http://floakes.blogspot.com/2011/05/dark-side-of-dying.html

I look out my window and see the leaves on the oaks bursting forth with green. Spring has always been my favorite season. Even more so now. The gloom of winter reflects my sometimes gloomy state of mind and it’s harder for me to shake it then. And then comes Spring. The days are longer, brighter, sunnier, warmer, and they help to drive away dark, soggy feelings.  One of the results of the dark times is that I hardly ever write.  I spent some time yesterday with my sister Nancy and the subject of writing came up – and it sparked that desire in me to begin writing again. Writing helps me to get more in touch with what’s going on inside me and stokes the embers of life back to a flame.

“My hands are high,  And I’m holding on, I’m holding out,  And I figure that I – Figure that I just might make it.”  Thank you, Jason Mraz . . . Thank you dear Nancy . . .  Thank you to my friends who never let go.

2. A friend calls me up this morning. She asks me to pray for a woman who just lost her son. My heart goes out to the mother, but I tell my friend I haven’t gotten over my cynicism about how prayer works (or doesn’t).

I’m so tired of being “here” . . . of not being able to move on. I Want to let Zac go. I Want to pray again with a simple, childlike faith. I want to Live life, not endure it. I want to live with purpose, with meaning, with joy. I want to be glad to be here and for others to be glad I’m here too.  There is a well inside of me that wants to spill over with the gifts I have in me to give. A little of it seeps out here and there. I want to give in, give up, let go and allow the life in me to spray like a geyser without abandon.  I’m not sure how that’s going to happen – but I know that it is the desire of my heart.

3. I came across a blog post tonight that resonated so strongly to me, and helped to inspire me to to not give up.  I hope you will take the time to read it!

http://www.pixelatedimage.com/blog/2010/11/life-is-short/

Today is my birthday – one that has loomed before me for years – the year I turn 62. I lost my mom in 1989 – she was 62 years young. She died of a sudden heart attack, just as my dad did in 1976.  So for years I felt like the genes will do me in just as they did my mom, my dad and my brother (at 43).  So. That day is finally here.

I think today I have a choice to make. To live under a big black cloud, waiting to die. Or to live life again. LIVE. LIFE. To treasure every day that I wake up. To live every day to its fullest. To let go my sense of injustice at losing my son. To stop thinking about the big chunk of the future that will never be and accept the future that looks nothing like I would have hoped for. Not a – future, but a + future, whatever that turns out look like.

Like I said before, when I don’t write it’s not a good sign.  Why or how I break out of the pattern of escaping, I can’t say. This morning I read a post on facebook where my friend Susan asked what book we are reading.  So I went and looked for the books I had started, but wasn’t reading lately. Before I picked one up, I thought of how an airplane gets put on a holding pattern – how it has to fly in circles until gets its turn to land.

That’s how I feel – like I’m stuck. Not really living life – just sticking my toe out there when I have to.  I don’t want to stay this way, but I don’t know how care enough to change it.

First I picked up Snow Falling on Snow, p.85 . . .  Robert J. Wicks talks about how to get to place where we “appreciate our ‘ordinary’  self rather than being overcome by our previously scattered nature or the fantasy that we need to do something spectacular to overcome our sense of stagnation.”

The last paragraph somehow gave me comfort and spoke to me . . . “We will have direction, and our quiet time will be like the lights of a car that shine upon where we need to move next in the darkness. We will simply put one foot in front of the other, knowing that we are not drifting or being driven, but are actually flowing with life . . . a gentle, passionate life marked by deep joy.” Maybe I can make my way back . . . I haven’t been making room for my quiet time in the morning — could it be that simple? I want the kind of life he speaks of . . . I don’t want to live out the rest of my time in a holding pattern.  I hope I want it enough . . .

Of all places, I read a good article in Parade, the Sunday supplement to our local newspaper.  The points it made for me: Always be aware and open to moments of opportunity to connect with people – and – learn to keep things in perspective.

After hearing a fellow airplane passenger’s story of suddenly losing her husband and being left with 3 children, the author writes about how later at home . . . “I trip over my husband’s slippers. I don’t complain. I leave his pile of handwritten notes on the kitchen counter as a promise of his safe return. I call him many times. For no reason.”

