Life, Love, and Loss

     While practicing yoga in my She Shed this morning, I acknowledged the beauty of the rainy weather visible through the glass door, as I reflected on the intense ups and downs of this past week. A roller coaster of emotions to process on the mat.
     It began Monday morning, with a call informing me that my brother had been admitted to hospital due to suspected heart attack symptoms. I spent the day sending both him and his wife loving energy, knowing that whatever transpired in there, it would be without the support of any visitors at all.
     Tuesday, I received an encouraging update on his health, along with the good news that a procedure had been scheduled. Then, deciding I needed a hit of grandkids, I hopped on my bike with coffee tumbler in hand, to my older daughter's home for an outdoor visit, all of us maintaining our two metre spacing.
     Wednesday, a COVID wedding with five of us present and physically distancing, of course.  No matter how big or small, officiating wedding ceremonies always brings me joy. Then later in the day, a treasured conversation with my younger daughter, hearing about her rich metaphysical experiences.
     Thursday morning, a message from my brother that he was feeling good and going home. A huge sense of relief. Then after lunch, I walked down to the village to tie a bouquet to my mother's memorial bench so that it would be in place for the following day's anniversary of her death. 
     Friday, I enjoyed a morning forest walk with my husband, reminiscing about my mom and thinking about how much I wished she could still be part of our lives. Then after our lunch, the two of us drove out to the valley for an overdue visit with my brother and his wife, during which we chatted for over four hours, seated around their backyard fire pit. So grateful for the chance to see them in person.  
     Saturday afternoon, I had the immerse pleasure of officiating two more weddings, both outdoors under dry skies.
     And then, Sunday. With three outdoor weddings scheduled, it would be a full day. After the first one, I had a couple of hours free, so I returned a missed call from a young friend. Sadly, I was informed that Kelly's dad had died unexpectedly, on Friday evening. My heart immediately went out to his family in particular, now thrust once again into that painful state of the newly grieving. I had the honour of being the celebrant at his marriage. Now, less than four years later, he has returned to the in-between, reunited with his daughter.
     A few hours later, after returning home from the third wedding, I sat down to relax with a glass of wine. Scrolling through social media, I saw the article that I knew my husband had recently been interviewed for by the local paper. Well written, it was primarily about my husband's sense of humour as expressed on the sign mounted outside his business here in our community. However, partway through, still within the context of the story, there was reference made to Mike and Kelly's deaths. So of course, the tears started flowing.
     A week filled with deeply emotional experiences of life, love, and death. All clear reminders of what really matters.
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Image credit: Gordon Johnson, Pixabay

Precious Birthday Connections

     Early January marks three significant birthdays of people very dear to me (two now in pure spirit form and one here on Earth) - my mother's on the 4th, my son's on the 8th and a close friend's is on the 9th. Last year's incredible display of spirit energy related to these birthdays will be hard to beat. 
     On the morning of January 5th, 2019, I tied a bouquet of flowers to my mother's memorial bench in Edgemont Village as a belated acknowledgement of her birthday. I then strolled over to one of my favourite home decor shops, a fixture in this community for 30 years, run by a mother/daughter team. While driving by the shop the previous day, I had decided I would buy my close friend a gift card from here which I would pop in the mail for her birthday. As the daughter (who happened to attend high school with Michael) rang in my purchase, her mother asked me for the name of the recipient so that she could personalize the card with calligraphy. While she was putting the finishing touches on the present with cello wrap and ribbons, I began telling her that the gift was for my friend of over 40 years. Midway through, something caused her to freeze. A moment later, she proceeded to tell me what had happened to her shortly before leaving home that morning. She had been standing near her husband's computer area, looking up at the huge bookshelf filled to the brim with books. All of a sudden one of the books fell off the shelf and landed right in her hands. She immediately recognized it as my book, Diary of an Intuitive, wrapped in its protective cello sleeve. She mentioned that she hadn't looked at it for a few years and couldn't figure out why it had fallen. Then, as she continued telling me the story, she put two and two together and told me it had been my son. Being intuitive and sensitive to spirit energy, she realized why that particular book and why that morning.
      Then it was my turn to share details with her that would flesh out the entire experience. I explained that I had just come from my mother's memorial bench whose birthday was the day before, that Michael's birthday would be in three days time, and that my good friend, who was extremely close to Michael and celebrating her birthday the day after his, would for the very first time be missing our family birthday celebration at The Old Spaghetti Factory in Michael's honour. She had also edited my book. For the shopkeeper to share her experience with me made my day, filling my heart to near bursting, and gave me something precious to reflect upon for years to come.
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Photo credit: Bruno Glaetsch

