The only pre-planned part of the trip was doing tarot readings at a mountaintop event, on the Friday evening. My husband and I had decided to make a weekend of it, booking in at the RV park. With so much to offer, the location supported an effortless flow between being active (biking the valley trail, hiking around Lost Lake, walking to the village) and enjoying restful pastimes (impromptu riverside picnic, brunch on a lakeside patio, Scrabble in the shade). 
     Saturday evening, during an after-dinner stroll through the village, I heard my name called and turned to see one of my cousins seated with someone on a nearby restaurant patio. He lives a few hours away, and we had not seen each other for three years. After a round of hugs and getting introduced to his girlfriend, we took them up on their offer to join them for a drink. We discovered that just minutes before we were spotted, a table had been freed up on the patio, and his girlfriend had requested they move out there, instead of remaining at their inside table. They had arrived at the resort earlier that evening and were leaving shortly after noon the next day. Small window of time to run into them. And as it turned out, Sunday morning our paths crossed again - while leaving the farmer's market, we bumped into them just as they were heading over to check it out. Another short conversation and more hugs.
     Sunday afternoon, my husband and I decided to wander down to one of several coffee shops in the area. Being the 7th of the month, I was feeling a little melancholy, with Michael in my thoughts even more than usual. It would be one of the very rare times when I would not be taking flowers to Boal Memorial on this date. My husband had been walking a few steps ahead of me and was waiting on a bench near the cafe. Sitting down beside, I was about to ask him what he'd like to order when I noticed a memorial plaque on the backrest, and reading the inscription, realized it was in honour of a young man who had lived in Whistler, and died just over a year ago, at age twenty-four. Through a mutual friend, I met his mother once, shortly after her son's death, and we had shared our experiences regarding the deaths of our sons, including reference to the metaphysical realm. What were the chances? Of all the seating available in Whistler, this was the ideal place for us to be on this day. 
     After coffee, it was time to head home. En route, we stopped in Squamish to purchase some bike accessories, and as I was leaving that particular aisle, I thought about our friends who live there, a couple we haven't seen for a few months due to his out-of-province work commitments. I fleetingly wondered what the chances were of running into them here in this big box store but promptly dismissed the notion since it was late Sunday afternoon and thought that if they had needed any items here, they would probably have done so earlier in the day. Then seconds later, as I turned the corner, there they were, smack dab in the middle of the store, and they ended up inviting us up to their place for a short visit. They too happen to live with the loss of a twenty-five year old son. Perfect timing.
     An astounding run of closely timed, out-of-the-blue experiences ... the Universe certainly does know how to make a great impression!
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Photo credit: www.whistler.com

Stellar Series of Circumstances

   

     While stepping out for a short break this afternoon, into the warmth of this gorgeous sunny day, a huge wave of gratitude washed through me while reflecting on the beautiful mix of energy I experienced over the past 24 hours. Hosting a family BBQ with four generations at our place last night, then later, after everyone had left and the cleanup had been done, returning to the patio with a glass of wine to take in the summer storm that had just arrived. This morning, during a Walk and Talk session with a client out in the forest, delighting in the surprise of a butterfly's wings lightly brushing  my bare leg. Then, stopping in at a local gift shop with fresh copies of Diary of an Intuitive, since their previous stock had run out. This was followed by an afternoon filled with Tarot card readings at The Oracle, as well as receiving confirmation for the dates of our Iceland trip, now booked for the fall. A stellar series of circumstances, all the way around.
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Photo credit: Don Sutherland

MGMG 2015

     Wrapping up another successful Mike Gibson Memorial Golf tournament, I reflect on this amazing event. Such an enthusiastic repeat turnout, as well as the opportunity to welcome new faces. The commitment to show up, on all levels (body, mind and spirit), is remarkable. One of Mike's friends left his job site in Saskatchewan the previous day, driving seventeen hours to take part. Another young man made the four hour drive up to the cabin the day of, played golf, then drove home that same evening. One couple makes the trip out from Alberta every year. Numerous participants have attended all five tournaments, and many make it a three day affair. All this speaks to the level of dedication people have towards continuing to honour Mike and Kelly. Coming together to share memories, create new ones, celebrate life and love, as well as raise money for Canuck Place Children's Hospice is what the MGMG tourney is all about. This year, we will donate $4153 ($19,682 to date), and since the Conconi Foundation is matching our donation in full, Canuck Place will actually realize $8306 for our efforts - wow! 

