I Have Learned... in my Great Shedding.

I have come to learn so many things since I have last written.  I have learned that not everyone acts with integrity or compassion as I'd prefer they do.  Even those we have held close and loved dearly for decades.  I have learned those we have loved are capable of intentionally hurting me in ways I could not have imagined.  I have learned at some point one must cut off those that hurt us, even if they are family.  I have learned that the loss of my in-laws in my life is much like letting my only brother walk out of my life 16 years ago.  I have learned that it is easier to see the manipulation of others when not under their noses.  I have learned some will despise me regardless of my making the healthiest choices for my children and myself.  I have learned the health of my children and myself take priority over all else, especially as a single mother.  I have learned there is great strength in walking a path less traveled, in stepping forward to focus upon what I know is best for us.  I have learned the only difficult situation is one that includes blame.  I have learned I can be blamed for virtually anything when others want to find fault and scapegoat me for their loss of my partner (their brother/cousin/friend).  I have learned others have great expectations for how a widow grieves.  I have learned I will survive when others are disappointed in me, when I don't live up to others' expectations.  I have learned I will grow stronger in adversity.  I have learned I am strong enough, loving enough, smart enough, that I am enough.  I have learned to feel even more gratitude for this life I get to live, for these children I get to nurture, for these difficult choices I get to make, for these friends who are our family, for the love within my own happy heart, for the love that grows between my children and I with each day. 

my mindful shedding

LoveFesting

For years I've been talking with my friends about LoveFesting.  I see this Festival of Love as the connection of deep love that runs between the loved ones' overflowing hearts.  This phrase can be adopted and adapted as the user lovingly intends.  I have been LoveFesting for years.

I have had three big romantic relationships in my life.  My first was when I was 18, leaving my parents' home, adrift in the big world for the first time.  I wanted to be loved.  I found a partner who could help me find more of myself in the swirl of life, though not a great long term match.  I was thankful to move beyond that first relationship.

When I met M, I had been working full-time, going to school half-time, learning to fly tiny airplanes as a student pilot, ice skating every weekend, gathering regularly with a wonderful group of coworkers, attending family reunions, driving around the country, and embracing independence and adventure.  I was very happy, full, and LoveFesting with healthy people.  M found me dancing in a little bar on Belmont in Portland, Oregon.  I was dancing with friends, two men and one woman.  M asked me if I wanted to dance.  In my literalism and defiance, I kept dancing without response.  I didn't need a dance partner to continue dancing.  So we danced... into the night.  The first thing I asked him was if he smoked.  It was a bad habit I didn't want to bring into my life.  18 years later he died of non-smoker's lung cancer.  In the meantime, M brought amazing security, grounding, safety, resilience, determination, integrity, persistence, and loyalty into my life.  We had beautiful adventures of travel and dining and settling and playing and dancing and bringing babies into our world and parenting.  We grew and expanded and embraced and laughed and cried and held on through extraordinary adventures.  I am thankful in every moment that he asked me if I wanted to dance.  And that we kept dancing.  In our lives together, we had one amazing LoveFest.

After M's death, I held onto my dear friends, riding out the thunderstorms and waves of loss and transition.  By necessity, I stepped into my ability to manage more than I ever have before.  I moved into mothering three young children on my own while also managing an entire world of other details M had finessed.  I found ways to play with my friends, to focus upon what was most important, to make the most of the last minute, to find some balance in the endless waves of lists, to juggle the needs of others and myself.  As a necessity for my healthy, my meditation and gratitude practice took flight.  In all the ups and downs of this part of my life, I trusted the waves to carry me higher than I'd ever been.

And that was the place in which I got to reconnect with my friend J.  He had been finding the shape of hearts in his life for as long as he could remember, sending photos of these hearts to his parents and son.  He manifested love in beautiful ways as I LoveFested with my people.  When J asked to hold my hand on our first walk, neither of us were looking for romance.  We were simply walking and laughing with a friend who held beautiful energy.  We found it easy to love one another, to raise the other up just by being ourselves.

As our personal heart-centered LoveFest expands and includes more people, we find great comfort in the connections we share, in the high vibrations we grow, in how our love for one another makes us stronger on our own.  J reminds me often that he is simply holding a mirror up for me to see the beauty others already see in me, that I am strong and capable on my own.  He helps me to stand in my own power as we walk side by side.  We talk often about how it is such a gift and a privilege to have had two great loves in our lives, of the privilege of bringing our first great loves so fully into our current relationship.  We are aware of the blessings and challenges in our situation.  Together we are grateful for each step of the way as we intentionally raise each other up.  In all my life, I have never known so acutely the results of manifesting my destiny through raising my thoughts.  In holding gratitude for my unfolding story, I add sparkle and delight to whatever unfolds.  I am so very grateful for these blessings in my life, in the lives of my children.  We are blessed beyond measure and we will not take that for granted.  We lovingly continue on with our LoveFest.

Intentional manifestation

Changing Course

As a Caucasian woman, I have had the incredible privilege of being enfolded as part of a loyal, focused Asian family for the last 18 years.  I feel enormous gratitude for these years as the good daughter-in-law and wife and mother.  As I expand to embrace my 40th year and my widowhood with three young children, I can see myself in a new light.

For the last 18 years, M's family has been my family.  In my own biological family, my only brother has chosen not to be in our lives, my parents live a quiet life a couple hours away, I've gotten to know my grandmother in the last several years, and my other relatives live far away.  Wanting more family in my life, I naturally leaned into the comfort and security of M's family.  In our world, each family unit has its own culture.  I was lovingly embraced within M's family culture.  They became my family.  They are now mourning the loss of our beloved M.  It would be comforting for others to see me grieving for years as the single mother of three young children.  That was the plan... if one could plan.  As I grieved the loss of my beloved M, I stepped more fully into my power and independence and possibilities.  I embraced play and laughter, encouraged by our children and dreams.  We stepped playfully into the next phase of our lives.

