Finding Comfort Within a Dream

     

     And so it begins ... emotionally, the most challenging few weeks of the year with regards to Michael's absence, from the beginning of December until his birthday early January. Plans for the Christmas season being made, decorations unpacked, seasonal music playing - all things, that for the most part, bring me joy. However, it's hard to ignore the huge spotlight that shines on all that is family, resulting in his absence holding an even larger space in my life.
     During this past weekend, I felt the sadness and tension building in my body, despite having spent a joy-filled afternoon up Grouse Mountain with my grandchildren the day before. While readying for bed Sunday night, I gazed into the bathroom mirror and from deep within my heart, beseeched Michael to please come through in a dream. I needed to connect with him, communicate with him, be with him.  It had been a few years since he had appeared in a dream.
     After waking the next morning, I poured myself a cup of coffee and wandered into the living room, surprised to see my husband sitting there, as he's often left for work by 7am. Settling into the comfy lounge chair across from him, I suddenly remembered that I did have a dream about Michael, but before I could even start sharing it with my husband, I began to cry - releasing some of the tension that had been building, along with the surprise that it had actually happened.  
     In the dream, I was walking down the narrow hallway of a house (not my own), when I came to a small room off to the right, its door half way open. Looking in, I noticed a single bed - no other furniture or decor. Lying on his back on top of the bedcover was a young male wearing sweat pants and a black hoodie. As I stepped closer, I saw that he was awake and guessed him to be about 14 years old. My first thought was that he looked very similar to Michael but I knew he was dead and had been an adult when he died, so I was confused. However, when I reached the bed, I knew it was him. I sat down beside him, in awe. With his eyes meeting mine, I took in his radiant round face and sweet smile. My heart melted. As I bent down to hug him, I asked how this was possible, how he was able to appear to me as a boy, fully alive. He explained that it was not easy but that he had chosen to squeeze into this shape so that I would easily recognize him and find comfort. Finding comfort, that I did. Understanding how this all works, no idea at all. Just so glad that it does.
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PS - I went into the storage room to find a photo of Michael to add to this post and the first album I pulled out held this one, Christmas 2000 aged 14 wearing his black hoodie 💗 

Gifts of Sweet Moments

     

     Within the past 48 hours, I have been blessed with having three different people spontaneously share reminders of Michael with me. Considering it has been 6 1/2 years since he died, it is not common for me to hear this many references to him within such a short time. I cherish every precious moment and memory of Michael that friends continue to share. Receiving three so close together is a windfall.
     Two days ago, a close friend of mine texted to say that she was preparing to leave for her highway drive to the Okanagan, where she would be celebrating Christmas with her family. She told me that after lifting her suitcase off the dining room chair, she had pushed the chair back under the table and found a feather lying on the floor under the table. She said that for her, it was a sign that "someone" was wishing her a safe ride up.
     Later that same day, during dinner with another long time friend, who happens to work at Contact Printing, I was told that the microwave at the shop had stopped working this week, and that she and two of her coworkers had remembered that Michael had bought it used off Craigslist for the staff kitchen, about a year before he died.
     Then yesterday, a good friend of Mike's sent me a photo via Messenger that he thought I might like to see. It showed my son during his grade 12 year, seated in a semicircle with five of his friends, celebrating someones birthday.
     Today, our family will gather at Boal Memorial to decorate the little Christmas tree. Despite the cold, rainy weather, we'll hang ornaments, light the candles, and sing some carols while sending loving thoughts to Mike and Kelly. And through it all, I will feel buoyed by the gifts of these sweet reminders of my son.
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Priceless Plastic Heart

     And so, the Christmas festivities begin. Just as dusk was falling late yesterday afternoon, our family met up in the forest at Boal Memorial. Decorating the little tree in front of Mike and Kelly's plaques is always a poignant event. The half-moon shining down onto the snow-covered ground added an element of magic to the setting. Gazing upon the faces of my young grandchildren, both mesmerized by the glowing candles and sing-along, my heart was simultaneously filled with a profound love for these two, along with a deep aching for my son. For me, Christmas without him has not become any easier. 
     Our family then made our way back to our younger daughter's home, for a delicious home-cooked meal, where she had laid out a novelty Christmas cracker at each place setting. Crackers were never part of our traditional German festivities, but it certainly was a fun addition to this dinner. After the eight crackers were popped, colourful paper crowns were donned, and tiny gifts discovered, including puzzles, jokes, and decorations. My heart skipped a beat when I realized that my prize was a small, plastic, heart-shaped frame. The only one in our group. An incredibly precious sign of the season.
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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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Riding it Out

Not surprisingly, I find this to be a difficult time of the year. The anxiety begins to build before Christmas, carries on through the New Year's festivities, then follows me into this week, as well. Today is the 7th of the month, the day I routinely visit Boal Memorial with fresh flowers. In addition, in honour of Michael's birthday tomorrow, I had also brought along a balloon. The January visit also always involves packing up the little Christmas tree we decorate there in December.

