Saturday, May 07, 2016

Mother's Day Eve

It's Mother's Day eve, and I have had what I am extraordinarily blessed to say was a pretty typical day. Life is good. Life got infinitely sweeter one month ago today, when (with incredible friends in tow) I picked Fred up in San Diego to bring him home forever. I can't begin to understand the mechanics of a cosmic orchestration as phenomenal and intricate as the one that brought Fred and me back together. I do know that my angel army is strong, and very powerful. My mom loved angels; she undoubtedly rides with her own crew of them now. With her are the (far too) many other relatives I've lost, all who were spiritually-connected, creative, intensely loving healers in their own right.
The connection between Fred and me is so deeply loving. My love for Fred moves me to tears on occasion. Tonight, as we had our "nighttime snuggles" -- he on his bed and I on my bedroom floor -- we gazed in to each other's eyes, like we do. I still gaze in disbelief. He held my eyes for a time, but then his traveled upward, to some invisible thing that had him curios or interested. It wasn't an alert type of look; it was a soft, dreamy look. When his beautiful eyes met mine again, maybe thirty seconds later, he began to lick my hand as his tail gently wagged. I have the distinct feeling my Mom was calling his name. Important to note about this, and all other communications I receive from my Mom is that, were my heart to be closed, I would never be able to hear her.



* * *

Today, I had three awesome phone calls. The first was with my family, over Zoom, a Skype-esque platform for "group chats" (remember when "video phones" were the most futuristic idea!?). Dad and Aimee, Shelly and Aidan and I "Zoomed", while Fred and Clancy (literally) zoomed around the yard in the background, playing and swimming in the pool to everyone's delight.

Later, I talked with a friend of a friend, (whom I have never met or previously spoken to), whose wife is considering being a liver donor for her sister, as I was for my mom. Despite being virtual strangers, we had a lovely, candid and open conversation. It felt so good to talk about it, and I hope I was able to give him and his family some helpful insight.

Later still, I had the distinct feeling I needed to call a dear friend of mine whose mom passed away of complications resulting from Parkinson's disease just a few months ago. We connected on that great, familiar level we always do. And ended up talking about how living every day to the fullest is crucial. After we hung up, I got in my car and heard Sia's song, Chandelier not once, but twice. I had never understood the lyrics before, but this time, one line popped out at me, where she says "I'm gonna live like tomorrow doesn't exist"; a message with dual meaning for both my friend and me. Living through Mother's Day after your mother has died...is something you wish you could just "skip over" sometimes.

I won't live tomorrow as though it doesn't exist, though. Instead, I will experience moments of quiet grief to myself, and experience profound connection with my mom,  as I do not just on Mother's Day, but on most days. I will celebrate my mom's life by celebrating being alive. I will be hiking in the hills with Fred and some friends on a beautiful spring Sunday. Mom's love will be the sun kissing our shoulders as we climb.


Wednesday, December 30, 2015

"Forever My Nana": A Memoir by Aidan Louser

Today, December 31st, 2015, is my Mom's 11th Rebirthday. It is also my maternal Grandmother's, (my Amma's), 34th. In honor of them both -- their spirits both so rich with the Love on High that courses through my family's veins -- I am proud to share something my precious (19 year-old) nephew, Aidan, wrote about Mom for a school assignment a couple of months ago. Keep in mind, Aidan was only seven years old when Mom died. His recollections of their time together, and reflections on their relationship and how he processed (and continues to process) her passing...are beyond beautiful; heart-breaking, yes...but heart-expanding, too.    * * *