     It’s been just over four years since Michael and Kelly left us - we miss them something fierce. But life does go on, and we embrace that. We celebrated a birthday, toasted newlyweds, and enjoyed the energy of four little ones, three and under. Witnessing the outpouring of love and the commitment of their family, friends, and friends of friends, Mike and Kelly's hearts are surely overflowing, as well.

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June 30/15 - Thanks to last minute donation of $100, our donation amount is $4253 ( $19,782 to date)

Dogs Show Up to Show the Way

     A few nights ago, while sleeping, I had another 'new to me' metaphysical experience. I was standing off to the left of a scene, witnessing two mature golden retrievers playfully running side by side, mere inches apart ... ears flapping, tails wagging, exuding pure happiness. There was nothing else around ... no ground, no sky, just an off-white background. Watching the two of them, I knew that this was not a dream and understood that what I was experiencing was direct spirit to spirit connection. While my physical self was resting, my spirit was connecting with these two beautiful animals. I instantly recognized our pet Amber (who died of cancer in 2002), and while the other dog was very familiar, I could not place her. 
     In the morning, when I awoke, I recalled the powerful experience and realized that the other dog had been the family pet of my younger daughter's closest childhood friend. Their dog had also passed many years ago, followed by the friend's mother, more recently.  The specific message of this experience remains unclear. Perhaps, it was to show me yet another way of connecting to the invisible, or perhaps by sharing this, it may reassure my daughter's friend that spirit does live on. Either way, it was incredible. 
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She Shed

     Intuitively, my husband often finds himself ahead of lifestyle trends. He is not actively searching for them - he does not aspire to be trendy. Not sure if anyone named Bob does. However, ideas will occur to him that propel him to act before the activity becomes mainstream. Returning to vinyl records before they found a popular resurgence. Downsizing to a small home before this idea really started catching on. Then, a couple of months ago, deciding to build me a studio - a tiny outbuilding with just enough room to play with paint on canvas or lay out a yoga mat. About a week after he began working on this project , I saw numerous articles popularizing She Sheds, a catchy new name for this type of space. Turns out that wanting to provide me with a beautiful studio put him smack dab in the middle of being trendy again. This unassuming man I call my husband may have to consider changing his name.             
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Generosity Abounds

               

    










      The incredible support in response to donation requests for the MGMG tourney continues to impress. Most of the businesses and organizations I approach are ones my family and I frequent in our community. I am grateful for their positive responses and thoughtful contributions. Sprinkled on top of these heartwarming experiences, is the occasional spontaneous act of generosity ... the cherry on top. 
     Speaking with the local baker about the possibility of him donating buns again this year for the BBQ portion of the event, hearing he is keen to do so, and then, after rereading the info sheet, adds that he wants to do more, and offers gift certificates for our raffle. 
     Stopping in at a shop across town, one I have not been to before, to find out what a custom MGMG flag might cost. While chatting with a staff member about various options, the president of the company walks over and introduces herself to me. Turns out that she has overheard some of our conversation and offers to absorb the entire cost! The MGMG tourney feather flag will be a fabulous addition to this annual event.
     So many wonderful connections made when speaking from the heart, and so many generous people recognizing a perfect opportunity to pitch in. Thank you all so much!
Image: Bluebell 33
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Child's Play

     While up at the cabin this weekend, the urge struck to paint a birdhouse. It had been years since I last decorated one, but I had the desire to play with colour, so I sorted through the box of various shaped houses, finally settling on a fairly traditional one. While my husband barbecued dinner, I considered some possible design ideas. I knew that I wanted to keep the project simple, and eventually I came up with two options - it would be either a heart or a rainbow theme. I would mull it over and begin painting after dinner.