As I step more fully into my own strengths and knowingness, I feel the pull between family cultures.  I feel the pull to continue to follow my in-laws' advice.  There is also a pull to calculatingly trust others outside the family.  This is a delicate transition for our family, as I hold the love of M with me always and also make space to fall in love with someone new.  In shifting my perspective, I choose to see this change as a way to lovingly hold onto my in-laws while also making space to welcome another family into our lives.  It is an awesome privilege to get to navigate this journey as we embrace our growing human family.

Lessons Learned through Dying and Living

I am so grateful for my life!  I am so thankful for getting to mother these three beautiful children.  I am so thankful for all I've been through, all the lessons I have learned, all the tears and laughter I have gotten to experience.  Months ago I took notes of the important things I wanted to talk about after my husband died of non-smoker's lung cancer at a young age.  These notes aren't comforting or thrilling.  They are part of my lessons.

Avoid working in old buildings.
Get radon testing in your home.
Stay healthy in all ways.
Balance mental, physical, emotional, and spiritual health as best as possible.
Give great thanks for these extraordinary lives we get to live.
Each life and each day is an immense gift.
Focus on what makes you happy, on what feels good.
Laugh, cry, smile, touch.
Love those around you as completely as you can.
Fall deeply and madly in love with yourself.
Everything else will fall into place.

New Love

Each Wednesday I have a beloved friend, whom I call "my favorite wife", love on my children while I go play with other adults.  This is a way for me to see a different friend each week, investing in relationships that feed my soul.  I've been on thai-curry-and-ice-cream dates with a friend whose husband has just died.  I've been on watching-ducks-on-flood-plains-in-the-park dates with a single dad friend in Washington.  I've been on Goodwill-bins-and-Irish-car-bomb-drink dates with my attorney's legal secretary, my smoking hot friend who wears all black and gifts me mixed CDs.  I've been on bibimbap dates with groups of laughing and crying homeschooling girlfriends.  I've been on talk-about-everything-in-our-hearts dates with my beloved cousin-in-law's wife.  I've gotten to go on dates with my cross-country-motorcycling-line-dancing-farmer friend.  Other dates too.  There are wild plans for many more dates without children.  What an adventure!  I look forward to and cherish these playful Wednesday night dates!

Six weeks ago, with a last minute cancellation, I couldn't find a Wednesday night date.  I sat in my car outside the accountant's office, crying over the intensity of assembling all my family's financial information for the last year.  This is one of the zillion responsibilities my partner used to manage that I know get to tackle and embrace.  The many firsts as a widow can be surprisingly hard.  In planning my evening, I dried my eyes for a moment to look at movie listings.  With a good movie, attending a show alone can be awesome.  My choices that day were children's movies, war films, and horror flicks.  I would rather sit alone in my car than choose one of these.  And I was going to... until my friend J said he could step out of his son's class for a walk.  This stepping out of class shifted more than either of us expected.  I had met this friend in my Dougy Center Pathways Program group in July.  My partner died last autumn and my family transitioned out of the Pathway Program.  J and I somehow forgot to exchange phone numbers, though I kept in touch with others from the group.

Four months later, my son wanted to go to a specific arcade, and we couldn't go until Monday after errands.  When we were a block from the arcade, I spotted two familiar people.  I didn't know in that moment who they were, but I knew I needed to stop to talk with them.  My family got out of the car and we visited with J and his son for 45 minutes.  We greeted each other with hugs and were so happy to see each other again.  J held my wee babe as our big kids played in the trees.  We all endlessly talked and laughed.  I noticed how much I was laughing with J, knew it had been a long time since I'd laughed that much, and thought of how I'd like to spend more time laughing with J.  When it was time to go our separate ways, J buckled my wee one into her carseat and we worked through our busy schedules to plan a play date for six weeks later.  So it was J who agreed to a spontaneous walk on that date night when no other friend was available.

For that first walk, we strolled into the sunset, holding hands, and laughing.  We went on a hike the next day.  Sitting atop Rocky Butte, holding hands, we shared more details of our personal stories with one another.  J said he didn't think he was ready for a romantic relationship.  I said, "Me neither,... but doesn't this feel nice?"  The next day we went to the library and snuggled into a corner with windows and books with my wee babe.  Since then, we have had a "hot date" with each other every night via text or telephone.  And our connection and love for one another continues to grow.  We are so grateful for each other, feeling like our partners have hand-selected us for one another.  We feed and support and heal each other in ways others cannot.  J loves my children so gently, playfully, and lovingly.  As his only son grows more independent, he treasures this connection with my younger children who still want to hear bedtime stories, talk about their day, and hold hands.  My children and I are discovering new depth within ourselves, feeling more grounded, excited, supported, and playful than we have in a long while.  With our new loves in our lives, my children are laughing their way to greater independence, resilience, perseverance, and joy.

Just a few days ago we opened up our schedules and got to play with J's son again.  We greeted each other with hugs and then spent an hour slamming each other with dodge balls in a room of trampolines.  Pizza, puns, and chocolates were the sweet ending to our first family date.  It is such a surprising experience for my children and me to fall slowly and fully in love with J and his son.  We are thankful for these extraordinary people every day as our connections grow stronger.  I hold no specific destination in my heart for where this new love will lead.  I trust we are following our hearts and moving in the right direction.  I trust myself in these choices, in leading my children to more loving connections with each other, in finding more patience and grace within my parenting toolbox, in moving more completely into my own strength and color, and in following our hearts to create space for those that love us back so fully.  I am so grateful every day for this new love that reflects for me my own strength and beauty, for this love that brings new light into our lives, and for this love that brings my children and me closer to our true selves.

Manifesting overflowing hearts everywhere...

Falling in Love

Ten months ago, my beloved partner was diagnosed with an aggressive cancer.  Losing him six months ago has been an intense and devastating experience for our three children, our family, friends-who-are-family, and me.

