Spirit In Gear

Reaching Beyond Death

It's been a little over a year since the death of my second parent.  I find that the absence of my parents is a life-changing event that I am still adjusting to.  Most days I think of them, still with longing, but without the intense grief.

Yet from time to time, their absence hits me hard and lays me low for a day or two.  This past weekend is one of those times.  I ache with longing to see Mom and Dad, to talk with them.  Sadness envelopes me and I feel lost.  Our family structure has shifted.  My sibs and I have moved into the "elder" generation position.  It doesn't feel right somehow to have no generation ahead of me.

We are still attempting to regain our footing with the holidays - to create new traditions that compensate for the absence of Mom and Dad.   We will be challenged later this month when my niece gets married - the first grandchild - and no grandparents will be present.  My father was a great dancer, and we will have to pick up the slack for sure!

In my longing for my parents, I decide to write to them.  I share what I am feeling.  Near the end I throw out a plea to see them, just for a moment, to  help me keep on going.  I know in my adult mind that that is a "silly" plea, but my heart will not be silenced.

That evening I go to sleep and dream.  In my dream, my youngest brother and I are standing outside on some undetermined street corner.  As I look up, I see my father approach us.  He looks about 10 years younger than when he died.  Dad looks vibrant and alive!  He approaches us.  I eagerly point Dad out to my brother.  My brother and Dad are able to touch, fingerpoint to fingerpoint, just like ET.  I am within a couple of yards of Dad before he disappears.  Even tho we weren't able to touch, I feel ecstatic that I have seen Dad.

I wake up in the morning and feel a sense of happiness and deep well-being.  The feeling stays with me all day.  I am incredulous that Dad found some way to connect with me, and to reassure me, in similar fashion as my mother did to me in the dream where she met me last December.

Although death feels like an end, I am beginning to grasp that there is a world beyond imagining on the other side.  And that connections to loved ones cannot be severed, even by death.

Early Chrismas Visitor Brings Joy

This December, as in Christmas seasons past, I decorate our home and tree, purchase and wrap gifts, send out cards, and bake my favorite cookies.

Unlike any Christmas season preceding this one, I face my first holiday celebration without either of my parents.  We lost Mom less than 2 years ago, and Dad passed away 3 months ago.  My siblings and I attempt to put on a brave face, while feeling trepidation at facing Christmas with the empty spaces left by our parents.

This morning, without benefit of my alarm clock's loud buzzzzzzz, I awaken from a dream feeling a sense of happiness.

In this dream that feels "real," I stand outdoors in a meadow with a vista reaching beyond for some distance.  I see my mother standing about 15 yards away.  She is watching two men garden.  That doesn't surprise me to find her in the garden, as she loved to plant flowers.

Oddly, the men don't see Mom (or me, for that matter).  I realize then that Mom is invisible to them, even though she looks solid to me.  With excitement, I call out to Mom several times.  My mouth forms the words, but no sound comes out.  I keep calling out and am rewarded when Mom hears my soundless cry.  She slowly walks over to me and extends her arm at the same time that I do.  We touch fingertip to fingertip, just as "E.T." did in the movie by the same name.  Mom's touch is solid before she fades away.  Still in my dream, I am feeling incredulous joy that I could see Mom and make a physical connection. 

I gradually wake up from the dream, feeling happy and light.  Bittersweet tears roll down my face as I replay the dream in my mind.  I feel profound gratitude that Mom found a way to reach across the Universe to touch me.  Connecting with Mom brings me a sense of comfort, joy, and of course, fresh sadness too.

My dream confirms that our loved ones who pass on before us are alive, albeit in a different form.  They still cherish us and want the best for us.  Death is simply a door to the next life. 

Mom and Dad, we will raise a toast to you on Christmas Day.  We love you always and look forward to meeting up with you when its our turn to walk through the door.  God Bless Us All!

Love Notes from the Past

My sister reaches for the last box in the closet.  One last box to go through as we go through all of Dad's papers as part of settling his estate.  The last box at the end of a long day of looking at hundreds and hundreds of papers.