     We prepared our burgers in the kitchen, then carried them down to the beach on plastic plates. As I took my first bite, I looked down at the plate and realized that it was the one Michael had created at preschool, when he was five. Glancing over the happy scene he had drawn, my eye landed on the colourful rainbow at the top. I was about to tell my husband about the connection to my project when I looked over at the plate he was using and noticed five pink hearts. One of our daughters had designed this plate while attending that same preschool. I began with, "You're not going to believe this ...," but of course, he did. While explaining what had happened, I was shaking my head from side to side, grinning from ear to ear. It really does happen this often, this perfectly. Child's play as far as the universe is concerned. In the end, I went with the heart theme and the Love Shack is now ready for occupancy. 
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Believe It!

     To anyone who may find the following story hard to believe, I understand. The experience happened to me, and I can scarcely believe it myself.
     Late this morning, in the glorious sunshine, I wandered into the backyard and settled into the lounge chair. Feeling fatigued, due to a persistent cough and cold, I had listened to my body and decided to spend some time relaxing rather than attempting yard work. Observing the clouds, listening to the birds, and getting lost in the beauty of the garden, my mind wandered. I was looking forward to seeing my daughters and grandchildren later today to celebrate Mother's Day together, but that did not take away from desperately missing my son Michael. And so, of course, I asked. Would he please let me know that he was near, to show me that he could see how much my heart ached for his presence. Then, I just sat in that space, where spirit meets spirit. 
     A short time later, my husband arrived home and came over to sit with me. After both acknowledging the added challenges of this day, we got up and began walking towards the house together when I spotted something shiny lying on the grass. As I got closer, I saw that it was a round, silver object, and bending down to pick it up, I thought perhaps it might be a foil seal from a small bottle. However, when I turned it over, I froze. In my hand lay a clip-on metal badge, the size of a quarter, with the initial M on a soft pink background! Reaching my hand out to show my husband what I had found, I tried to explain what I had asked for just minutes before he got home, but I could not. Seeing this had literally taken my breath away. Tears of gratitude rolled down my cheeks, instead. I had never seen anything like this before. When I was finally able to speak, I filled him in. I told him that feathers, pennies and hummingbirds had all crossed my mind as possible signs, but I could never have imagined anything like this. And the fact that we had both walked over this exact spot many times yesterday, was not lost on us. It is only steps away from the house and we are certain that we would have noticed it - one hundred percent.
     As I turned to go into the house, my husband got out the push mower to cut the grass. Watching him, I realized that had I not found this gift when I did, he would likely have mowed right over it, then picked up this piece of "rubbish" and tossed it. I also recognized the perfection of him being here when I found it, allowing us to share this special experience. 
     Looking over at this gift now lying on the table beside me, I can scarcely believe my eyes.  But clearly, the magic that happens when one connects with the invisible knows no limits. Believe it! 
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Update: May 11/15 1:30pm       
This morning I read the comment Gena posted on my personal FB page and it got me thinking. A MET badge? I had been to that museum seven years ago when she and I, along with my daughters, spent a week in New York, but I have no recollection of seeing this badge there. Not that this is surprising ... I often forget details like this, which is why I write things down, whereas Gena forgets nothing. After some online sleuthing I found out that indeed, up until 2013, rather than using paper entrance tickets, these badges were given out instead. And then it hit me. Early Saturday evening, I had taken a box filled with travel gear and guide books out into the backyard to sort through. I can only assume that the badge had somehow ended up in that box all those years ago. I did not see it when I was going through the items Saturday evening but it does explain how it likely ended up on the lawn. Now, where does that leave me with regards to this post? I know that signs from the invisible help support me on my journey. So many signs over the years have lifted my spirits, including hearts, hummingbirds, feathers, pennies, initials, and more. This sign was no less powerful ... finding this item with the initial M on a pink background on Mother’s Day was incredibly wonderful. None of that has changed. What has changed is that my logical side is able to relax now that I understand how it probably got there. And what about the magic?  Well, I also still believe that magic happens ... the magic of that badge dropping out of that box in that spot only to be discovered by me on Mother’s Day ... magic to the nth degree.