I remember how years ago I used to get irritated by little things Rex did, like leaving a mess on the kitchen counter for me to clean up. Now when I pick up after him, I smile because of the evidences of his being here. And I remember all the grace he has for me and my imperfections . . .

In another part of the conversation on the plane, the woman comments on when her friends ask her how she’s doing,  “I tell them I’m doing fine . . . I know that’s what they need to hear. They want it to be over.” Oh, I know the poignancy of that feeling. At some point to you begin to learn who can take it and who can’t. I am blessed with special friends who I can be totally honest with.

I had no idea where this entry would go. I mainly wanted to share the wisdom of the article. It is available to read online and I found the link. It is short and worth taking the time to read.

http://www.parade.com/news/backpage/connie-schultz/100525-a-connecting-flight.html

I came across this quote recently.  I wish I had lived more of my life with this philosophy . . .  There has always been this yearning inside of me not to live a life of mediocrity. Then you get caught up in life – bills, deadlines, health issues, etc. Next thing, you turn around and wonder – where did the time go? How did I get caught up on this merry-go-round and didn’t take time to catch my breath? I wish I would have stepped off it more often to really live every moment. I’m not saying I never did, just that I didn’t do it enough.

It was something I tried to impart to my kids. Going on a walk was an adventure – not a route from point A to point B. We would go off the path following a trail of ants, look for treasures like a cool rock . . .  We would stare in awe at a full moon or billowy clouds in the sky . . .

Just now as I write, I am seeing that even though I didn’t live my life as fully as I would have wished, I know that I helped my kids to become more than I was. My son Zac loved adventure. He would hop in his old Subaru and head out somewhere – maybe to Mexico where he would take off the beaten path kind of roads and ended up with many tales to tale. He was so creative in so many ways. He could play guitar by ear and made up his own songs. He could cook. He could make things, like the cake holder for his wedding cake welded out of pieces of metal into an art piece.

At his memorial service, I heard from many how positively he impacted their lives. I heard things about him I never knew. His life was short but brilliant.                   How I miss him . . .

The quote starts out saying it’s never too late. Is it not too late for me? My life has been strangled out of me since Sept. 14, 2007. I know I don’t want to live out the rest of my days as half a person. I have to fight with everything I have to pull myself out of the abyss and want to live a life well lived . . . what is left of it. However short or long that might be, I have to remember – it’s never too late.

Right now isn’t the time to fill in from last post till this one.

It’s like stream of consciousness – writing right in the moment.

I’ve always loved jukeboxes (look that up in wikipedia -lol-) Now I have windows media player and it’s like the best jukebox in the world. It’s full of music that I’ve chosen. I have playlists that I’ve created that I can play when I’m in a certain mood. Today I was going to chose one for “doing dishes” – but when I opened up the program there was a random list of songs that I didn’t put there . . . a long list . . . of very random songs.  I considered closing it and then hit Play.

Now’s not the time to go into the place music has played in my life – (and then, even more so, in my son’s life. ) Another time . . .

Amos Lee, Jack Johnson, Mariana Montalvo . . . then Keane – Everybody’s Changing followed by Roy Orbison’s In Dreams. I smile – does anyone else have such weird, eclectic taste in music?  Then Bruce Cockburn, Festival of Friends and his exquisite guitar. How many young people have any idea who Bruce Cockburn (pronounced Coburn, by the way.)? Zac did. He had a huge collection of his music which he heard all though his childhood growing up.

The memories start. Was hearing such quality music/guitar playing an influence on his gravitating toward the guitar when he was around 17? I bought him his first guitar and he took off with it! (I knew he had it in him when he was around 11 or 12 and I got him a keyboard — he could play songs by ear and made up melodies back then.) It was no different with his guitar. Pretty soon, he began to overcome his self-consciousness and would sing. He had a sweet voice. Nothing to knock your socks off, but sweet and heart-felt. Sometimes in person, he could come off sort of quiet or shyish (I said Sometimes) – but his passion flowed when he played.

I guess my life will ever after have triggers that bring back memories of my son. By the way, the next song was Fancy Funeral . . .