Taking the lid off the box, we discover a packet of handwritten letters.  The postmarked letters date from late 1947 to mid 1949 - love letters Dad sent to my mother while he was in college.  We let out a gasp of wonder at their existence.

We carry the letters back to my sister's home.  That evening, stretched out on the couch, with a glass of red wine and dark chocolate within easy reach, we read each of the 22 letters. 

The postage, by the way, was 3 cents back then.  And it wasn't until the second reading of the letters that I noticed that Dad put the stamp on each letter upside down, which is what my boyfriend (and later husband) did with the love letters he sent me in 1973 with an 8 cent stamp!  Rumor has it that a stamp placed upside down indicates love and romance.

In Dad's letters we learn of the silly, the mundane, and the interesting aspects of life in the late 1940's:  the live crabs Dad put in his roommate's bed as a prank; the pinochle games that went on until 3:00 a.m.; the music he listened to; the friends he and Mom doubled with; his negotiation with his Spanish professor for a better grade; his first bylines in the school newspaper; the boring jobs he holds to make ends meet as a student.

We also learn of the romantic and earnest side of Dad.  By letter # 8, Dad tells Mom he loves her . . . that she is the one he has been looking for all his life.  As you might imagine, I shed a few tears here.  Later letters reveal that Dad thinks he can do anything, be anything with Mom at his side.  He counts down the days, hours, and minutes til his wedding day, imagining Mom walking up the aisle to him.

What an extraordinary experience to read Dad's words - to be let in so intimately into his life at age 21-22, before he became a husband and father.  I am struck by how alive he becomes for me - his enthusiasm, his optimism, his joi de vivre, his sense of humor, and most of all, his unabashed love for my mother.  

These letters are part of a past era . . . an era characterized by "The Greatest Generation," as Tom Brokaw writes about them.  Dad served 2 years overseas during WWII.  Postwar, he attended college on the GI bill.  He had no money, and begged and borrowed rides to travel an hour each way each weekend to see Mom.  Their primary source of entertainment included playing cards, and dancing.  The qualities of innocence, romanticism, and optimism marked their lives at the time.  Surely it couldn't hurt our cynical world to return to a more gentle style of courting.

Reading these letters has been bittersweet.  They create a fresh wound of grief and sadness at not having Mom and Dad in my life.  And they make me feel so utterly grateful for being given a rare glimpse into Dad's heart and soul.  I will hold and cherish the memories Dad's words have created for me.  And I will share the letters with my daughters so that they will not settle for anything less than the grand love exemplified by their grandparents.

All of this has gotten me to thinking . . . what do you want to leave behind for your loved ones to discover?

Coming Up For Air

Friday evening my husband and I watched a DVD rental - 17 Again. Who would have guessed a movie about a 30 something Dad returning to his glory days of high school could be so good?  The movie was just what I needed - a lifeline to lift my spirits up out of the sea of sadness and anguish I've been wading through since my Dad died.  I'll take my light-hearted, feel-good moments any way they come.

Saturday morning we broke our routines.  We got out of bed, got dressed, skipped breakfast and drove downtown - about a 20 minute drive to Greenville (SC).  We got in line on a beautiful sunny morning to purchase tickets to the Broadway show, Wicked, coming in Feb.  We managed to nab 2 premium tickets on day 1 of this sale (at a premium price of course!).  That will be something to look forward to in the coming months.

Saturday evening we met friends for a quiet dinner and conversation.

My week is ending differently than how it began, mirroring the ups and downs of the grieving process. The emotional intensity and nights of interrupted sleep earlier this week have eased up.  I've slept through the night three nights in a row.  I experience small moments of lightness.

Some people have described losing the second parent as akin to becoming an orphan.  Since the word 'orphan" conjures up children in my mind, that comparison doesn't fit for me.  Rather losing a second parent feels like there's a new crack in the foundation of my life.  Although my foundation remains strong, the crack is permanent. 

In the weeks ahead my energy will gradually return.  And in the weeks and months ahead lie the big grief triggers . . . settling Dad's estate; Thanksgiving; Christmas; St Patricks Day; Dad's birthday; and Fathers Day.  I'll do my best to take it one day at a time, and remember to keep coming up for air.

[Photo Credit:  Patita_Rds]