Invisible Mothers

      This coming Sunday, mothers across the country will be honoured with brunches, gifts, phone calls and cards. Some will be lovingly remembered with flowers placed at their grave. Today, however, my thoughts turn to all the invisible mothers in my midst. The mother whose first and only child was born with serious health issues, to which he succumbed four months later. The woman whose mothering experience consisted of giving birth to a baby, then placing her for adoption, without any further contact. The mother of one who raised her child to his late teens, only to have him die before her.
     For these, and the many other invisible mothers, there will be no celebration. Instead, the day will hold sadness, what-ifs, and likely, pain. This Mother's Day, let us send them our love, and hope that their friends and family take the time to acknowledge them, as well. It will not change their circumstances but it may help heal these mother's hearts .
Image: Shutterstock
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Under, Over, and Intertwined

     Over the course of the four hour drive up to the cabin this past weekend, my husband and I encountered almost every type of weather imaginable - heavy rains, followed by hail, then snow, wind, drizzle, and finally, sunshine. Most impressive was driving directly under three vibrant rainbows, in short succession, with the ends of the arcs seeming to touch down just off either side of the highway. And as we wound our way through scenic Manning Park, a trip we have made well over a hundred times, I had an aha moment: the ski and snowboard terrain within this provincial park is located in an area called Gibson Pass. My son's last name intertwined with that of his closest friend, in this beautiful setting. A wonderful symbol of the Gibson and Manning connection - how had I not made this observation before? Come to think of it, I cross a span called Rainbow Bridge when walking along my favourite trail in that park. Under, over, and intertwined ... weaving rich moments into my life.
Image credit: unknown
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A Shift in Perspective

     As the countdown begins for the 5th annual Mike Gibson Memorial Golf tournament, the weight of the loss of my son begins to intensify. Last year, recognizing the emotional investment required to organize this event left me wondering how many more MGMG tourneys I had left in me. Most people would assume (as I would without this personal experience showing me otherwise) that as time goes by, the emotional impact lessens. It is simply not so. 
     Thankfully, last spring, while contemplating the situation, I began reframing the experience and adjusted my perspective, much like The Hanged Man in the Tarot deck. Were Michael still alive, I would have continued expending a great deal of emotional energy in our relationship. Now, instead of spreading it out over the year, outside of the obvious trigger dates, much of it is condensed into these weeks leading up to the tournament. Since I am still in a relationship with him, albeit on another level, I accept that my ramped up feelings are par for the course. Working on the MGMG tourney is a meaningful expression of our relationship and I embrace the opportunity to continue organizing many more.
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Miracle Log

     Serendipity, coincidence, happy chance event... words used to describe the small miracles that make our lives a little sweeter. Lucky for me, I experience them almost daily. Having a dream about a person I had not thought about for years, only to have someone else mention that same person the next morning. Looking for a small box of goofy sunglasses everywhere I thought it might be, then finding it later that day, within in a larger box marked 'small picture frames' which I had opened for an unrelated project of creating a photo wall. Receiving tickets, out of the blue, to a sold out event I had wanted to attend.

     One way to to help foster this awareness in children is to keep a Miracle Log available. I came across this idea while reading Spirit Games, a book by Barbara Sher. Whenever something serendipitous occurs, anyone in the family can log in by writing down what happened. It can also include the wish that preceded the event, if there was one. There seems to be a snowball affect - the more often these little miracles are noticed, the more often they appear. Keeping track of them can help bring children comfort and joy, and heaven knows, we all thrive when showered with frequent doses of both.

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Walk With Me

     Easter Sunday's forecast called for sunshine, so my husband and I took the short ferry ride over to Bowen Island for lunch and an easy hike around the lake. We had already celebrated early Easter with a family brunch on Good Friday, so our day was wide open.
     The last time we had visited Bowen together was in the spring of 2010, during our son's six week stay at The Orchard Recovery Centre. For six consecutive Saturdays, my husband and I travelled there to learn more about addiction and begin rebuilding relationships. After one of those sessions, the three of us had used our free time to walk around this very lake together. It was a memorable afternoon because, for the first time in a long time, we were speaking to each other from the heart, which stirred up many intense emotions, negative and positive. That year, Easter weekend fell during Michael's six week stay there, so this was an added layer my husband and I were now experiencing.
     All the emotions and memories now being triggered was not something I had foreseen at all. Thankfully, a mantra soon appeared - Walk with me. During each long in-breath, I silently expressed those words, and with each long out-breath, I slowly released the air in my lungs. I repeated this cycle as needed over the course of the hike, visualizing Michael's spirit walking with us now.
     Later that day, while approaching the dock for the return ferry, I looked up to see a lone, majestic eagle fly in, very low, directly overhead. I overheard the young, native woman walking behind me tell her friend, "In my culture this is a powerful spiritual symbol. My grandmother will be so happy when I tell her about this." For me, this eagle's appearance was an incredible sign of support. This trip certainly became much more than I had anticipated ... it turned out to be the perfect way to connect with our son on this Easter Sunday.
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Mountain Pose