I am feeling especially grateful for my gratitude practice right now, as redundant as that seems.  I've spent years focusing daily upon what I appreciate in my life.  And now I am seeing more side effects from this practice of shifting and shaping my own thoughts.  With an intentional turn of perspective, I get to see the many blessings that have come about as a result of this journey in the last ten months.  I believe there are silver linings or helpers in any situation.  Sometimes they are harder to find, yet they are still present.  Most people in our world are well-intentioned, helpful, and want to show up for one another.  To move forward in this world, this is what I believe.

Our biggest silver lining was, upon diagnosis, the family and friends-who-are-family who showed up for us in every way imaginable.  We were and are surrounded by incredible love and never alone, even though sometimes we felt alone.  They were there to hold me while I sobbed in the grocery store.  They were there to drive my partner to appointments.  They were there to talk with my partner while I ran errands.  They were there to be with our children so I could sit at my partner's side and attend appointments.  

We were able to join the Dougy Center support groups right after my partner's diagnosis, both the transitional pathways program and later the bereavement groups.  Through Dougy, my wee family has found so many loving families in similar situations.  We see these friends at least twice a week to play and connect, along with our twice-monthly support group.  These families are our primary support network when it comes to brutal honesty in our raw moments, our surprising and intense feelings, watching the flow of storms through our core, and knowing we are not alone in searching for the light through painful experiences of losing a loved one.

As I experience the privilege of turning 40, knowing many others won't have this same privilege, I step more fully into myself, into knowing myself, trusting myself, discovering myself.  As a single parent, I get to explore and play and create in ways I couldn't as part of my wonderful co-parenting co-habitating relationship.  Now I get to choose what I want to bring into my life, what I choose to leave behind, and how I choose to move forward with my children at the forefront.  My children benefit from getting to watch me explore and expand.

I am writing from a little room in a small house in Waldport, Oregon.  My children are here with me in this room and on this adventure.  My son is now driving a car across bumpy terrain on an electronic screen, my oldest daughter is asleep on the couch, and my youngest wee one is on my lap drawing pictures in this morning's window condensation.  I hear and see the ocean.  I don't have telephone service, so all the world of talking and texting others falls away.  There is a calm and quiet within myself that I haven't known in this way before.

I am growing in trusting my instincts, in trusting my connections with others, in trusting the resiliency of myself and my children.  I trust my children are growing in beneficial ways by watching me grow into myself more fully, in their growing independence.  I get to fall in love with this life in all its intensities: full time parenting, taking over every aspect of home care and choices, life with tears and laughter and melancholy and beauty, learning as I go, leaning on my people in ways I haven't before.  I get to learn more about my own strengths, weaknesses, interests, perspective.  I get to dig deep in the quiet moments, fewer quiet moments than ever before.  I get to connect with others in ways I haven't before.  I get to be responsible for my own (oh-so-early) bedtime.  I get to fall in love with the details of this moment, in my relationships with my children, in how my child grates slowly upon every carrot in the communal bowl, in how long it takes me to finish a sentence, in how I slowly grow stronger in who I am so I can more lovingly support my wee folk.  What a privilege to get to fall in love with my own life, again and again, and then share that with my people.

Living at the heart of it all

Butterflies

In my new life as the single mother of three young children, everything is simultaneously new and unknown.  It is as if I am reborn into a different reality that I get to create.  Along with this newness is the beginning of spring after a very long winter and the approach of my fortieth birthday.  When others feel anxiety and nervousness, I intentionally call these flutters in my gut butterflies.  I intentionally try to find the delight and play in new experiences, even as awful as removing my partner's name from utility bills.  I have worn my wedding ring nearly every day for the last 11 years, aside from the days when I was super angry with my partner.  Those were tiny bumps held by a big love.  I was completely committed and faithful and devoted as a wife and mother.  I still am, though the rules of the game have changed.

I have now been a widow for five months.  In leaning upon those in our support groups, I cherish deep connections with those who really understand my experiences.  I lean in and hug these friends, needing that physical touch with safe adults.  Last week I was able to take an hour walk with a friend.  We walked on the sunny side of the street into the sunset.  When his arm was sore from the way I held it, he asked if I minded holding hands.  I told him that was uncomfortable for me, but I'd like to try it.  Hand holding is very intimate for me.  Like kissing.  I was wearing my late partner's wedding ring and my own ring on that sacred ring finger.  The very act of holding hands with a man produced the butterfly effect in my gut.  Along with that familiar flutter came a deep grounding from the balance of feminine and masculine energies.  This was an incredibly nice, grounding feeling.

The next morning, my finger was sore from the bulky tight rings.  I struggled to get the rings off to rest my hand.  My fingers tend to be cold now, as I am not eating all that my body needs, a painful thing to admit.  My wedding ring then would not go back onto my finger.  So here I type with butterflies in my gut and no ring on my finger.  In tears.  With children at my sides searching for their layers of nourishment and comfort.  There are so many emotions on this part of the journey.  This lovely man and I aren't really ready for a new romantic relationship, though we take comfort in each other's company.  In holding hands and talking.  We have full, busy lives as single parents that center on raising our children and putting one foot in front of the other.  We have created beautiful lives we love, aside from the devastation of being without our most beloved partners.  We collect hearts and relationships and look for the light in our world.  What an interesting place to find myself.  Everything is new and uncomfortable and somehow there is so much beauty in the melancholy.  I am so thankful for these experiences that torture and expand me, that comfort and connect me.  I am so thankful for this pickle I am now in and the butterflies that accompany it.

Searching for hearts

Playing In Dreams

About two months after M died, I had a dream of him.  I was looking down at our children playing at my feet and looked up to see M turn and walk away.  The image was too brief to see his face.  He has been gone now for 16 weeks, a short enough time for me to still be counting weeks.  Even now I can only access videos of two weeks after we met and the last two weeks of his life.

