Awareness
April 7th, 2009, will always be the day the world stopped. I needed no social media notification, news story, or emergency alert to tell me this soul-collapsing truth. We were there with you, lying beside you, and felt your spirit leave your earthly body. Just like that, a final breath on planet Earth before you crossed over. I felt every move of that and was hyper-aware of the snow falling outside of our hospital room, the warmth surrounding us, and the sound of Brahms’ lullaby playing in the background. Awareness—acute and total awareness— as we dressed you and lay with you until it was time for us to carry you home.
We walked out of the hospital as parking garages were closed for your sacred walk from the room to our car. I held you in my arms, and our friend drove us to the funeral home, where we brought you inside and sat with you while the light shone down on your dark, shiny hair and beautiful, perfect face. I tuned out the traffic and noises outside of these spaces that day, but I was intensely aware of certain things that connected both worlds: the snow, the sunlight warming the room, the nurse who brought the three of us warm blankets, the butterfly card from another bereaved mom that had fallen from the dash to my seat where I sat holding my girl, the sorrow of our family and friends that day when they found out you passed. I will never forget the look on Jason’s face when we left the hospital with our daughter lying on her sheepskin, looking like an Angel. He was and I was forever changed with a new sense of awareness that ripped our souls apart at the core and shattered our hearts.
This awareness was a new sense of knowing that has never left me. There was an anesthetic effect from the shock of grief in the early years which made it challenging to listen to this knowing, as I was not ready to accept that this was my new state of being. I am a bereaved parent, and I say that now with both ache and sacred grace. I remember a counselor once telling me they felt very sad that Jay and I refer to ourselves as not only parents but bereaved parents. He said that was a sad reference that he hoped we would one day reframe. I said to him, I hope we never reframe this, as what you grieve most, you love deeply.
No one ever wants to be in the club that we belong to, but only those in this never-talked-about club can understand. For many years, I tuned out things that I could not give energy to. Certain events and big group gatherings felt like a direct threat to the broken shards of myself that I could not seem to hold together. I had to journey on a new, unknown path to healing, where I had no map, compass, or light to guide me. Grief is inherently lonely as no two people grieve at the same time in the same way. I was governed by my gut, instincts, and what has now become, 16 years later, a knowing. This deep knowing is you and I feel you with me every day. I find dimes, butterflies, meet good people and hear songs that feel like you are saying an enthusiastic “hi mom” or “take a breath and slow down mom just chill" just when I need it most. When I am searching for the right thing to do there you are nudging me along in the right direction.
You are my superpower, my knowing, and my bridge between this world and the other—the one where you are always in that warm light that feels like a huge hug on a peaceful Spring day. I am intensely aware of the moments that I know will be in my mind and heart on replay forever.
When Isla rested her head on my shoulder for a brief moment before stepping out of the car as she went into the barn last week, after we had a great talk on the way to her lesson. That warmed my heart and stopped me in my tracks. Even after a long day at work, I wasn’t letting that moment miss me. When Callum asked about what I am bringing to decorate your spot at Glen Oaks today and he smiled and admired the solar Angel that I picked out. When I walked out of work this week after a Spring snowfall that resulted in icy roads and your dad was waiting for me to make sure I got home safely. When I see a person reflect on how they have treated someone and do better next time. When I visit my family or friends, any stress of the day begins to melt away and is replaced by laughter and a much needed hug! These are the moments that I am very aware of as these are the times when I feel you with me most. Life is short, be aware and breathe, reset and carry forward doing the best you can and always remember no one is perfect. This is what I am sure you are saying to me.
Thank you for grounding me in a world where the moments that truly matter can sometimes feel elusive. With so much noise from social media and the constant swirl of distractions, it’s easy to overlook the quiet gifts of awareness, mindfulness, and trusting our instincts. Thank you for reminding me to slow down when I get caught up in the rush of work and life, and for teaching me that the real treasures lie in being present for what truly matters. Emersyn, it has been 16 years since you left this world physically, but my sense of your spiritual presence only deepens as I continue my journey of healing. What we grieve, we love, and while I will always be a bereaved Mom, above all, I will always be your Mom. I remain profoundly aware and proud of your light, and my heart is filled with awe for the love you continue to send.
Missing and loving you always with a deep knowing that I will hug you again one day and oh what a feeling that will be.
Love,
Mom xoxoxoxo