Forever my Nana

As an 8 year-old kid, life was good. It had its ups and downs, as it does for everyone, but as a kid I could be given a brownie and I was fine. So how could I handle tragedy? Something that one, two, or even three brownies could not heal. Something that, to this day I think back at, and it raises the sadness always lingering within me to the surface. This event would be the day my Nana passed away. She was someone in my life who helped shape the person I always wanted to be, and the person I am today. No brownie is worth the amount of love she had in her heart.
            I can recall so many great moments with her. I liked to dance a lot as a child, my favorite artist was Michael Jackson, and I would always try and mimic his dances. Nana, being a dancer herself, loved to dance with me, and was always impressed at the skills I possessed. I was about 5 or 6, and she had asked me to dance with her on stage at her church. I had said yes with nervousness, the stage has always been scary for me. During the day of the performance I had tried to get out of dancing, telling Nana I was too nervous. She had the ability to comfort me during nerve-racking situations just by telling me “It’s ok honey.” I went up on stage, the song Heal the World by Michael Jackson began, and I just started dancing, paying close attention to my Nana, and not the audience, as she danced right beside me. I will never forget how confident she made me feel with only her simple words. The song ended, the audiences clapped, and I could not be happier that I went up there and shared this great moment her.
Another profound memory of Nana was when I was 5 years old. I had been given a homework assignment to make a Mother’s Day gift for my mom. Nana gave me the idea to plant something for her. I do not know what plant it is, but it is special to me. It took a few hours to find a pot, find the plant, and plant the seed. It was a moment with her, which contained nothing but pure joy and happiness, something that I always got when I was with her. Nothing felt better than seeing the absolute joy on my mother’s face when I gave it to her, and to watch it grow. To this day, the plant is still alive, and I feel a part of my Nana still lives with it.
It was December 31st, 2004. I was at my mom’s boyfriend’s house at the time; chips and salsa, and a plethora of candy, sat on the table in front of us as we watched the annual New Year’s Eve TV event. There was a lot of laughter, and a look of happiness glued on our faces. It seemed like nothing could ruin my day, until my mom received a call from the hospital. My Nana has been suffering for a few years of complication from Hepatitis C and liver disease. Just six months before, she had undergone a living-donor liver transplant. Her donor was my Aunt Liz, another role model in my life. We had thought this was a big step toward her getting better, but there were complications. During her surgery, they had to cut a large vein from her thigh to use in place of her hepatic artery, to connect to her new liver. The incision in her leg became infected, which eventually infected her entire body through her blood. There was nothing the doctors could do, her body just shut down. This is something I have only recently learned, but at the time all I knew was she was sick, and I wanted her to get better.  
My mother’s happy face, quickly turned to sadness; my face turned concerned. She did not tell me what was going on, all she told me was she had to visit Nana, she walked out the door.
I remember feeling sad. I knew there was something up, but I did not know what exactly. I continued to feel concerned for about another hour, and fell asleep just before midnight. I woke up in the morning on the bed next to my mom. She was still asleep, but I was wide awake just dying to know the answer to my question, how is she? I spent an extra half an hour stewing over it. “Is she ok?” “Is she ok?” “Is she ok?” were the only questions repeating themselves in my head. As my mom slowly opened her eyes, I quickly asked “how is Nana?” My mom responded in a quiet, mournful tone, “She is with the angels now.” In shock, the only word I could mutter was “oh”. I turned my head, and began to process what I had just heard.
There were so many great moments with her, and these memories were all popping up in my head after hearing the tragic news. Words did not escape my mouth for a couple of hours. I went home and saw my babysitter, Britney, who we called Bre for short. We had told her the news. My lack of emotional reaction toward the situation quickly came to an end, as I ran to Bre and began to cry profusely. I cannot say why she was the person to whom I broke; maybe it was because she was the first person I saw, and my body thought it was time to let out the emotions within, like a volcano beginning to erupt. I gave her a hug, and ran into my house. I laid down on my bed. Tears still running down my eyes, I looked up to read a poem from my Nana, which was in a picture frame hanging over my bed. It was titled Angels Danced.
 “Aidan, I wonder if you know…
That on the morning you were born the Angels danced? Stars in Heaven shone as bright as the light in your eyes! Music filled the ears of all Creation with your first cry And God said…Praise be to Glory…Aidan is here!
            “Aidan, do you remember…
When you were still alive in Heaven sitting at God’s feet? A stream of golden water filled with bubbles trickling by, Fairies and Pixies tickled your precious toes as you smiled and God said…Aidan, there is much work to be done!”
            “Aidan, do you know how special you are…
Looking out into the great big world through your eyes, Tell us what you see and know and feel about life’s joy! Wisdom is carried deep within your strong, sweet heart And God told us…Aidan has danced with the Angels!”
            My Nana’s passing has not only affected me, but my entire family. It took years to heal this hole created in our heart. I always tried to be the comforting child, I would see my mom upset, and immediately give her a hug. I would try to stay strong and keep everyone’s spirits up, but it was extremely difficult to do so, as you could imagine. They could not look at pictures of her without breaking down. Nana was someone who touched all of our hearts, and she left us so soon. After years of going through the mourning process, we now celebrate her life. Just last New Year’s Eve, my brother, mom, Aunt Liz, and Pappy were sitting in bed, watching home videos of Nana, one which included her 50th birthday. She had hundreds of friends and family celebrating her 50 years of life, it is incredible how loved she was. In that video you can see her dancing, enjoying her life. This brought back the memories of me dancing with her, and I miss it so. As we watched the home videos, it was a moment of laughter and tears, this is what Nana would have wanted us to do all along.
            Nana’s kind hearted soul influenced me greatly. Just like I believe she lives in the plant, I believe she lives in me as well. Through every struggle in my life I know she is telling me “it’s ok honey” to help me get through it. She is a good portion of the reason why I am so kind hearted myself. I am happy to have had so many great moments with her, but every single day I wish she was here in person, to create more great memories.