In the weeks before he died, I saw the clock almost twice every day show me numbers that reminded me of when M and I first met and fell in love.  In those moments of numerical assistance I reminded myself to recall the love we shared in the beginning, the lightness and playfulness we shared with one another.  In the last two weeks I've begun to see these numbers again.

A few weeks ago I began to meditate in deeper ways, while also asking to see more of M.  I finally got to see him in a dream.  In this dream, our children were again playing nearby in the woods by a creek.  M and I watched our children play from inside the dim house.  I got to hug M, to feel his skin, to smell him.  I could almost hear his voice.  There was a tattoo across the entirety of his bare chest.  I imagined it would be an image from his favorite sports team.  To my surprise, it was a cowboy on a bucking bronco.  One hand was holding the cowboy hat down while the other held a circling lasso over his head.

I awoke and laughed at the absurdity of the tattoo image, at the relief at finally seeing him again.  My M was never a fan of horses, rodeos, or the Wild West.  What was he doing with a bucking bronco on his chest?!  Each week I translate another layer of meaning from the tattoo.  At first I thought the dream was suggesting I go to a rodeo.  Then a neighbor told me the tattoo sounded like a university mascot that had the same initials as my M's favorite team.  Last week I explained the dream to my masseuse.  He helped me remember how I swooned when M wore a cowboy hat.  He helped me see the tattoo as a reminder of M's playfulness.  The people I now draw into my life are playful.  M used to be quite playful with me.  In the density of our lives, I had really missed that humor.  This tattoo helps me remember the playfulness that drew me to M.  

Now I get to rewrite my story by intentionally recalling playful memories.  The silly jokes.  "We are going to the nose farm... to pick noses!"  In our early days, he would talk with me on the telephone for hours until he worked all the different angles of reason to have a date with him that same night.  His pickup lines were timely and hilarious.  His favorite Spanish phrases were: Hoy es miercoles! (Today is Wednesday!... every day of the week), De donde es el bano? (From where is the bathroom?), and creative Spanglish like "closeto".  That man had me in stitches laughing so hard during labor with our third baby that I could no longer feel contractions and could hardly breath.

He was especially playful with our children.  He pretended his hands were named Handy and Lefty in order to brush our daughter's teeth.  His feet were named Footy and Righty and sometimes tried to brush teeth too.  In Berenstain Bear books, M's Papa Bear voice was often quite high and squeaky, while Mama Bear's voice was baritone.  He read happy stories in sad voices, so each night our daughter shouted, "It's a HAPPY story!"  He spontaneously told complete and silly stories for our children on long walks.  With other's children he had running jokes he would bring up each time we saw them.  He pretended their favorite objects were his and that he had forgotten to take it home the last time we visited.  He was a silly child-magnet.

In going through M's mother's seven boxes of family photos, I found so many playful photos of M.  I've been hanging my favorites on all the kitchen cupboards.  One is of M at a table of all Asian people; M has his arm playfully around a little Caucasian boy who is obviously not a part of their group.  Another is M wearing his mother's fancy coat, her arms wrapped tightly around him.  In most pictures of M and his mother, they are leaning together, cuddling up in the ways that comfort parents and children.  One of my favorites is of a toddler around the age of our youngest child, his arms wrapped firmly around his mother's face; she is unable to see, yet her smile is luminescent.  This is my M with the first great love of his life.  I am privileged to get to be one of his great loves, to have known the depths of his playful spirit.  

I miss my M so deeply, as I always will.  It brings me comfort to be able to hold onto him in these ways.  Photos in the kitchen, chest tattoos dreams, remembering the laughter and lightness of our time together, and the gift of getting to raising our beloved children.  It's a HAPPY story!

Choosing Health

The love of my life, M, died of lung cancer 12 weeks ago.  He was the young father of our three young children.  M ate well, exercised, had a variety of well-rounded routines.  Then why did this happen?  After asking myself this question too many times to count, I have come up with my own translation of events.  M had a family history of cancer.  His parents and grandparents died of cancer.  Each generation seemed to die younger than the last.  M's branch of the family tree has been the hardest hit at the youngest ages.  His parents were the first to die in their generation and M was the first in his.  This genetic predisposition is just the beginning of the challenge.  M and his parents unknowingly lived in homes with radon and worked with chemicals in an old building for much of their last 15 years.  I blame these exterior factors for the loss of my beloved at a tragically young age.  Perhaps I choose to blame these things because they are outside of my control.

After testing our 10-year-old home this last summer and autumn, I discovered my children have unknowingly been exposed to harmful levels of radon for their entire lives.  They also carry their father's genetic predisposition.  This is unsettling.  As the remaining single parent, I have also been exposed to this deadly gas.  I also worked in old buildings.  We are not alone.  Many people I know go to school and live in old buildings with possible.  Our metropolitan area also has substantial air quality challenges (large company emission levels allowed for small companies) that have led to cancer in people we know and love.  It is a true privilege to make healthy choices for my family.  Not everyone gets these choices.

Why bring down our energy by talking about death by everyday poisons?  In my opinion, once we know about a problem, we can finally do something to rectify the situation.  Ignorance may be bliss, but it can also be deadly.  After finding radon in our home, I had a mitigation system installed.  I am comforted in knowing our levels are now far below "safe levels".  I make a point of providing regular doses of fresh fruits and vegetables for my children.  They have plenty of physical exercise and outlets for their emotions. 

I take comfort in knowing my children live in a newer home and attend a newer school.  I take comfort in knowing their school doesn't have asbestos in the walls or lead in the water.  I take comfort in knowing my children eat healthy foods, drink a lot of filtered water, stay away from plastic dishes, eat plenty of fruits and vegetables, hang out with friends often, and regularly spend time outside.  I take comfort in trusting I am strong enough and resourceful enough to handle the raising of these extraordinary children in our changing world.  I take comfort in knowing it is a gift to get to live life fully with these people at this time.  I take comfort in knowing I continue to choose to be here with my children.  I take comfort in knowing I am doing my best in the roles I have been given.  I take comfort in loving this wild adventure we intentionally choose to share each day of our blessed lives.

