Love this invitation, thank you! Thinking about all that is dying in natural cycles that we expect, rely on, and even relish, versus the unexpected dying that happens in natural disasters and even worse, in wars. How much different perspectives of time shape our understanding? And thinking about the magnolia seed hanging by its silk thread, alive but suspended in time until it either germinates or dies.
Oh I love this! I think it was your book that first nudged me to send blessings to dead creatures at the side of the road, and now my children join in too. Thank you, what a beautiful way to observe autumn.
yes, these creatures we come upon are so ready to share their deaths with us and continue to be part of our lives...so wonderful you do this with your children! How lucky they are to have you as a mom.
I’m not sure if I should even share this here, right now. This is only part of the story. It’s not a happy one. On 9/23 my grandson, Sylas, Jason’s youngest (Jason is my oldest son who died of an overdose in 2013, leaving 2 sons, Sylas, 22, and Nick, 25) killed himself by hanging. He was 11 when Jason died. This has caused a huge fracture, for reasons not actually related to his death, in the family. Like such pain, such shock, brings to the surface old stuff that, really, needs to be faced. But oh the pain! I was not invited to the burial. His mom chose a natural burial at the Vermont Forest Cemetery, at the base of the mountain Jason’s ashes were given to the wind at the summit. I was not able to be there through no fault of my own and my expressed feelings of this (2 weeks later) were taken as being selfish by my middle son. But that’s another story. Because I was not allowed to be there, I sat on the balcony each night starting with the first night I learned he had passed. I knew it was too soon but I witnessed a “rescue” with Jason, Than (a friend of Jason’s who killed himself a few years before Jason died, who I admit I haven’t thought about in years, but it made sense), and then Scott, the husband of one of spirit sisters who passed a few years ago from liver cancer. Scott stayed with me on the balcony for a while, standing behind me and offering comfort, then he joined those rescuing Sylas. A couple of nights later I swear I heard Sylas say “Mina” (Mina is my grandma name).Then . . . the night before the burial, he came with Jason, glowing and beautiful and I can’t write these words without tears coming. He looked like one of the paintings of saints in illuminated manuscripts. And Jason just a bit taller, a bit brighter, behind him. It was such a gift. A couple of nights later, they both came, and we talked, then they turned and started to walk away and something in me just didn’t want them to go. Jason said, “Don’t worry mom, we’ll be back.” And as they started walking on a path cleared into the woods, I watched as Sylas became a little boy, about 6 or so. Jason reached back and took his hand, and looked over his shoulder at me and said, “It’s part of his healing”. Spending time as a little boy with his dad. I’m so grateful to have witnessed this. And to trust that it is real. Because the daily is hard right now, and the nights are long and sometimes fraught. Sometimes our dead love us enough to save us.
how can your soul hold so much hearbreak? The way you have stepped into the mystery and the mysteries of love in these time of trial moves me so much. Jason is with his son, they do have each other--and may they both help healing happen in your living family. Jason has been a big part of my prayers since you introduced him to me. So much love to you, please reach out for whaterver you need.
Susan I am moved to tears by the beauty of this love and vision from your son and grandson as they continue their relationships with each other and you. Thank you so very much for sharing it here.
Here in Phoenix we look desperately for signs of autumn. Today is the first day it won’t be over 100 - whoo hoo !
We do happy dances at 6m when the temps finally dip to 70. We can breathe. We can move without fear of overheating and getting sunstroke. Life begins in the fall here - vegetable and flower gardens get planted! Signs of life abound. Even the mosquitoes have returned….
I thank my dead relatives and spirit guides and animal friends for the chance to remember the fall of my childhood - piles of fallen leaves to jump in, apple cider, and my mom’s apple pies. The cycles of life and season help us to measure the years. With our friends from the other side smiling….
yes, these cycles are ones we feel in our souls aren't they? It is in autumn that I feel most like a time traveler...stepping into memories beyond memories...once in France in October walking through fallen chestnut leaves, listening to their crisp sound I thought, "fall has always been my time, for tens of thousands of years..."