Massive Amount of Maternal Energy

     When I awoke yesterday morning, I knew it was going to be a good day. For my belated birthday gift, I would be spending time with my oldest daughter and my granddaughter at a mother/daughter brunch and attending a performance of The Nutcracker ballet. The day began with an unexpected early morning phone call from my aunt in Germany, my mother's only sibling and my last remaining close relative on my mother's side. She still lives on the property where she and my mother were born and where their mother had lived from the time she married until she died. Our infrequent communication consists of a card and perhaps one letter a year, with an occasional phone call every year or two. She was calling with Christmas greetings and to catch up on the goings on of our family.
     An hour after I hung up, I left the house, adorned with the ring and gold bracelet I had inherited from my mother (both of which had been her mother's before that). I had consciously chosen these two pieces to emphasize the multi-generational maternal connection for this particular outing. When I arrived at my daughter's home to pick up the two of them, she told me that I'd never believe what she just found and handed me my mother's drivers license! She had noticed it earlier that morning on the floor amongst the shoes in her closet (around the time I was on the phone with my aunt). It had not been there when she had sorted through the shoe area a short time ago, but now there it was - lying in wait and in full sight. She couldn't even recall ever having it in her possession and thought the only connection might have been that after my mother's death, she may have taken it with her after looking through her Oma's personal items. My mother died in 2002 and my daughter has moved at least a half dozen times since then - uncanny.
     After settling in at the restaurant, while awaiting our meal, I pulled out a tiny notebook enclosed in cello wrapping from my purse, entitled "Great Games: classic pen and pencil games for two players". I had no idea what the inside of the book looked like but the title and cover was promising. I had purchased it early last summer, thinking it might come in handy with the grandchildren while awaiting a ferry or a meal in a restaurant and had been carrying it around unopened in my purse since then. After tearing off the cello wrap, I flipped through the wordless booklet and found it was filled with three versions of patterned pages: 1) graph paper, 2) evenly spaced dots arranged vertically and horizontally, and 3) miniature hexagons. Upon seeing the dotted sheets, I instantly thought of my mother - she used to play the game of Dots and Boxes on this kind of paper with my young children but I had completely forgotten about it until now. I then showed the page to my daughter, asked her who this reminded her of, and she instantly replied, "Oma".
     After enjoying the highly entertaining Nutcracker Ballet, we made our way down to the lobby where I decided to check the time and saw it was 3:15pm. In Germany, which is nine hours ahead, it was already quarter after midnight on December 10th - my Oma's birthday!
     A massive amount of maternal energy appearing over the course of a few hours, connecting my maternal grandmother, my mother, myself, my daughter, and my granddaughter.  A truly unforgettable day in this blessed life of mine.
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Motherly Moments

     

     My young, newly-married mother gave birth to me, her first born, a few months after arriving here from Germany in 1956. With her minimal English and limited options, she cleaned houses for the first ten years to help make ends meet. Happily, she was able to give that up when she realized her dream of becoming a hairdresser. She absolutely loved her job and the clients in Edgemont Village. 

     When she passed away fourteen years ago, her family and friends dedicated a memorial bench to her in this same neighbourhood. If you find yourself in the village on Mother’s Day, you may notice the fresh flowers on her bench. If you have a few minutes, why not sit and enjoy the moment? If you are a young, harried mother, it may be an opportunity to catch your breath. If you are a mother with adult children, you might reminisce about precious moments you enjoyed while raising them. If your own mother is no longer with you, maybe a cherished memory of her will fill your heart. If you are a mother who has lost a child, perhaps you will settle into the deep connection with that love that never dies. And if you are lucky enough to be a grandmother, well, you might sit for a long while, just smiling at your good fortune. 