Time for Ascending

I get to take a class year on the ascension process.  For me, ascension means to raise our personal vibrations, resulting in benefits for everyone around to witness the shift.  In my new class, I have homework.  Daily homework.  For one year.  Each day my task is to find one way to raise my vibration.  Thankfully these little challenges can fit into small moments.  This project is simple and complex at the same time, as is much of life.  Here is my log so far.

Day One: I sat quietly, breathing in through my heart, and out with love for my whole being.
Day Two: I made a financial contribution to something that feels good to me.
Day Three: I called my electric company to shift my power from natural gas to wind power.
Day Four: I loaded up my porch with unloved goods and invited strangers from "Buy Nothing" on Facebook to take everything home.
Day Five: I picked up cereal and a sweatshirt from a neighboring strangers home and left them love notes.
Day Six: Blog about how I love the privilege of being alive in this life.

My mind loves to focus upon how to I can raise my vibration each day, hold onto that vibration, remind myself to breath, to spend most of my time around others that help me feel good, to focus on the beauty in our world.  What wonderful homework!  Feel good homework.  My favorite kind.

Extraordinary Times to Be Together

Dearest Reader,

After an exhausting day yesterday, I spent a little time on social media.  A bit too long.  One article led to another on where our country is heading.  Together.  There was a great growing of fear involved in this reading. 

My oldest daughter asked me before she went to sleep what that noise was.  I blamed it on the heater outside our window.  Then at midnight my youngest daughter awoke beside me in full screaming.  After a few minutes of unsuccessful attempts to soothe her, I went to the other bedroom to let my other two children get back to sleep.  That is when the thumping began.  After my wee one was back to sleep, I went to investigate which neighbor was doing wild activities at this wild hour.  The thumps were coming from near my living room. I opened the curtains to find a wildly swinging bird feeder banging against the house in another before-a-winter-storm wind dance.  I opened the door, cats went flying in the excitement, and couldn't get the blasted thing off its string.  Towing out a chair to reach up higher, the second bird feeder that was standing still began to hum as if possessed.  I found this unsettling to be out in the dark alone with such an unusual noise after reading too many articles.  Finally both feeders were freed of their hooks, the noises seized, and everything was brought inside.  On my way back to bed, the cats flew across the room as if thrown, all in their continued excitement.  I again wondered why I was up in the middle of the night after such an exhausting day.

Instead of bed, I chose to spend a little time in our prayer room.  I went to talk with my late sweetheart M.  I told him I wish he were here.  I wish his parents were here too.  I wish we could talk about how our world is changing, the things shifting within our country, and how to plan for what is moving through our lives. 

I find myself at the keyboard, my bare feet pushing library books around on the floor, cats on the table licking bird feeders and brushing past my ankles.  In this moment, I feel alone in protecting my children.  In this moment, I let fear run through me.  I le myself acknowledge the fear of the changes moving in our direction, of the subtle yet vast movements that shift beneath the colorful world drama.  In our country we are being tested, individually and collectively.  We see history repeating itself in various and unsettling ways.  It really doesn't matter who we voted for or where we think we stand.  It matters that we see we are in this together.  We all feel fear and unsettling winds.  We are all awoken from our comfortable routines and expectations.  We share the same air and water.  We all want our children and grandchildren to live full, healthy, joyous lives. 

Admitting to my fear is a big step.  I am able to witness its flow through my body and mind.  Now that I know where it lies, I can do something about it.  I turn to see this from a different angle, a new and intentional perspective.  I see we are all in this together.  I see we are finding new ways to open our hearts and to connect with one another.  I see we are all moving toward standing up together to make way for a future we all desire.  Stable jobs, a clean planet, nourishing food on the table, a predictable income, healthy children, free will, an occasional vacation, and safety.  Even if in my mind, envisioning the coming together of those who love this country and this world we get to share soothes my soul and gives me something to ease my fears as I return to holding my children through this long night.  My trust in the buoyancy of humanity is my guiding light as I make my way back to that cozy bed.  I am thankful for these midnight musings.  I am thankful for the brilliant gift of getting to be alive on this planet at this extraordinary and challenging time.  I am thankful for my children giving me more reason to take a stand and speak from my heart.  I am thankful for getting to raise and protect such extraordinary children.  I am thankful for this world we get to share and the freedom to get to talk about it all here with you. 

Blessings and buoyancy,
MamaJennDude

Daring to Dream with Alternate Realities

M planned every detail of every trip for our family for the last 18 years.  Now he is not here to plan for us anymore.  Along with a million other details, trip planning is now one of my new jobs.  M wouldn't fly under any circumstances.  He had an awful flight once and decided his feet needed to stay on the ground.  On the other hand, I took flying lessons as a teenager and adore getting into the sky. 

With the new gut-wrenching freedom that comes with losing a partner, I want to see the world.  I would love to be a worldschooler, to travel the world with my children.  I had the fantasy of backpacking Europe with my children long before I was a mother.  Maybe that fantasy has been there for a  reason.  Maybe one day I will get to do just that, and more.  Now is the time when I stay rooted in our routines, getting the kids onto the school bus and tackling financial projects for most of the day, driving children to classes, keeping up with homework, and taking my own classes once a month. 

And now is also the time when I dream about the possibilities.  I call these alternate realities.  I love my alternate realities.  When M was dying of lung cancer, I had many alternate realities: he would get well again, he would love a long time on immunotherapy, we would all travel together, M would be able to make one more video or write one card to his children, friends would move in and help me care for M, my cousins would visit us, and all my family's needs would be met.  Beginning on diagnosis day and continuing for four months, my focus and energy went mainly to caring for our children and supporting M as he and our extended family reached for a cure.  After he died, I focused on the memorial service and learning to manage the details of our home and supporting my brother-in-law as he took over the family business.  I was not as easily dreaming of the possibilities anymore.

