Tag Archives: mourning

If the Leaves Don’t Fall.

fallleavesbark1

The leaves are falling,
but

If the leaves don’t fall
You’ll sleep in that morning

If the leaves don’t fall
Joey will kiss you goodbye one more time,
changing the timeline

If the leaves don’t fall
You won’t even go into work that day

If the leaves don’t fall
The pastor will decide to delay his trip to the bank to make the deposit

If the leaves don’t fall
You won’t hear the knock on the office door

If the leaves don’t fall
You won’t be your usual kind self
and open that locked door for them

If the leaves don’t fall
You make to the storage closet,
the one with the deadbolt

If the leaves don’t fall
The pastor comes back in time

If the leaves don’t fall
They don’t decide to rape you while you bleed out

If the leaves don’t fall
I don’t get that call that sends me flying up
and out of my own body to try and find you

If the leaves don’t fall
Your daughter doesn’t search my face to try and find you in me,
wondering where her momma is

If the leaves don’t fall
My other niece doesn’t have to spend months at the therapist talking
about the “two bad men with a knife who killed Aunt Brenda”

If the leaves don’t fall
Your now grown daughter’s face,
just like yours,
doesn’t cause me pain

If the leaves don’t fall
We get to grow old together as we planned.
Two old ladies in houses next to each other
With too many cats
Sitting on the back porch each night cackling
just like Big Momma used to
To our own juicy, irreverent, wild-woman jokes

If the leaves don’t fall
You could even be here tonight,
sitting at my kitchen table,
smiling at me,
making me laugh

If the leaves don’t fall
I won’t have to leave work early yesterday

If the leaves don’t fall
I won’t ride to church,
snot and tears flying,
praying that my friend,
herself a church admin,
is still there to break my fall

If the leaves don’t fall
You tell me why you are so angry at me

If the leaves don’t fall
We never have that last,
disagreeable,
conversation

If the leaves don’t fall
I am no longer the most selfish person you’ve ever known

If the leaves don’t fall
You forgive me for whatever it is that causes our argument

If the leaves don’t fall
I don’t dread Autumn each year

If the leaves don’t fall
I still have you,

my sister

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godspeed

I recently saw a client who lost her 24-year old son in March of this year. He died of leukemia.  She came to me for a reading – to talk to her son on the other side. She said she really didn’t believe in the things I do or in reincarnation, but that she was desperate and in pain and was hoping I could help in some way. She was referred to me by two different, unconnected people, so felt that that was some sort of sign that she should follow through with it. I couldn’t disagree with her on that one, as I pay attention to signs/synchronicity too.

Her sadness felt and looked like a thick, gray shield all around her. I could feel the panic underneath that – that panic that accompanies major loss, that feeling like you will never get stone angelto see that person again.  I have memories of that type of panic – that endless, desperate panic with no hope of remedy.

During the reading, I tried to stay focused on her son and not on her and her pain. I pushed aside the empathic sadness/depression and conveyed her son’s message. He had not been home yet, had not gone ‘to the Light’, for lack of a better way to put it. In that, he was not unusual; however, he was different in another way. He presented a first of his kind for me:  a recently nonphysical being who knew where to go and wanted to go, but that had waited to talk to me first. He told us that he didn’t want to go until he had talked to his mother more directly than he was able by himself. “You see,” he said, “I have been waiting for you, Grace, so that I could tell my mother these things before going.”  THAT, I had never encountered. He said he could see the possibility of her speaking with me and so had waited around.

I delivered his message and answered all her questions, mostly successful in keeping her pain from invading me too much. He, quite peacefully, moved into the Light afterwards.

And then I sobbed quietly in my office once she was gone. I waited until I heard the outside door close and knew she was outside the building. I let the waves of sadness and panic wash over and through me, wanting to get rid of them.  I then cleared myself and the office and rode my bike home – subdued, sober.

I could feel her sadness and our connection the rest of the day. Every time I laughed or smiled, I would catch myself and pull back, emotionally. It felt obscene to laugh or smile in the face of her sadness, her loss. I thought of my own daughter. She will be 22 this summer. I thought of the pain, the absolute panic, the hopelessness, even the anger that comes with such a loss.

This morning I found myself laughing again at silly things, the way I do. I am basically a happy person. I have worked hard to be this happy and content in my life. I sent her a load of good juju and sent out a prayer for her healing on all levels and turned my energy back to MY life, my very good, happy life with a healthy, beautiful, funny daughter to grace it. I laughed at my attempts to take a photo of my eye , enjoying the process just b/c it took me back into myself and my life and out of her painful one. And I also prayed I would keep the memory of that contrast stored somewhere in here, in my life, to remind me of just how good my life really is.

Godspeed. Godspeed to the son, but he is fine; he is Home. Mostly, Godspeed to the mother.