Love this invitation, thank you! Thinking about all that is dying in natural cycles that we expect, rely on, and even relish, versus the unexpected dying that happens in natural disasters and even worse, in wars. How much different perspectives of time shape our understanding? And thinking about the magnolia seed hanging by its silk thread, alive but suspended in time until it either germinates or dies.
falling, rooting, breaking open, dying and becoming...you write about it all better than anyone I know..
Oh I love this! I think it was your book that first nudged me to send blessings to dead creatures at the side of the road, and now my children join in too. Thank you, what a beautiful way to observe autumn.
yes, these creatures we come upon are so ready to share their deaths with us and continue to be part of our lives...so wonderful you do this with your children! How lucky they are to have you as a mom.
I really feel this too ♥️ thank you for the beautiful words to hold it.
I’m not sure if I should even share this here, right now. This is only part of the story. It’s not a happy one. On 9/23 my grandson, Sylas, Jason’s youngest (Jason is my oldest son who died of an overdose in 2013, leaving 2 sons, Sylas, 22, and Nick, 25) killed himself by hanging. He was 11 when Jason died. This has caused a huge fracture, for reasons not actually related to his death, in the family. Like such pain, such shock, brings to the surface old stuff that, really, needs to be faced. But oh the pain! I was not invited to the burial. His mom chose a natural burial at the Vermont Forest Cemetery, at the base of the mountain Jason’s ashes were given to the wind at the summit. I was not able to be there through no fault of my own and my expressed feelings of this (2 weeks later) were taken as being selfish by my middle son. But that’s another story. Because I was not allowed to be there, I sat on the balcony each night starting with the first night I learned he had passed. I knew it was too soon but I witnessed a “rescue” with Jason, Than (a friend of Jason’s who killed himself a few years before Jason died, who I admit I haven’t thought about in years, but it made sense), and then Scott, the husband of one of spirit sisters who passed a few years ago from liver cancer. Scott stayed with me on the balcony for a while, standing behind me and offering comfort, then he joined those rescuing Sylas. A couple of nights later I swear I heard Sylas say “Mina” (Mina is my grandma name).Then . . . the night before the burial, he came with Jason, glowing and beautiful and I can’t write these words without tears coming. He looked like one of the paintings of saints in illuminated manuscripts. And Jason just a bit taller, a bit brighter, behind him. It was such a gift. A couple of nights later, they both came, and we talked, then they turned and started to walk away and something in me just didn’t want them to go. Jason said, “Don’t worry mom, we’ll be back.” And as they started walking on a path cleared into the woods, I watched as Sylas became a little boy, about 6 or so. Jason reached back and took his hand, and looked over his shoulder at me and said, “It’s part of his healing”. Spending time as a little boy with his dad. I’m so grateful to have witnessed this. And to trust that it is real. Because the daily is hard right now, and the nights are long and sometimes fraught. Sometimes our dead love us enough to save us.
oh my dearest Susan,
how can your soul hold so much hearbreak? The way you have stepped into the mystery and the mysteries of love in these time of trial moves me so much. Jason is with his son, they do have each other--and may they both help healing happen in your living family. Jason has been a big part of my prayers since you introduced him to me. So much love to you, please reach out for whaterver you need.
Susan I am moved to tears by the beauty of this love and vision from your son and grandson as they continue their relationships with each other and you. Thank you so very much for sharing it here.
Here in Phoenix we look desperately for signs of autumn. Today is the first day it won’t be over 100 - whoo hoo !
We do happy dances at 6m when the temps finally dip to 70. We can breathe. We can move without fear of overheating and getting sunstroke. Life begins in the fall here - vegetable and flower gardens get planted! Signs of life abound. Even the mosquitoes have returned….
I thank my dead relatives and spirit guides and animal friends for the chance to remember the fall of my childhood - piles of fallen leaves to jump in, apple cider, and my mom’s apple pies. The cycles of life and season help us to measure the years. With our friends from the other side smiling….
yes, these cycles are ones we feel in our souls aren't they? It is in autumn that I feel most like a time traveler...stepping into memories beyond memories...once in France in October walking through fallen chestnut leaves, listening to their crisp sound I thought, "fall has always been my time, for tens of thousands of years..."