In trying to raise my own energy, I am now intentionally focusing on the many possibilities of my life as a single-mother of three young children.  I see myself sitting with friends playing board games, laughing until my stomach hurts, feeling satisfied after a big meal, driving across the country with friends to see what is out there, my children taking gymnastics or martial arts, sitting on a warm beach, living in another country, getting my hair cut wildly short, sleeping in a bed by myself, eating a whole pint of chocolate ice cream by myself, writing love letters to all my beloved friends, my estranged brother speaking lovingly with me, going out to a comedy club, learning to ski and surf, using up all my crafty materials and selling my wares to pay for trips, starting my own healing practice, finding a way for my children to keep their possessions tidy, painting the inside of my home, driving an art car, traveling with friends and their families, spending a couple nights alone, finding joy in preparing a nourishing meal, and putting on that backpack and traveling the world with my children.  My children dream of driving around the country, opening businesses to sell honey and fried eggs, selling their origami creations and original art works, sleeping in the same bed with me every night, riding their bikes as often as they desire, eating endless desserts, reading every waking hour of the day, and playing with their friends all the time.  We are all dreaming of our possibilities now.

Many of these may not happen.  Some will.  There is empowerment in getting to choose which alternate realities to bring forward into our reality.  My soul takes great pleasure in this daring to dream.  Dream big, and then dream bigger.  My alternate realities open me up to the possibilities that await.  I get to choose.  What a satisfying feeling that is.

Dougy Center Support Groups

We have the great privilege of attending free Dougy Center support groups designed for families with children who have experienced the loss of a parent or child.  My children enjoy play therapy with counselors twice a month while I attend a support group with surviving spouses and parents.  My family began with the Pathway Program before M died.  M even attended one meeting with other cancer patients.  Our family is now new to the bereavement program. 

My family has attended two sessions since M's death.  The first time I was even and matter-of-fact.  The second time I was uncomfortably giddy.  Laughter was my coping mode that evening, as a way to break up the density of being in a room full of devastated survivors.

In these sessions we talk about what we are currently processing.  Each session seems to pull out the similarities in the ways we grieve.  In the bereavement group we talked about how it was so uncomfortable to live life in limbo, not knowing when things would slow down or progress.  In the bereavement group, there is a level of quiet devastation.  We all wish we had our loved one back with us, find uncomfortable comfort in doing things we couldn't do with our partner, want to take trips or change our home in ways our partner would not have chosen, worry about our children in all their phases of grief, take comfort in friendships and family, our lives are full and distract us much of the time from our loss, and feel great waves (of grief, anger, sadness, devastation, along with delight) crash over us without warning.  We want to travel and see the world while also staying home and stable for our children.  We together wonder when is the right time to open up to romance again after our loss: 15 months or 5 years?  We find ourselves crying for reasons invisible to others.  We find the quiet moments alone to be the hardest.  We find ourselves explaining to others that grief is not something you get over, but something you learn to live with. 

I treasure being in our sacred circle where we get to talk about how awful it is have watched our loved one die, for us to lose a partner or child, for us to parent alone, and to talk of the ways we support our children and take care of ourselves.  I am so very grateful for this free group therapy, funded generously by donations.  I am thankful for this program touching and supporting so many families.  I am grateful for feeling so supported by these new peers and mentors in our lives.  We are stronger with Dougy.

The Optimist's Guide to Divorce

I love my library, even when late fees get steep.  Fees are part of the deal for my family at the library, especially now that I am the only adult responsible for getting things back on time.  In the two months since M died, I have damaged one book and lost two others.  Our books may be falling apart, but we humans are generally keeping ourselves together. 

In our library's new book section, I found a simple drawing of a woman riding a bicycle in the wind.  It reminded me of Under the Tuscan Sun, a book and movie and adventure I love.  This carefree bicyclist was gliding across The Optimist's Guide to Divorce: How to get through your breakup and create a new life you love.  Six months ago, I would not have considered this title.  I have just gone through a death instead of a divorce, but if you skip a bit here and there, this book completely applies to my situation.  I am trying to get through my broken heartedness to create the new life I love... with my healthy, whole children.  I get a little thrill reading about recovering from divorce... as if to pretend it is what I've just been through, as if there is a small chance our M could walk back into our lives and kiss his children.  Divorce is preferable in some ways to the path our family has traversed.

Reading this book each day for the last two weeks while I wrestle my exhausted-yet-sleepless toddler, I have enjoyed the camaraderie of listening in on other women's stories of how they dealt with heartbreak, how they processed, connected with others, planned, and made the most of loving their new lives.  These women found themselves to be stronger in a myriad of ways than they had previously known.  My children and I are bringing some of their ideas into our own lives.  We have created a meal plan (Soup Sundays and Taco Tuesdays!), a budget, and my children are now responsible for all their own breakfasts and lunches.  (Why do you think Cheetos count as lunch?!)  I make larger dinners that double as leftovers.  My daughter makes toast and fried eggs for our family each morning and then tackles some dishes and laundry. 

There are stories detailing how to accept what has happened, seek therapy, create a home you love, bring in extra income, budget for what is most important, and so much more.   

I am currently right in the middle of the book at Twenty Things that Will Make You Feel Good.  This list reminds me of how I used to care for myself and how I will again.

