Monthly Archives: August 2015

Is love energy?

All the people I’ve loved in my life? I still love them. Boys who broke my heart. Boys whose hearts I broke. Friends I haven’t seen since I was a kid. No matter how a relationship ends, the love doesn’t go away. If it did, there would be no such thing as a broken heart. It hurts because we love. Still and always. And when we see someone we haven’t in ages, that instant spark is the love surging out of the little space it waited in, just as bright as it was way back when. Maybe it’s changed a little. We all grow up and become someone else. But it’s there, for me, absolutely

Energy. Water. Constants that can only change form, not be created or destroyed. Vast, but finite. But love? Is there a finite amount to go around? Is it like energy and water, existing at  constant rate? Maybe, once we’re gone along with all those who knew us, all the love we shared gets put back into the pool to be used by others. And if we, like everything else in the universe, recycle, maybe that love just gets carted along back with us, ready to be dipped into as needed.

I thought I’d write this post as a way of working out my thoughts to my own satisfaction, but this one is eluding me a whole week later. So I’m asking you your thoughts, if you have any on the matter.

I’m the whimsical, sparkle-queen of optimism. My kids grew up believing fairies lived in our gardens, in the woods behind our house. Dragons, bridge trolls, any manner of magical creature wasn’t just a story, but a fact of life. Yet we have never been a religious family. There was a time we tried, because that is what one did when raised a reluctant Catholic. If you ask my kids now, one will claim atheism, two will say they don’t know what they feel, one will claim she’s agnostic with a strong spiritual bend.

Chris was a very spiritual guy. He believed that this thing often called “God” is all around us, all the time. It’s nature. It’s science. It’s the earth and the sky and the stars. He believed there is a connection to all things, and the evidence is there for anyone who takes a moment to notice. All he believed was, in fact, science based, including whatever comes after this life is done.

We are energy. Energy cannot be destroyed, it can only change form. That, in a nutshell, is his proof that we go on in some aspect. What that form is, he didn’t know. I don’t. No one does, not even those who claim to have the one truth of all things afterlife. There’s only one way to find out–to die, and to stay dead.

As I’ve written before, I’ve had some experiences that I can’t deny, even if I can’t explain them. Like the rings on my Cheshire Cat cell-phone case. I’d been crying all morning, not an unusual thing, but life goes on and dishes needed to be done. I took my rings off and put them down like this, on top of my cell phone, so I wouldn’t forget to put them back on:

recreated for obvious reasons

Turning back to get them a few minutes later, I found this:

Note, I was alone in the house. No cats in sight, and the cell phone and rings were directly behind me. I am 100% certain I didn’t put them down this way, because when I first put them on top of the cell phone, one of them slipped off and I put it back on top of the other. Let’s say one slid off and onto an eye. It would have had to have some momentum to send the other one to the other eye. That’s a whole lot of work and a lot of suspension of belief to accept. And yet, I know this happened. I didn’t slip through an alternate reality wherein I’d set my rings down that way to begin with. I didn’t black out, rearrange the rings so I could believe my son was, in his prankster way, telling me to stop crying. But was it him? Even though it’s way less of a stretch to believe so, I am skeptical.

Many other things have happened. Wow, so many. Things I can’t explain away as coincidence or wishful thinking. My son is working hard to let me know he’s not only ok, he wants me to be ok. And yet still, I’m skeptical. Me! The woman who still believes in fairies! So I told him, “Just have someone say [redacted]! If someone says [redacted], I’ll believe!”

And wouldn’t you know, the very next day, a friend emailed me and signed her name [redacted.] How much harder can he work at this? Why can’t I take the comfort I want so badly to take?

Chris didn’t have it so great. The last ten years of his life were full of so much mental and physical pain. He often felt lonely, even though he wasn’t alone. There were happy times too, but the last three weeks ending as they did keep the despair in the forefront. I want so much to believe that he’s free of all that shackled him in this life, having an afterlife better than what he had and not just ashes in the roots of a tree. So why do I keep making him prove it? Over and over again. My mind is so open to all things. I never say never. And yet…why not with this?

I have no answer. I don’t expect you to, either. Whether you’re devoutly faithful to a religion, spiritual, scientific, all have theories but no one knows. I am, however, interested in the experiences of others, if you wish to share.

Christofer’s memorial happened last weekend. I hadn’t realized the stress that put on me until Friday, when i just wanted to call it off. I, my whole family, have been grieving for nearly two months now, and it felt like opening the wound all over again. Not to be gross, but going with the wound analogy, it was more like draining an infection. Maybe it had scabbed over, but still ached something awful. It hurt, draining it. Bad. But when all was said and done, it was really, really for the best.

Some people I would never have thought would come, did. Some I expected to be there, weren’t. All in all, it was a packed house of people who love us, who love Chris. There was so much love and light in that sweltering train station, no one cared they were swimming in their own clothes. Whether or not you believe Chris was there with us, no one can deny how his presence gathered all that love now radiating out into the world. And that’s a positive pulled from this negative.

I didn’t write anything for the event. I started the show with the Rilke poem my friend brought to me the day after his death and then let everyone else speak. I’ve been writing and sharing here since the days following his death. Saturday was really for those who still needed an outlet. Family, friends, professors from WCSU, co-workers from Curaleaf. Some joked, most wept at some point. The beauty of their words touched everyone.

At one point, I saw a group of boys–young men–together, Chris’ friends from childhood, who hadn’t seen one another in years. They joked and laughed, hugged and wept. I could almost see Chris standing among them, smiling. And that was a positive pulled from this negative.

A young man called me a couple of weeks ago, asking about the memorial. He was once a world class martial artist who can now barely walk from room to room without assistance. He told me about the day Chris went to see him, bringing his bow, arrows and a target. His friend couldn’t lift the bow he’d once been master of, let alone pull the string. Chris put his friend’s hands on the bow, put his own hands over his friend’s, pulled the string for him, and let it fly. He did it over and over again, giving back to his friend something he’d forever lost. That is love. That is Chris. Hearing this story, one Chris never told me himself, was a positive pulled from this negative.

Sharing my pain has brought people into my life, people I would never have otherwise known. Some of you might be reading this now and thinking, “Does she mean me?” The answer is, “Yes, I do.” Friends of his, old and new, I’d never have met or reconnected with, who’ve shared with me pieces of my son I didn’t know about. Stories of his beauty I’d never have heard. People going through similar events who’ve connected with me. who I already cherish. Shared sorrow creates bonds as strong and as deep as shared joy. Others who simply sympathize, whether connected through a friend or family member, or randomly on the internet. Chris’ death has shown me people I’ve known and loved for years in an entirely new light. These are all positives taken from this negative, and I’m so grateful.

Taking a positive from any negative lessens the power of that negative. I’ve always believed this to my core. It’s not betraying love, it’s validating it. It’s not forgetting, it’s remembering in the most loving way possible. To say there is nothing positive about my son’s death is not only a lie, it’s harmful. Would I give back all these positives and more to have him back? Absolutely. But that’s not an option, so I’ll take every one of these positives, and all the others that come my way, and embrace them with all my heart.

Peace.