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Coming Up on Five Years

     Considering that it is coming up on five years without him, some people may be surprised to know that I do not fully comprehend the fact that my son is dead. Despite my lifelong belief in everlasting spirit, and numerous personal experiences of connecting to the invisible, I still shake my head in confusion. It is not about denial, nor a reluctance to access my emotions. And it is certainly not due to an unwillingness to understand. What I put it down to is the very real possibility that a mother can never fully make sense of the death of her child.
     I suspect that our brains are not hardwired for this scenario, nor is an after-market add on available either. Job loss, ill health, end of a significant relationship, death of a parent or friend - I believe that for the most part, we are programmed with the capacity to process these life events. But the death of ones child? How is it possible to reconcile giving birth to this precious being, then day in and day out fully invest oneself in his growth, only to be asked to live without his physical presence years later. I would venture to say that being able to fully comprehend the death of ones child is likely impossible.
     Of course, whether I fully understand it or not hardly affects the journey of living with this loss. Every day, every single day, it simply comes down to focussing on joy, love and gratitude as much as possible.

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Significant Birthdays and Unexpected Gifts

 

     This week of significant birthdays, along with unexpected gifts, began with my mother's birthday on January 4th. Were she still living she would now be eighty-one years old. Looking to buy flowers for her memorial bench, and with the local shop where I usually bought them now closed, I stopped in at another neighbourhood store where I had see flowers for sale in the past. When I asked the clerk where they were, she told me they no longer carry cut flowers but that they still had some potted white poinsettias, then offered to give me one, no charge. As I approached the till, she insisted I take two, explaining that the bench would look much nicer that way. Such a thoughtful gift!
     Wednesday, I showed up for my weekly boot camp group class to discover that I was the only participant, and as a result, received the gift of a one-hour private session at the drop-in price. So lucky!
     Thursday, I stopped by an outdoor equipment store and when I arrived at the checkout, noticed a promotion - for each pair of snowshoes purchased, the buyer would receive a free snowshoe ticket valid for the Callaghan trails, an area I've never explored. I had given my husband snowshoes for Christmas and when I explained this to the cashier, he was happy to honour the promo. Sweet gift!
     Today is my son's birthday. He would be thirty, were he still here. This morning, I will be meeting up with a friend who also lives with the experience of losing a child. The gift of support from someone who understands. This evening, our family will gather for dinner at The Old Spaghetti Factory, as we have every January 8th since Michael died. The gift of each other as we carry on to the best of our abilities without our funny, loving, handsome guy.
     This week finishes out with my best friend's 60th birthday tomorrow. We will be celebrating a woman who has been an integral part of my life for close to forty years. A sister to me, an aunt to my children. The gift of a relationship I cannot imagine living without. Most precious, worth its weight in gold.
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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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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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Being Nurtured by Nurturing

                                                   

The need to be nurtured is not something I ever imagined I would be yearning for at this age.  It never occurred to me that a fifty-seven-year-old grandmother could still crave this kind of support.  And yet, I do.  It began the day Michael died, and has not subsided.  At times, I wistfully consider how nice it would be if my mother were still alive, to provide the comfort that only one's mother can.  A few days ago, this subject appeared in a meditation - I saw a huge, bright sphere of orange energy.  I was told that when I nurture others, I am contributing to this collective source of nurturing energy which flows in all directions, and is available for me to draw on for myself as needed. A give and take situation.  Not the same as having my mother physically present, but it will have to do.

Accidental Connection

Woke up to another magnificent sunny day on Sunday.  Leisurely start with morning paper and coffee, followed by checking email, then Facebook.  Scrolling down, I noticed a post from a prominent biologist whom I follow, and as I read the copy accompanying a photo taken at a recent film screening, I was quickly transported from serenity to a heightened state, complete with increased heart rate.  The caption named a Grand Chief and his wife who were both seated beside her.  My intuition kicked in and I had a strong sense that this was the woman who had had the misfortune of driving northbound through Princeton on the early morning of March 7, 2011, approaching a corner to find a car skidding across the ice, directly into her path, then colliding.  To date, the minimal information I had regarding that driver's identity was due to a bizarre coincidence one of my neighbours had shared with me a few months after the accident.  While awaiting dinner service at a conference up in the Okanagan, he had taken his assigned seat, when a fellow attendee, using a cane, approached the table and sat down beside him in her designated seat.  During their conversation, it was revealed that the woman had been in a car accident, thus the cane, and after further discussion, these two realized that the accident was one and the same. When my neighbour returned home, he had told me about the crazy connection but did not mention her by name, only that her husband was an Okanagan band chief and the number of children they had.  Back to the photo.  It took a mere few minutes of online research to realize that indeed this was the right person and to get her contact information.  After some thought, I felt compelled to send her an email, explaining who I was, wishing her well, and assuring her that after Michael and Kelly's deaths, it had never crossed my mind to ask,"Why him, why her, why me?"  This morning, I received a lovely reply resulting in two mother's hearts soothed after this accidental connection.