Practicing Mountain Pose upon a mountain top ... pure bliss.  A local mountain hosted a free event Saturday afternoon, consisting of a rainy nature walk, followed by a tranquil yoga class. After wandering through old growth forest, our group of thirty arrived at the mystical Hiwus Feasthouse. Once inside, we settled ourselves on the mats, which had been placed in a circle around the stone fire pit. After an hour of various yoga poses, it was time for Savasana. Smelling the cedar, hearing the silence, feeling the peace ... absolute perfection. While resting in this final pose, I recognized the powerful combination of the four elements of matter at play here. Lying grounded on the Earth, there was Fire burning in the centre, Water raining down onto the roof, and with each breath, awareness of Air moving in and out of our bodies. All this led to experiencing the fifth element, the one that exists beyond the material world, often referred to as Void or Sky. Pure heaven. Thank you Grouse Mountain and Yyoga for your generous gift of this experience. The exquisite setting, inspiring instructor, and lovely group of participants all made for an incredible event.  
Photo credit: Grouse Mountain 
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Sweet Dreams

     
     Dreams are precious gifts. The messages contained therein can prompt me to take action, provide more information about a situation regarding myself or others, and offer comfort and support.  Occasionally, I am asked if I still have dreams about Michael, and although I would love to have more than the two or three per year that I do, I am grateful for the ones I do have. A few nights ago, it was a short and sweet one, but the dream before that was quite long and involved. In both cases, they were very realistic and easy to understand.
     The lengthier dream of a few months ago involved my husband and I returning to our car after an invigorating walk around Stanley Park. After both getting in, he slowly drove in the car reverse, against the one way traffic pattern of the road. We encountered many vehicles but no one honked - they all accommodated us by moving out of the way. In the next scene, it is just my three-year-old son and me near an outdoor shower at the playground. He is only wearing shorts, ones that an acquaintance had actually made, and on his sweet face is the sweaty glow from running around. I soon realize that in all his excitement he has accidentally pooped his pants, and that he is feeling both embarrassed and upset. I calmly try to figure out the best way to handle the situation but the overwhelming thought is that I am thoroughly unprepared, and how disappointed I am with myself about that. (When my children were young, I was never without extra clothes, bags, snacks, you name it - however, in the dream I had absolutely nothing with me). After some consideration, I decided to take off his pants and have him stand under the shower. What a mess. There was poop everywhere - on him, on me. I looked around and finally found a stray plastic bag for his soiled shorts and was now literally carrying a bag of shit. As I stood there, I could feel how upset he was. He felt responsible for causing this mess. As a mom, I knew that shit happened, accidents happened. I just wanted to pick up my naked son and carry him back to the car but before I could do that, the dream was over and I awoke with the clear understanding of his sympathy. Through this dream, Michael was expressing compassion for having left me holding this bag of shit, even though we both know it was unavoidable.
     The shorter dream I had on Friday night was set in a dimly lit restaurant where our family was gathered for brunch to commemorate the fourth anniversary of Michael's death. I was seated alone at one end of the table, lost in my thoughts. Suddenly, I looked up and there was Michael, aged twenty-five, walking towards me, handsome as ever in his grey suit, green shirt and tie. He sat down to my right, handed me a Caesar cocktail, and simply said, "Here Mom."  (The only time I might order this drink for myself is if one of my kids orders one, but even then, rarely). And then, he was gone. I instantly understood that this was his way of showing support and I sure was glad to feel his presence. 

