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. 
                                                 www.diaryofanintuitive.com

Undoing Moments

Back home.  Upon awakening, planning to commit this entire day to working on my book.  Optimistically anticipating finishing the edits of the final entries, then sending them off for proofing.  Moments after rereading my original post of the one year anniversary, the phone rings.  It is a collection agency asking for Michael Gibson.  I explain that my son died over a year and a half ago.  The woman expresses her condolences and requests the obituary or death certificate for confirmation.  I agree, hang up, and take care of it immediately.  Tears falling.  Will these undoing moments ever end?  Minutes later, it occurs to me that this is an agency I have never heard of, and has likely been given an old file from one of the initial organizations I dealt with last year.  I want to minimize these out-of-the-blue, heart wrenching incidents.  I call the agency back, and get a different representative.  I tell her that a few weeks after Michael died,  I received invoices addressed to him, regarding money he owed.  At the time, I called the companies involved, then sent copies of his death certificate.  I ask this agent where this particular file has come from.  I want to understand why they do not have the information that he is dead.  In a very aggressive tone, she informs me that she is not able to discuss those details.  She goes on to say that it is all protected by third-party federal regulations, blah, blah, blah.  These last three words, not hers, but rather, what I hear.  I try rephrasing my question.  In an unkind manner, she interrupts to inform me she cannot help.  Then, hangs up on me.  Hopefully, she never has to deal with the death of her child.  Perhaps she will find an alternate path to gaining some compassion. 

Heartfelt Visit

Spending an engaging evening over wine and appies with one of my daughters here last night.  Along with two acquaintances adjusting to a very recent loss.  This mother and daughter now a family of two.  The four of us taking turns filling each other in.  Sharing anecdotes about the ups and downs of life.  Some much appreciated laughter too. Touching upon the gifts available to us after experiencing a profound loss.  Greater compassion for others.  Increased confidence and freedom to make fitting choices for oneself.  Deeper appreciation for the right here, right now.  A heartfelt visit leaving me feeling connected, uplifted, and grateful.

Detach With Love

Detaching with love.  A difficult lesson frequently presented to me in this lifetime.  With close family members.  The arena in which so much opportunity for learning occurs.  First hearing it described this way at an Al-Anon meeting.  Concerning being in relationships with people who are dealing with addiction.  Working on separating an addict's behaviour from the essence of their soul.  Enabling me to love an individual while simultaneously choosing not to tolerate the objectionable, and often hurtful, conduct.  Vividly recalling an incident from long ago.  Receiving guidance with this after an hour of still time. While meditating on an important relationship.  Hearing the phrase, "Compassion yes, responsibility no."   Often falling short when trying to put into daily practise, but definitely worth striving for.  Providing a healthy alternative to engaging in anger, drama and pain.

Birthday Presence

Dear Kelly,
As your father and brothers celebrate yours and your twin's birthday this weekend, I call upon you to draw in close.  That they may feel your presence and know you are there with them.  To remind them that you will always be part of the family.  As for me, I am so glad you were born and in my life.  Such strength, compassion, love, and optimism.  Thank you for being you.   
All my love,
Vera

Spoken from the Heart

The power of words.  Experiencing so many beautiful examples. Meeting up with a friend over coffee yesterday.  Sharing connection and meaningful conversation.  An uplifting visit.  Soon after, reading a message filled with reassuring words from another.  Such caring expressed therein.  In the evening, taking in an author's talk at the library.  Regaling the audience with her life stories.  Resulting in an hour of continuous laughter.  Later, receiving a call from a friend reading my daily post.  Wondering how my day had been.  Reaching out with compassion.  This morning reading loving thoughts sent by another.  Sharing her wisdom.  Friends communicating their care and support.  Offering comforting words.  Coinciding with the good fortune of being entertained by a charming stranger.  Words at times seeming quite inadequate.  Yet so powerful when spoken from the heart. Expressing them and receiving them.  

Four Short Words

My son is dead.  Four short words.  By far the most difficult ones ever expressed in all these fifty-four years.  This phrase often jumping uninvited into my thoughts.  Regardless of what may be going on at the time. Heart tightening immediately.  Breathing more laboured.  Tears forming.  Understanding the truth of these words failing to prevent this visceral reaction.  An aspect of my being still frequently shocked by them.  Patience and compassion my allies in this.

Adeptness of Human Nature

Strong and fragile.  Alternating between both states many times a day.  Emotionally and physically.  Able to keep perspective much of the time.  Drawing on compassion and patience for self and others while adjusting to this situation.  Focusing on gratitude.  Staying active for overall mental and physical well being.  All this interspersed with bouts of low energy.  Periods of penetrating sadness.  Feeling lost.  How could it be otherwise?  Heartened by this ability to flow back and forth between these contrasting states.  Continuing to marvel at the adeptness of human nature.  

With Loving Support

There are moments when I forget that this is not forever.  Those times weigh heavy.  The reality is that I have a finite number of days here in this particular incarnation.  One day I too will return to existing in wholly spirit form.  Remembering this lightens my load.  Throughout the day I see my son smiling down with immense patience and compassion.  Pure love emanating from his being.  From his vantage point he understands how difficult this all is.  He also knows it must be so.  I know this too.  As his mother I had to stand by and watch him fall while he learned to walk.  I could not protect him from that pain.  He now takes his turn to lovingly support me while I stumble along.  And I thank him from the bottom of my heart.

A Difficult Choice

This was the most difficult step yet, standing in that cold room looking at the various display cremation coffins, imagining my baby boy's body, all 6 foot 2 inches of him, being placed in one of these.  Knowing that it was only the shell he had left behind was of little comfort in that moment. So many choices, from the purely functional to the ornate.  With lining and pillow, or without?  As I wandered from casket to casket, I kept staring at the most basic one, literally a cardboard box.  My rational mind could understand that it really didn't matter which one I finally chose, but my heart and soul felt otherwise.  As I contemplated all the options, Michael's sense of humour and practicality were trying to make a case about how appropriate that cardboard version would be. He was laughing as he showed me the comic connection to his work environment which was full of cardboard boxes, and then in his no nonsense way adding, "Mom, the fancier ones are just a waste of money."  He listened to my arguments with compassion and that sparkle in his eyes, and then smiling, he indulged me in my final choice.  Thank you Michael for being with me and lightening up that difficult situation, just as you had done for me so many times before.