Creating a gratitude list (it's a long one), practicing yoga, engaging in exercise, having family time, and reminding myself that living with challenges is part and parcel of being alive - none of these strategies completely relieve the sensation of constantly feeling slightly sick to my stomach during this time. However, after tomorrow, there will be a reprieve of sorts, and for that I am thankful. Until then, I will continue to ride it out. Tomorrow evening, our family will celebrate Michael's birthday with stories and laughs at The Old Spaghetti Factory, as we do each year. This time, when I called to make the reservation, I mentioned that it would be a birthday dinner. No doubt Michael had a good laugh at that, picturing us explaining to the staff that the birthday boy is indeed with us, but happens to be invisible. Oh Mikey, what a ride.
Image: LBD Group

Modifying Traditions

The early snowfall last weekend prompted me to begin decorating for Christmas much earlier than usual. My enthusiasm was also spurred on by my husband and I stumbling upon a mom and pop shop carrying an eclectic mix of items, including a stunning, vintage aluminum tree. It was born in the 50s, as was our home, and the two of us. This shiny tree now adorns our living room, perfectly. If I were a betting person, I would have lost big time - I never, ever imagined I'd have an artificial tree, never mind one made of aluminum!  Growing up, my family would purchase our tree the day before Christmas, then decorate it with real candles during the afternoon, for our German Christmas Eve celebration that night. Later on, with my own children, our tree would be trimmed with white lights a week before Christmas. This year, our new-to-us tree has no lights at all, and was fully decorated on the first of December. Modifying our traditions: details of how we experience this holiday season change over time, but celebrating the overall joy of it remains.

Another Grave to Tend

This week, I was informed via snail mail from Germany, that an uncle of mine had passed two days before Christmas.  Sadly, he had smoked himself to death.  He and I were not very close.  Outside my handful of visits there, we had little contact.  Through my aunt's annual Christmas cards, I received updates on their lives.  And even though they were well off, it is likely that she would have considered it an unnecessary extravagance to give me the news of his passing via a long distance call.  And computers are not part of her world.  This aunt, now in her mid-seventies, is no stranger to grief.  She was a four-year-old child when her father died. As a young mother, she had buried her baby boy within days of his birth.  Some years later, her mother passed.  Then, nearly twelve years ago, she experienced the loss of her only sibling, my mother.  Now, with her only child living a fair distance away, and without any friends to speak of, she will understandably feel very alone. I hope she finds comfort in her religious beliefs, as well as support from her church.  And, as she continues taking her daily stroll to the cemetery across the street, to tend yet another grave, I hope she feels the presence of her God walking with her.

Many Blessings

Our little home performed admirably for our annual Christmas Eve celebration, a gathering of my brother's family and mine.  Thirteen of us seated around the dining room table, enjoying our traditional German meal by candlelight.  The dynamics of this group continually changing. This year, three little ones all under three graced us with their sweet energy.  Two other little souls patiently waiting in the wings.  Spirits of loved ones now passed infusing our evening, as well.  This Christmas Day I am counting my blessings, of which there are many.

Gift of Happiness

Taking advantage of the dry weather yesterday afternoon, my daughters, granddaughter, and I, headed over to the outdoor German Christmas Market.  Bundled up against the cold, warm beverages in hand, we wandered from stall to stall, appreciating the European wares, festive decorations, and delicious fare.  While holding the baby, I watched my daughters conferring with each other over possible stocking stuffers for their husbands, and felt deeply connected to my maternal lineage, both present and past.  Many years ago, as a young mother, I had visited a similar market in Germany, with my mother and her sister.  Here, as the Oma, out with my daughters and granddaughter, I recognized that the cultural and hereditary connections of women in my family were very much alive.  After saying our goodbyes, I arrived home, and while unpacking the white dove I had purchased for my tree, I was aware that every cell in my body felt fully activated.  It had been quite some time since I felt this way, and as I searched for the word to best describe this state, it eventually dawned on me: Happiness.  A simple outing, resulting in a cherished gift, that serves to sustain me today.    