     Sweet dreams .... until next time. 
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Celebrations for Generations

Family and friends, young and old, came out to celebrate my grandson's first birthday yesterday. Such a lucky little boy! Within his extended family, ages ranged from his newest second cousin, born just last month, to the great-grandfather celebrating ninety-one next month. On this day, a snapshot of my grandson's family included his parents, sister, grandparents, great-grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. This gathering reminded me that often, when we hear the word family, we think of a fixed group - usually, but not always, consisting of our living relatives. Of course, when we take a moment to consider, we know that family more accurately refers to a fluid group. We understand that family continually shifts with each gain and each loss. 

Leaping far ahead, if it is his destiny, in ninety years my grandson will be the age his great-grandfather is now, and it is quite possible that not one of my grandson's relatives in attendance yesterday will be around. Morbid thought? Not really. The love and support he received from all those attending the party will remain with him, always. And hopefully, all his future celebrations will be just as magnificent as this one was.

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Blue Roses

When I saw the blue ice-cream cake sitting in the freezer display through a cafe window, I knew it would be the perfect dessert for the family dinner we had planned for the fourth anniversary of Michael's death.  It would be last on my list of options for any other celebration, but for this occasion it would be perfect, since it reminded me so much of my son.  If most people typically chose A or B, he would usually opt for C, D, or even E, instead.  Why give a girl the more traditional pink or red roses, when the unnaturally dyed blue ones were beckoning with a wink?  Why concern yourself with making healthy food choices, when junk food, with all its additives and colouring, was calling?  So, on Saturday night, we each enjoyed a piece of this crazy cake in his name. And, if we needed a physical reminder of his sense of humour, we were all left with blue-stained fingers well into the next day. We love and miss you Mike!

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Relative Signs

     This past week was filled with incredible synchronicity, revolving around the two themes of communication and family of origin. The family that I chose to be born into has not been without its challenges, as is the case with most, if not all, families. Family is where so much of our learning occurs, offering great opportunities for growth. The circumstances in my family of origin led to our current situation, where neither my brother (my only sibling) nor I have had any contact with my father for over six years (outside of my son's funeral), the consequence of heartbreaking communication. Our mother, with whom my brother and I were close, died nearly thirteen years ago. Numerous signs flooded in this week, dancing over, and around, all of this - unmistakably powerful and incredibly supportive. 

     Early in the week, I emailed birthday greetings to a paternal aunt who had been a huge part of my life, before cutting off all communication with me, without explanation, a year and a half ago. I think of her often. About an hour after sending that email, I received a phone call from an unknown number. The caller turned out to be a woman I had met once, seventeen years ago, at a birthday party I had hosted for this aunt. The woman explained that she had been an old friend of my aunt's for decades but had had no contact with her for many years now, having been cut off without any explanation. She thought of her often and was contacting me to find out how she was doing. Crazy circumstances, indeed.

     A few days later, I was following up after a call I had made the week before to my mother's only sibling, my maternal aunt in Germany. I wrote her a card, enclosing a photo of her sister's memorial bench, as well as a picture of my grandchildren. She is the only relative I have long-standing, albeit limited, contact with over there. Our communication consists primarily of an annual Christmas card to each other, but for some reason, I had felt the urge to call her.  Later this same day, with the envelope lying on my desk, still waiting to be mailed, I received a Facebook friend request from a woman in Germany, a daughter of one my father's friends, not connected to my maternal aunt at all. The last time I had had any contact with that person and her family was during our family vacation to that country, eighteen years ago. Curious timing, for sure.

     Then, on the weekend, I stopped in at the cemetery, an hour's drive from home, to place flowers on my mother's grave. I only visit a couple of times a year now, preferring to adorn her memorial bench located in my neighbourhood, instead.  The actual date of this particular visit had no significance - I just happened to be out that way for a dinner date with friends. A short time later, my brother texted me, wanting to confirm the date of our mother's birthday. I fleetingly thought he was joking since he always makes a point of acknowledging our family birthdays. When I asked him about it, he told me that he had been thinking about our mom and had momentarily forgotten when hers was. A brief memory lapse required in order for this loving connection to be made.

     Individually, each of these three days had great significance. Taken in its entirety, the week was over the top, and made a huge impression. A colleague of mine refers to these signs as Relative signs, since they relate to what is transpiring in ones life. The fact that the Relative signs happened to involve my relatives, is perfect. Feeling immensely supported by the visible and invisible, I continue to process it all.