Three Years In

Hi Michael,
   Mom here. Three years in, and it's still so hard living with this experience of a mother losing a child. No doubt there have been difficult circumstances in previous lives as well, but still, this is a tough one. I miss you so much.

   How are you doing? Are you considering coming back soon or do you need more time? I have no idea what the space between lives looks like. Maybe you'll still be there when I return.

   Thank you for continuing to stay close and helping me see the signs. The need to know you are near is still strong. I know you were watching earlier this week while I played some of your favourite music, loudly. A playlist compiled by your friends, largely made up of songs I had not heard before your death. I felt deeply connected to you while listening to the lyrics, which had spoken to you, and were now speaking to me. And once my tears had given way to dancing, I could see you smiling, and dancing too.
Love Mom ♥ 

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.

I Still Call Bullshit

This morning, while placing flowers at the memorial plaque engraved with my son's birth and death dates, the voice in my head is still calling bullshit.  On a soul level, I understand Michael's passing, however, as his mother, I doubt if it will ever make sense.  The accident happened two and a half years ago today.  It might as well be two and a half months ago, since time has done little, if anything, to alter my day-to-day reality with respect to this intense loss.  How could it?  He is gone. He will never again give me a hug, never again call me on the phone, never again sit down to a family meal.  Regardless of what is happening in my day, experiencing joy or sadness or anything in-between, this companion called grief is with me, always.  I would not have anticipated this is how it would be, but as with any profound life experience, you don't know until you are in it.

First Birthday

Dearest Granddaughter,
Later today we will be celebrating your first birthday, which falls tomorrow.  I have baked you a carrot cake; I cannot remember the last time I made one.  What I do know is that it was an obvious choice given that I had baked this same kind for your mother on her first birthday too.
What you have shown me about yourself thus far:
You give freely of your kisses - to stuffed animals, pictures in books, friends and family.
Your entertaining facial expressions are an ongoing source of joy and laughter.
You enjoy eating, moving your body to music, and reading "Pat the Bunny".
You are not keen on cats nor the feel of grass under your feet.
You are confident and curious, partnered with a healthy dose of cautiousness.
You have a wonderful sense of humour.
You are beautiful.

As you grow older, there may be times when you forget how fabulous you are.  I hope not.  However, if you do, you can read this birthday letter to help remind you of your inherent beauty and worth.  During this first year you have brought a great gift to our entire family, just by being you.

Thank you for being born.

Love and kisses,
Oma

Behind the Scenes

One of the best things about those experiences commonly referred to as "coincidences" is that they never get old - I continue to marvel at each one that occurs.  My husband and I were out on a date in the city a couple of nights ago.  After parking the car, we strolled over to an Indian restaurant for dinner, then checked out a few shops before walking over to the community theatre to take in a local playwright's show.  Upon opening the program I realized that I had lost my favourite pair of reading glasses, purchased in Italy a few years ago.  Disappointed, I mentally retraced my steps and concluded that I had likely left them on the counter in a drugstore, located a few blocks away.  During intermission, my husband kindly offered to go back and look.  While waiting for him to return, I began chatting with a mother and her young daughter seated beside me ( who were incidentally in the seats assigned to my husband and me since they had not checked their tickets accurately, and we were sitting in theirs).  A few minutes into our conversation, I mentioned what my husband was doing.  The woman looked a little puzzled and asked, "Were they designer ones?"  "Yes, ....... why?" I asked.  "I found a pair lying on the sidewalk about a block away and placed them on the retaining wall by the Seniors Home," she replied.  What?  Really?  Still shaking my head, I hurried out into the rain, and sure enough, there they were, exactly where the woman had described leaving them.  I returned to the theatre astonished, and thanked the woman profusely.  Out of the one hundred and twenty patrons in attendance that night, this mother and daughter were the only two that I spoke to, outside of my husband.  I was still trying to process this "coincidence", when in a matter-of-fact tone, the twelve-year-old girl remarked, "Oh, these kinds of things happen to us all the time."  Indeed.  I smiled, then sat down to enjoy the second half of the play.

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.    