1. Take a bath with Epsom salts.
2. Get your hands in playdough.
3. Do a good deed for someone else.
4. Sit on a chair and watch the stars.
5. Plant something.
6. Read a fun novel.
7. Ride your bike in a park: Findyourpark.com.
8. Take a brewery or winery tour with an upbeat friend.
9. Cuddle up with dryer-warmed towels.
10. Visit a fair or theme park and ride the rides.
11. Focus on gratitude.
12. Sign up for lessons.
13. Declare a fashion goal, such as Wild Print Wednesday or avoiding black.
14. Roll car windows down and put out your hand.
15. Schedule a massage.
16. Write a love letter to an old friend.
17. Wiggle toes in the sand.
18. Hang chimes outside your door.
19. Paint.
20. Create something and get lost in the project.

Our family has been through something awful.  While we would give almost anything to go back to the lives we shared before diagnosis day, there are many silver linings to find on this leg of our journey.  At least that is what I tell myself to get through the density of the situation.  For every positive aspect we find now because of M's death, there are a trillion negatives.  I intend to feel okay about where we are and how we got here, so I focus upon our silver linings.  Here are some.

My children are learning to work hard and take pride in the work they do for our family.  We are expressing our emotions through more yelling and crying, and holding each other as we talk through it all.  Regular game nights and book clubs with friends and family are awesome.  Decluttering without as much negotiation is nice.  I purchase and dole out fewer sugary foods.  We spend less on hot water, heat, and groceries.  I am planning for new light fixtures, wall colors, and simple (summer yard sale) décor.  We don't need to move into a bigger "dream home".  I get to sort through and pass on my parents-in-law's possessions.  We can see our family together again in family videos.  I am finally reading adult books again.  Good books.  I get to smile when sharing this title with a friend.  I get to make the time to talk about it all here with you.  Silver linings.  For these I am thankful.

The Rest of Us

Six and a half years ago, I somehow found the book The Rest of Us by Jacquelyn Mitchard.  Jacquelyn writes fiction of which I am not yet a fan, yet I connected deeply with her book of autobiographical essays.  When I opened this book, my husband had just learned of a large tumor in his chest, a few months before our second child was born.  Jacquelyn came to mothering through adopting and birthing, supported her husband as he died of cancer, and then adopted more children.  Within her writing, I see her as a strong, protective, determined, down-to-earth Midwestern mother who acknowledges her imperfections (and ours) with both lightness and gravity that accompany parenting.  She loves her children and does what she can to guide and protect them, as we all do.  She talks of how some women have it all together, arrive on time for their appointments, have perfectly mannered and tended children, and then there are The Rest of Us.  I loved this book many years ago.  I remembered the stories as if they were my own.  Now I get to connect with the stories in a while new way, as my own young husband has died of cancer and left me a widow.  I am so thankful for literature that connects me to myself, to help me feel supported and validated and light when much in my life feels otherwise.  I am grateful to know my children and I will get through this dense time with grace and love.  I am grateful for this love of books and this love of life.

Trusting the process

I have been meaning to write little snapshots of how I am coping with grief 10 weeks after my beloved partner's death.  Writing about my experiences is a way to focus in upon and release my processing.  Yet I find myself falling asleep with my children each evening, wrestling with the wee one all night, and waking to their morning sounds.  My brother-in-law suggests I get my work done after the kids go to bed....  There is no time in the day I am alone.  With children talking and asking for my responses (and food and clothing and attention), I haven't processed my grief in the ways I would with one hour alone each day.  I am so grateful for connecting with friends by telephone and email when I am so lonely for adult conversation.  We have had eight days cancelled due to snow and ice, meaning my two older children have been away from me only five of the last 33 days.  They will be with me for at least three more.  This explains why I feel unproductive and restless.  I know I am not alone in these feelings over the long winter days.

I am processing a lot in my grief.  So are my children and our extended family.  At one point near the bottom of my endless task list is to find professional grief counseling for my family.  There is so much to do before I even get down to that.  I have had so little time alone that I hid in the closet today to send emails.  (This would have been a radical statement for me before I had children.  Now it is what I do to be alone.)  My oldest then led the youngest in to bang on my door.  I am so grateful for getting to tackle small tasks while standing near my children.  When I sit, my three children descend immediately upon my lap.  I make time to sit and cuddle and connect.  I focus upon being present and available for them when they need me.  Everything in balance.  I have stood to sort my mother-in-law's seven boxes of photos, put away holiday décor, clear counters and doors, organize cupboards, and keep up with laundry and dishes.  I am now standing in the bathroom to type as my children make requests.  We do what has to be done.

As with so many other phases and imbalances in my life, when I start to hear myself complain, I remind myself to move into gratitude and trust.  I am grateful for the opportunity to talk about how things are going for our family.  I trust I will one day drink enough water, get routine exercise, eat a salad because I want to.  I trust I will get to the zillion tasks on my list.  I trust I will dust baseboards, wax the floor, and regrout counters.  I trust I will paint the deck areas I sanded when my wee one napped one day five months ago.  I trust I will be able to find loving homes for our unloved goods.  I trust the bills will get paid and the "dream home" completed and sold.  I trust we will love each other as much as we can manage.  I trust the icy snow will melt, these babes get on the school bus, and I will again believe in the possibility of homeschooling these children as they request.  I trust I will at some point be awake while my children are asleep, that I will make time to tackle my tasks, that I will get to that salad because I want to.  I trust these waves of grief will wash over and flow through.  I trust it will all work out.

My Morning Meditation

A dear friend asked me today how I maintain my positive attitude while I am still fresh with grief.  Many people have asked me this.  My main idea on this is an intentional and constant state of appreciation.  When life serves lemons, I look at the moments of sweet lemonade.  They are everywhere to find: the smile of a child, a baby's morning hair, the humor of how slowly my son puts on his socks (and shirt and pants...) in the morning.  This constant intentional search for the silver lining has brought me great delight.  Yes, sometimes I lay on the floor and cry, sometimes I hide in the closet, sometimes I sob loudly when alone in the car with the music up very high.  I feel the lows.  Trust that we all experience lower moments and grief in our own ways.  In each of these lower moments, I trust it will pass and make way for learning and creating and rest.  It is the highs that I choose to focus upon.  The highs of life, how blessed we are to get to be humans at this time in our human history, are what I intend to hold. 