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The Trickster Known as Time

While resting in Savasana pose during my recent yoga class, I was hovering in that blissful state of in between - aware of my body, yet simultaneously experiencing my pure spirit form. While in this state, I always feel extremely close to my son. On this particular evening, as an added bonus, I was reminded of how changeable our perception of time can be depending on our situation, and I instantly understood why I needed this reminder.
There are moments in my life when I fleetingly wish it was time to leave my body completely behind and fully return to the realm of pure spirit because it feels daunting when I consider the possibility of living with the loss of my son for an additional thirty years or more. Ah, the trickster known as Time - it continues to play games.
When we are young, we often look ahead, wishing we were just that little bit older. The ten-year-old thinking that if only he were thirteen, how wonderful life would be - a high school student with no need for babysitters, along with permission to venture further afield with friends. The thirteen-year-old wishing she were sixteen, offering the independence of driving, as well as greater opportunity for part-time jobs. The seventeen-year-old looking ahead to being twenty-one, imagining free reign to fully enjoy the privileges that come with that age. In each of these scenarios, the space that exists between the current self and the future self looms large. Of course, as we age, our vantage point shows us just how fleeting each stage of life really is. To take it one step further, an entire lifetime, when held up against all the lives one has already lived and those yet to come, happens in the blink of an eye. Yoga and meditation, once again, lovingly nudge my focus to the present.

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Not Only Lucky in Love

Not only am I lucky in love, but within the past 24 hours, I received notification from three different contests that my name had been drawn. It turns out that I have have won a case of my favourite crackers, a new book from Goodreads, and two tickets to the upcoming Home and Garden show.  I am always so grateful for these perks, large or small, benefiting my body, mind and spirit.

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Subtle Sign

Out for a run in the canyon this morning, I was replaying some of my past week's experiences of practicing the art of love. I am thoroughly enjoying awaking each day with the intention of expressing a conscious love connection.  A couple of minutes later, while running alongside the first parking lot, I noticed that the three cars parked there, in a lot designed to hold a dozen, were all bright red!  I broke into a huge smile. The universe was reflecting love energy right back to me. This seemingly subtle sign may not have had the wow factor of a four leaf clover or a departed loved one's initials in the sand, yet the results are no less powerful. When I returned home, curious about the odds, I investigated and discovered that less than 10% of cars on the road are red. Love it.

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The Art of Love

Today is day one of the month associated with celebrating love. This year, I am fully embracing the theme by challenging myself to make a conscious love connection on each of the twenty-eight days in February. This will include celebrating romantic love, love between friends, maternal love, self-love, and brotherly love. It may take the visible form of a call, a card, a hug, a gift, a kiss. Or, it may be invisible - a meditation, a prayer, or one of my favourites, visualizing hundreds of tiny hearts raining down on strangers. Thank you February for inviting me to practice the art of love. 
Image: Johntex
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Immensely Honoured

Upon checking my email yesterday morning, I was surprised to receive a save-the-date announcement for an upcoming wedding celebration. After reading it, I was overwhelmed with gratitude, to the point of tears. The message was from one of Kelly's closest friends. I knew that she and her financé were getting married this year, but had no inkling that my husband and I would be included in their celebration. A few months ago, I was equally surprised when we received a similar announcement from one of Michael's best friends, letting us know we would be invited to his wedding, being held later this year. I am immensely honoured that these young people have chosen to include us on their guest lists. To have the opportunity to join in the celebration, and bear witness to their formal declarations of love and optimism for the future, is such a privilege. I am sure Kelly and Mike are also looking forward to attending, and are already dreaming up plans on how to make their loving presence known at the weddings of these dear friends.

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Supported and Cared For

As 2014 was drawing to an end, I considered what the energy of 2015 held in store, and I felt it would be a supportive and nurturing year, infused with a sense of well-being while held in the universe's caring embrace.  I made the assumption, that generally, this would translate into a softer, easier year for all. But, right from day one, I learned of huge challenges and upheavals in the lives of some of my family, friends and clients. At first glance, this appeared to be in direct contrast to what I had initially sensed, but upon reflection, I realized that their challenges present me, and others, with the opportunity to offer supportive and nurturing energy to them.  And so, even though many may not experience this year as softer or easier, hopefully we will all feel supported and cared for.

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