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.

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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.