Sunday, August 24, 2014

Don't Worry. Be Happy.

Out for a late night run; was just thinking about how each of us is a spirit, "having a physical experience" as they say. And that we are meant to influence others throughout our lifetime(s). How we do that is a combination of what we are made of and what we choose to do with the information we are given. Some spirits are so expansive and bright, they affect the whole world positively - forever. My mind flashed to Robin Williams...I imagined him and my mom hanging out in Heaven, dancing and laughing and being silly.

Just then, this song began to play on my iPod. I felt tremendous waves of nostalgic and tears began to fall. I went to YouTube for the video link, compelled to share what I am certain was a message of love and happiness from my mom.

As the video began to play, my tears became the ocean and my own spirit expanded infinitely...as I realized the gift was from both of them.


Sunday, August 10, 2014

Everything And Everyone

I felt my mom -- and just all kinds of serious cosmic energy -- all day today. I was driving home from a training session, on Jewetta just before turning onto our street, and (I swear to you on all that's sacred), I saw out the passenger's side window  a man on some sort of giant three-wheeler-tricycle- wagon-sort-of-thing. He was wearing a funny looking hat and in fact a whole"outfit" of sorts, if not a costume. And - I kid you not - a MINIATURE PONY was pulling him on this thing like a Clydesdale would pull a carriage. AND then what appeared to be his entire family just rode up behind him on the sidewalk (in our typically very plain and boring neighborhood), ALSO WITH MINIATURE PONIES pulling each of them! 

I had been crying in a moment of deeply missing my mom at the sound of Fleetwood Mac's Never Going Back Again...and then immediately saw these bizarre shenanigans and laughed so hard I cried  (harder). 


My mom once came to me in a dream, shortly after she died, and told me that where she exists now, all you have to do is think about being something, and you're that thing. And all you have to do is think about being somewhere, and you're there. In that moment this morning... the depth of her presence, the endlessness of missing her....the endless laughter and love. She was there, and she was them. She is in everything and everyone. 


Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Mom's Art...With a Twist

I've been photographing Mom's signature "doodles", and editing them in Camera Awesome (iPhone)...then using pic collage to put them all together. I just keep thinking about how much Mom would've LOVED all the technology, and the creativity it ignites and enables.

Saturday, December 31, 2011

The Hardest Weekend

A Letter from Dad...