Along with intentional appreciation, I notice my days are extraordinary when I start the day with 20 minutes of my own personal meditation.  I've compiled this meditation with the help of a two years of ascension classes with profound teachers.  I have used almost the exact same words in my meditation for several years.  Within this meditation, I call into action angels and helpers that I understand to already be a part of my body and soul.  I do it within my mind and heart as I lay with my sleeping children.  I have now set two alarms: one to wake me to start the meditation and one to signal time for us all to get out of our beds and begin another day.  I wrote a little about this meditation three years ago, and here I am detailing each word I use within my meditation.  Again, my intention of sharing this personal practice is to inspire some creativity within your own life.  I have no expectation for if and how you meditate.  May you know how blessed and held you truly are.

My morning meditation:

"Oh, God, I love my life!  My name is Jenn Smith Layton Beagley Jensdatter Bensdatter Haworth Simer Raybold Allen Warr Wayman (add as many as ancestral surnames as desired) Merfee-t.  I appreciate my mother's mother's ancestors all the way back to the beginning and all the way back to the stars."  Repeat for mother's father's ancestors, father's mother's ancestor, and father's father's ancestors."  

"My intention is to stand firmly grounded upon the new ascended earth, to be in harmony with the planetary shifts, to rise in vibrational frequency with my physical form to 5D (ascended state)."  

"Please fully merge with me now (original) True Self."  Feel merge after each one.  "Please full merge with me Body Protector... Angel of Neutrality (non-judgement)... and Gate Keeper (allow contact only with vibrations as high as self or greater)."  

"These energies I'm creating here (envision them), pulling up from the earth and sending out into the universe... These energies I'm pulling down from the universe (envision and feel), down from the solar flares (envision and feel them), and the star nations (beam of light from long-ago ancestors, envision and feel them),... May these energies flow through me all of this waking day for the healing of self and mother earth for the most benevolent outcome.  May they flow fully through me with every breath, every beat of my heart, every blink of my eyes.  May these energies fully energize my Ka (energy body, envision and feel), bring incredible physical health (envision and feel), incredible mental clarity (envision and feel), and incredible emotional stability (envision and feel)."  I feel the light within and move through my day with this image and feeling.

"Oh, God, I love my life."  I reflect on the details I cherish within my life.

Uniquely Fine Balance

It seems like much of my life is rebalancing.  There are so many details on each end of the spectrum that require attention.  Like a teeter totter requiring constant readjustment.  My list of business tasks (finances, new home completion, home inspection, errands, phone plans, et cetera for infinity) feels so heavy that I am out of bed at 3:33am trying to capture them all on a list. 

Today is our last day of winter vacation together, a great treasure.  I am choosing to try to accomplish all I can in the dark hours of the morning so I get to focus more on playing with my children.  Playing board games, piecing together puzzles, trying out new stamp markers, painting, finishing that move we started last week, eating simple meals we prepare together joyfully, sitting down together for meals, exhaling. 

I can balance both ends, with a variety of adjustments.  In this day I am balancing responsibility and play.  We can run a couple quick errands (in pajamas) and get back to our home staycation.  My children can play while I am on the phone for a couple hours.  And then I can challenge them to twelve games of Blink or Bananagrams or Sorry.  Life is lived while we are making plans, in the moment, together.  I am thankful for the privilege of stretching in these ways and finding today's uniquely fine balance.

Safe to Disagree

I talk a good game.  I talk about how my children and I stick together, explore and learn and grow together.  There is a lot of love in our family.  We also make space for disagreements and yelling and tears and hurts.  And then we move toward each other again to heal the wounds.  We have plenty of wounds here as we grieve our largest loss.  (I could write for years about the many ways I miss my partner, the daddy of my young babies, and perhaps I will share these details for years.)

My children know they are safe to disagree and argue with me.  My older daughter is sensitive and introspective while my son is clearly an open book of emotions.  As I asked him for the fifth time to please do one of his chores a few days ago, he said, "I need to talk with Papa."  Well, goodness, I cannot argue with that.  So he sat in front of his dad's photograph in our prayer room for a very long time.  Our son placed his daddy's ashes in front of the photograph.  And then he began to sing.  A good long time later I found him playing board games on the floor near the photograph and urn.  He needed his daddy time when I thought it was so important for him to accomplish a weekly list of tasks. 

In so many ways my children refocus me on what is more important than a clean floor and brushed teeth.  Whole hearts and connections are more valuable.  The floors and teeth always need cleaning. 

I am so grateful to know we are just right in our imperfections, in the mistakes that teach us how to live better with one another.  I am thankful for learning lessons along the way and holding each other close as we do.  I am so very grateful for the privilege and responsibility of getting to guide and protect these beautiful souls.

Finding Comfort in Tradition

My children and I find great comfort in tradition.  We love going out to a restaurant on our birthdays, hosting for a cozy party of 25 on Thanksgiving, sharing dinner with aunts and uncles for Christmas Eve, visiting grandparents on Christmas, and hosting our sixth annual Blueberry Muffin Festival on New Year's Eve. 

For the last occasion, families gather with us to drink root beer, devour blueberry muffins, play the piano and card games, eat popcorn, and make merry in a variety of other ways.  Each year our friends sign our tablecloth, so we can look back at the wonderful people that have gotten to join us for our annual festival.  We also dress up like polar bears and read the books that inspired this party.  Irving and Muktuk: Two Bad Bears, by Jill and Daniel Pinkwater.  We find such great comfort in these traditions. 

Our family is now dreaming of finding other awesome books around which to create parties.  Groundhog's Day or April Fool's Day may be next.  The sky is the limit.  We are celebrating the comfort of creating new traditions.