On the other hand…

From grief I have learned to embrace duality. Because my child lived for 18 years 1 month and 26 days, I am filled with gratitude for the gift of this beautiful child, but because his life ended I am also filled with horrifying sorrow. I am absolutely both at the same time, all the time.

And so it is with not feeling like a mama anymore, as I mentioned in my previous post. On one hand I am forlorn with spaciousness once reserved solely for a living extension of my heart and soul and body, void of the life force and purpose that goes into mothering and loving AND on the other hand I also maintain a relationship and connection to my dead son– I talk about him past and present. I hope for his well being completely and also, for his ‘enjoyment of heaven’ with the vague belief of a kid around 11 who is sorta onto the myth of Santa. I thank him when sun peeks through clouds, I say hello when birds fly or land, I cry and scream into the wind. I talk to him, I laugh ‘with him’ when funny things happen that I think either he may have orchestrated or atleast would appreciate. I hold his stuffed animal like a baby at night sometimes with the ferocity of a mother reunited with her missing child, othertimes as though the beloved toy was his and she feels closer to him or like she is a child herself sleeping simply with a loved thing. And still other times she denies herself the comfort or the right to pretend, she leaves the toy on the nightstand and she turns the other way all night long. Only occasionally on those nights will she surrender to the need and grab him halfway through the night, soothed at last from her restlessness.

Sometimes it feels like I have crawled across the desert without water for 100 yrs and also I feel light and free because of what I’ve come to see about precious life, fragile hearts, indomitable spirits, and generous compassion. Sometimes I feel utterly alone and I feel overwhelmed with too much love. Sometimes everything feels nearly perfect except for Isaacs absence and on the other hand I feel disconnected, uncomfortable and incapable. Sometimes I feel strong and radiant and replete. And also wild eyed and starving and exhausted and broken and too sad to move.

I try to feel more than I think these days. I didn’t make this decision all at once like “this is what I’m going to do now”. It just happened from learning to allow myself the space for all of it. I was terrified of my feelings. I was traumatized by my thoughts.

I had to work so fucking hard to find my way here– where duality is welcome– where mama or not mama are welcome–where all of me is welcome. I can tell this is just a rest stop– a breather. I don’t know where I’m headed AND I’m not lost.

I am the light and I am the darkness.

Knowing this is a gift and a fucking curse.

And I am here for this.

I’m the underbelly, I am the claw
Never one thing no, not one thing at all
I’m a street fighter, I’m a prayer for peace
I’m a holy roller, I’m a honey bee

I am the truth, I am a lie
I am the ground, I am the sky
I am the silence, I am the call
Never one thing no, not one thing at all

I am hope, I am defeat
I am broken, I am complete
I am the grace, I am the fall
Never one thing no, not one thing at all

I am the beggar, I am the queen
I am the end, I am the means
I am the hammer, I am the wall
Never one thing no, not one thing at all

I am a victor, I am the loss
I am a profit, I am the cost
I am the salve, I am the sting
Never, no never, no never one thing

I am a mother, I am the child
I am the meek, I am the wild
I am the witch, I am the saint
I am alive, never one thing

I am the lion, I am the swan
I am the bull, I am the fawn
I am a woman, I am the ring
I am my own, never one thing

–May Erlewine

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Published by: christinaryanstoltz

I write to touch the supple center of unguarded ache~ To release myself from the pressure of not knowing how to move forward from the unfathomable loss of my beloved son, my beautiful boy Isaac, to suicide, of not knowing how to release my grip on of the past, both the worshipping of it as well as the beating myself up for it, and letting go of the need to know what I could’ve done or what on earth I will do now. I write to heal.

2 Comments

2 thoughts on “On the other hand…”

  1. The Buddha taught that we have all been each other’s mothers through our countless lifetimes and by extension everyone’s child, I imagine. One prayer beings, “My mothers, all sentient beings….”. We are encouraged to regard everyone as our mother (or child). Ah, if the love for my children could expand to everyone how glorious that would be. Imagine!

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