Supportive Energy

Our time in Sedona was coming to an end, and we had yet to explore the most photographed landscape in the region, that of Red Rock Crossing, adjacent to Cathedral Rock.  So, after parking the car, we followed the path along Oak Creek to Buddha Beach, where we came across hundreds of rock cairns -  on the forest floor, atop tree branches, on fallen logs, and out in the creek bed.  Red, beige, grey, and orange stones, in varying shapes and sizes, artfully balancing upon each other.  Wandering among them, I was inspired to try my hand at it.  Initially, I considered the idea of creating representations of my three children.  However, after picking up a round, grey rock, I realized I was forming a mother figure instead.  Complete with a heart-shaped stone balancing in her centre.  Then, leaving this gallery of love behind, we made our way over to the huge, red rock slab.  For my husband and I, this was the final one of the four Sedona vortexes left to experience.  Sites that are said to contain concentrated spiritual energy, each with specific energetic attributes described as masculine, feminine, or a combination of both.  After enjoying a simple picnic there, we decided it was time to open the sealed envelope we had been carrying around in our knapsack.  It had been given to me by one of Michael's friends the last time I was home.  She explained that she had hosted a New Year's Eve party in 1999 for a group of her thirteen-year-old friends.  They had each completed, then sealed, their own time capsule questionnaire, then left them at her home, to be opened together during their 2004 graduation year.  However, this project lay dormant until the envelopes were discovered this fall.  Now, in this peaceful space, my husband and I tugged open the flap of the one our son had signed, Mike G's.  Both of us silently reading the contents, beginning with the instruction at the top: Answer truthfully....no one will read this but you.  Going on to discover the words he chose to describe his life in that moment, as well as predictions of what may be.  Another priceless connection, thanks to the thoughtfulness of this friend.  After returning to our vehicle, I was curious about the nature of this particular vortex.  I was not surprised to read it was the only one with solely feminine energy.  Of course it was.

Comforting Communication

Enjoying a glass of wine in these waning moments of this summer solstice evening.  Alone with lights dimmed.  Cherishing the warm glow of a beautifully decorated candle.  One covered in a delicate swirling pattern of sage and coral.  Sitting here reflecting on the moving events at the ISA tonight.  Receiving a message from my son.  Him describing a forest scene with sun shining through the trees.  Exactly where I had been running this morning.  Making reference to our communication there.  Something we always engage in.  Expressing his joy in being able to stay connected.  Passing on encouragement.   Knowing I need it.  My mother coming through as well.  Later, taking my turn up on the platform.  Practising mediumship.  Bringing a message through for someone else in the audience.  Thankful to be learning to serve in this way.  Then upon leaving, speaking to a woman whom I had never met.  Learning she is also living with the experience of losing a child.  Finding great comfort in our conversation.  Both of us wondering aloud what this journey would look like without the spiritual awareness.  Agreeing it would likely be very grim indeed.  Instead, so grateful to know what we know.

The Illusion of Secrets

Attending a Celebration of Life for a fond old family friend a few days ago.  Passing after eight decades here on earth.  A man who had been part of my life since early childhood.  His family, my family and a third one spending so much time with each other.  Three newlywed couples immigrating to Canada as young adults.  Embarking on new lives here. Soon raising children together.  Resulting in three families closely intertwined.  Picnics, camping trips, sleepovers, house parties, and holidays together.  Then abruptly, eleven years later, contact ceasing between our family and the third one.  No longer allowed to play with their daughter.  Severing the relationship between our brothers as well. Confusing times.  No one explaining why.  Then decades later, experiencing a powerful vision while napping on the couch.  Shedding light on what had transpired.  Mentioning it to my mother.  She confirming the details.  Giving her an opportunity to share the hurt still felt by that betrayal.  Adultery.  A painful family secret revealed.  Now running into my former playmate at the service.  Seeing each other again for the first time in forty-four years.  Discussing the situation of broken ties.  She only now learning of the reason why.  The ripple affect of the choices made by those two individuals long ago still reverberating in the universe.  For any number of reasons, neither accepting full responsibility for those actions in this lifetime.  Perhaps caught up in the mighty illusion of secrets.  Obliging them to carry the weight of those decisions into subsequent incarnations.

Cherished Gift

Transitioning from there to here, swiftly and safely.  Beautiful baby Kennedy arriving mere hours ago.  A little girl, just as the pendulum had indicated months ago.  My heart overflowing with love and joy in the presence of her perfection.  Listening to those precious sounds of contentment as she nestled near her mother's breast.  Seeing her father's face reflect great wonder and delight.  Smelling her softness in my arms.  So very grateful for this cherished gift of a granddaughter. Welcome to our family little one.  You have chosen well.