Life and Death

       

     My husband and I recently attended a matinee of the animated movie Coco. No grandkids, just us two, in a theatre predominantly filled with young families. A Mexican friend (who had been our first homestay student nearly 25 years ago, and is now a father of five) had messaged me suggesting I would probably enjoy seeing Coco, knowing as he did of my interest in Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead). We rarely correspond these days but I am so glad he took the time to recommend this movie -  it was a rich experience for all ages. We followed the journey of a young boy named Miguel, who crosses over a colourful marigold petal bridge with his dog, into the spirit world in search of a deceased relative. There he discovers the reasons behind the rituals of Dia de los Muertos and learns more about the ongoing connection between the living and the dead.
     At times during the movie, I thought about my son Michael existing in that vibrant spirit realm - heartwarming. I also considered a few of the tie-ins between the movie and my life. Miguel (which of course is Spanish for Michael) is what we often called our son when visiting Mexico as a family. Also, our homestay student's youngest sibling (who we subsequently got to know very well, along with his whole family) is also named Miguel, and I continue to refer to these brothers as my Mexican sons. As well, that first homestay student and I are both linked to the two days of Dia de los Muertos celebrations through our birthdays, his being November 1st and mine the 2nd. Lastly, having signed up for Spanish classes this fall, I was able to understand a few more of the movie's Spanish language references than I would have before.
     Down the road, I look forward to watching Coco with my grandchildren, as their curiosity often prompts discussions of what Uncle Mike's spirit might be doing and where he might be. And although our family does not observe Dia de los Muertos festivities, we celebrate the familial connections between the living and the dead, with as much joy and love as we can.
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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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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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Immense Resolve

Such immense resolve required in order to stay the course.  The amount of energy expended while doing so, extraordinary.  That proverbial rug so often getting pulled right out from under me.  Without any warning. Last Friday afternoon.  The day before an already emotionally charged weekend.  An envelope from the Ministry of Public Safety arriving in the mail.  Discovering a cover letter inside, along with the official Coroner's Report.  Including numerous details.  Time of Death.  Cause of Death. By What Means.  And more.  Black and white reminder of the harsh reality.  A formal version of events.  Not much in the way of new information.  Thankfully.  Moments later, the phone ringing.  My husband calling to say he would be working a little late.  Telling him about the letter.  He spontaneously responding with morbid humour. "He's probably still dead."  Leaving me laughing and crying.  Truly exhausting.

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.

Nature's Classroom

Gazing out at that huge healthy cottonwood last weekend, I again reflected upon its one large dead branch.  Located midway up the trunk, it has held on for over ten years.  Surrounded by growth, this one has none.  Each time I return to the lake, I half expect to see that branch lying on the beach.  Not yet.  For the first few years I contemplated removing it.  An eyesore I thought.  Useless.  Too high for me to reach, it remained.  Then, I began to pay attention.  Numerous birds were using that branch.  Nourishing themselves.  Meeting up with others.  Resting.  That dead branch and the birds are a continual reminder that my view is only one view.