Fits and Starts

I was pondering this morning how this spring has mirrored my grief journey.  The hard freeze at Christmas reminded me of my son’s death (also at Christmastime) and the subsequent freezes late this spring made me think of the death of my father.  Then as all things bloomed and the rejuvenation of Easter came and went, I kept noticing that some shrubbery and trees have died.  This seemed like the lost parts of myself – my wishes and dreams for my son’s future, an ongoing relationship with him and my dad.

My gift from God this spring has been my son Ben’s recovery and redemption, so that I am feeling lifted and finally cushioned from despair.

Food as Metaphor

It has now been more than five years since losing Jon, and I now find comfort in a great many things.  Recently I finished a lovely book called Crying in H Mart, and the author described how as she went through her grieving process, much of what she did was tied to the food of her mother’s country Korea.  She learned to make many dishes as she cared for her sick mother, coaxing her to eat, and after her mother died, she continued grieving through food as she made Korean soups and other things for her visiting relatives. Then just this morning during my contemplation hour, I read this poem, by Jenny Hawke.

Jam

When she died I made jam,
took comfort in the steady movement,
the chopping, peeling, slicing.
Slow roll of the darkening fruit.
rising in my orange kitchen,
a gentle mix for my tears.

The jam jars stand,
nudging shoulders quietly on the shelf,
a promise of sweetness to come.
The tight covers stretch with loving tension
as I hold my breath,
waiting to begin again.

Something Found

Lately Ben and I have been on a quest to piece together pieces of his life, from doctor’s appointments to treks to the store, all interwoven with this uplifting feeling that we are methodically checking off boxes for him to truly begin his adult life. Yesterday, as I was waiting for him, I was reading a paragraph in a book he wanted me to read about Jesus.  As I read it, a paper fell out written by Ben.  He said that I could share it.

“Goodbye addiction, my old friend. You were killing me.  You wanted me dead. You left me OD’ed in parking lots, cars and sidewalks.  Like a phoenix, I have risen.  Do not gloat over me, my enemy, I’ve ascended. I couldn’t outsmart or overthink you, I had to trust in God, my true best friend and Father. You were deadly, cunning, deceptive, and sinister.  You took people closest to me, and jailed me for years. You are toxic.  You crept up like a soft wave into the ocean of my existence and quickly became a tsunami. I invited you in and now I’m telling you in the name of God to leave.  I will never fall. I will never fold. I choose to live on and honor God, my brother, my family and myself. I’m in alignment with my higher self. I am now whole – with you I was broken. I have broken your shackles and now I’m free.  Come to think of it, you were no friend at all. Praise God.”

My joy is overflowing.