A Hummingbird's Gifts

December 6th.  This date eliciting happy childhood memories of annual Nikolaus celebrations, together with other German speaking families. Today, unpacking Christmas boxes, while holding my granddaughter in my arms.  Sorting through countless ornaments and decorations.  Coming across my son's stocking.  Wondering what I might do with it. Something or nothing?  Trying to keep the anxiety at bay.  Focusing on the beauty in my life.  Then, glancing out the kitchen window.  Noticing a precious hummingbird landing on the nearby feeder.  These exquisite birds symbolizing so much.  Incorporated into legends and myths throughout the Americas.  When in flight, wingtips tracing out the infinity sign.  Messengers between worlds, representing immortality. Bringing uplifting energies of hope, joy, healing, and love.  This tiny creature filling my heart, and nourishing my spirit.   Sharing treasured gifts by its mere presence.

We Did It

Outside of the funerals, personally finding these last two days the most difficult this year.  Feeling fragile all weekend.  Walking that thin line between holding it together and falling apart.  Phone calls, emails, and time spent with loving family bringing much appreciated support. Combined with deep breathing, some laughter, meditation, and numerous heartfelt hugs.  Taking time to send love to others experiencing a difficult time as well.  Collectively contributing to a Christmas that was as good as it could be under the circumstances. Myself, my husband, our daughters, and son-in-laws proudly embracing the expression, "We did it."

Table For Fifteen

Preparing for tomorrow night's dinner.  Setting the table for fifteen. Celebrating Christmas Eve here, German style.  As we have for the past nine years.  Carrying on the tradition my parents passed on.  My great-niece making her initial appearance at this particular event.  A few days shy of her first birthday.  Bringing her sweet energy to this family gathering.  Myself, unsure of what to expect this first Christmas without my son.  Obviously an emotional time.  Not lamenting over it.  Just going with it.  Knowing each person here will be missing him too. Directing my attention to what is present.  Simultaneously acknowledging what is missed.  Therein lies the balancing act.  Not tempted to wish this celebration away.  Never.  So much to be grateful for.  The individual aspects of this tradition continually changing as they must.  However, the integrity of the whole remaining supportive, reassuring, and intact.

Modifying Traditions

Filling Christmas stockings.  Truly the highlight of gift giving for me. Beginning in the fall.  Sourcing the ideal items for each family member. A collection of humorous, luxurious, and practical ones.  Wrapping up each little treasure.  All leisurely taking turns Christmas morning. Opening them one by one.  The girls spending the past couple of Christmas mornings with their husbands.  As they should. Establishing their own traditions.  So it had come down to the three of us.  Michael, my husband and I.  Diesel enthusiastically joining in.  Thoroughly enjoying ourselves.  This season, deciding against hanging the stockings for just us two.  Not keen on dealing with the emptiness that would so obviously be sitting there with us.  Simply because of how it came to be. Choosing to give it a pass this time around.  Open to reinstating that tradition in the future.  Understanding that eventually this is how it would have been.  However, this year planning to go snowshoeing instead.

Gathering at the Tree

This coming Sunday.  Our daughters, son-in-laws, my husband and I meeting up.  Decorating a mini Christmas tree together.  Starting this annual tradition at Oma's graveside ten Christmases ago.  Symbolically sharing the holidays with someone we loved.  Lighting candles clipped to the branches.  Singing German carols.  Recounting memories. Moving the occasion to Boal Memorial this year.  Using the same tree Michael helped decorate last December.  Adding some new ornaments for our brother and son.  Kelly and Diesel too.  Knowing my mother will happily meet us there.  All gathering together. 

Recovering Equilibrium

Two steps forward, one step back.  After many days of feeling predominantly optimistic and upbeat, the spirit falters.  Yesterday afternoon.  Several situations converging in a short space of time. Looking through old photos in preparation for a commemorative event later this week.  Listening to unsolicited excuses from a relative about how long it has been since getting together.  Planning Christmas Eve dinner.  Exploring alternate plans for Christmas morning.  All contributing to wearing down emotional reserves.  Tonight a candlelight ceremony at The Compassionate Friends.  The support group for parents who have lost a child.  Following through on a suggestion Michael made last month, I will attend.  This activity likely to provide emotional support.  Assist with recalibration.  Recovering equilibrium. 

Looking Forward

Cold temperatures.  Early snowfall.  Christmas invitations beginning to arrive.  Craft fairs well underway.  Decorations filling shop windows. Propelling me forward into the holiday season.  Anticipating taking in magical outdoor light displays, hearing carols, decorating our home, hosting friends and family.  Purchasing a minimal amount of presents. Preferring to focus on the festivities.  As always, carefully selecting where and when to invest time and energy.  Choosing enjoyment over stress.  Knowing some aspects of the celebrations will look quite different this year.  Looking forward to the season nevertheless.