Dear Tina and Liz, I know that this weekend is so painful for you both, but once again, I want to encourage you to try to force yourselves to “celebrate” Mommie vs. Mourn her. The more time that goes by, the more I think of her essence…. And that was love, light and happiness….. yes with great sadness, but also with so much love…. as you do. She was great. She was a gift… She was here with and for us for a number of years that were not enough…. But that is true of all good things…. There can never be enough of a good thing…… Today and always I will try to love the time we had and try not to think that it wasn’t enough…. I know it’s hard… I love you both with all my heart and feel so blessed that Mommie gave me the gifts that are you.   I wish you both a very great year with great health, happiness, new adventures and all the love that you deserve. PEACE, Dad

New Year's Eve, 2004

Liz’s reflections
December 31, 2004
 I went into Mom’s room this morning to say goodbye, though I know goodbye means nothing but “Welcome...you are reborn”... in the scope of eternity.
I left Aunty Karen’s bible by the bedside. I told mom that Tina and Shelly and I are strong enough - not only to live on, but to live on with joy-filled hearts - in the pursuit of fulfilling our highest and deepest dreams. I told her it was okay to let go...that our only wish now was for her wholeness and freedom.

I told her...
That when I used to dream about swimming with whales a lot, the most prominent of those dreams revealed me as a killer whale calf...cavorting with the most graceful strides next to a giant and exquisite mother whale. I felt every inch of her smooth, strong body. My physical presence in that environment was tangible. I knew this matriarch with profound familiarity; in fact I had known her forever, and knew her completely. 

I was so very safe in her embrace. Even without the vehicle of arms, hands, and fingers with which to hold on, she managed to envelop me perfectly and absolutely within her gargantuan spirit. Intertwined, we moved together through seamless lifetimes, rolling over and over like the tides, across endless landscapes and beyond all perceived horizons. 

And like the ocean... is heaven. Both are defined by the all-powerful force of ebb and flow. Inhale and exhale. Death and rebirth. 

I told mom that I believe those whales in my dreams were the two of us. That “someday”, in a place where time doesn’t exist, and life and death are as easily accepted and honored as our every breath, mom and I would be together again in the flesh. I told her that the night of July 5, 1998, when mom and I were visited by a pod of thirty killer whales off the south shore of San Juan Island, was the best day of my life. I know now that both those dreams - and that day - will be the best of my entire existence, material or immaterial. Because they represent both the beginning and end of time in the instant of my origin, as I was born of my mom’s body and spirit. It defines the fundamental breath I share with my mom, which will never expire, but only evolve.

Mom and I will exist together forever in that moment. And because of our joint liver surgery, into eternity, mom takes with her a part of my own flesh. From her belly, I was birthed. And out of mine, she was given a little more time. We gave one another life. Physical LIFE.

* * *

Literally the INSTANT I arrived at the hospital with my sisters, and entered her room (for what I knew would be the last time), at approximately 11:35pm on New Year’s Eve, mom’s body let her spirit go. Up she ascended, and out she expanded, and off she soared into the depths of a blue heaven we will not know until we have earned it ourselves.

Mom lost her own mother on the same night exactly 23 years ago New Year’s Eve, 1981. My Grandmother was 58 years old when she passed. Mom was 57.

Nothing is real tonight. Our minds protect themselves, because if the reality of this grief were to come all at once more, even, than one miniscule particle at a time - we would surely drown in it.

In this moment, I feel at peace. My heart tells me that tonight, my mom lived -and died - through the grandest of all spiritual experiences. From that place, I feel her swishing with ease through the sacred waters of time, continuing on in her passage. I see her embracing her own mother, and her sister Karen. She will soar always with the ease of anti-gravity on the swells of our prayers for her.

Mom is frolicking with her band of beloved angels now.
Like the crested caps of whipping waves, underneath which whales live, love and playshe too is dancing.

J.R...In The Arms of My Beloved