3 Year Ouroboros

Here we are. Year 3 since River left earth. Her story, my story, the story of our family is so beautifully complicated. Like the ouroboros serpent, there is no way to separate the good from the bad. It’s all completely the same and it's all mine. The last three years have been incredible. I’ve traveled to new places, loved and been loved HARD and pushed myself physically and challenged myself emotionally. Laughed a lot. Created.
And I’ve cried – deep eternal tears – mine and those of all mothers over all time who have experienced this pain. I can feel them and they can feel me. In the last three years, new losses have come. I have learned to watch and wait;  for, although I can see the journey of pain that will befall the bereaved, the Seer’s job is not to offer but to stand strong and close and ready with reply. I’ve also cried shallow, sloppy selfish tears of pride and pity. Again, the endless and beginningless circle of things that make us whole. 
This year, Josh and I purchased a house in Vermont. I set an intention to do so at least 10 years ago, probably much longer. On the other side of a big thing – be it a project, or an illness, a big win or a big loss is a feeling of nothing, a numbness to all the work it took to get there. I have dreamed, schemed, researched, calculated, plotted and prayed away for a decade and then POOF, its over – the work and struggle – a distant memory. We did it.  I have set the boulder down at the top of the mountain and although my arms are still shaking with the weight, all I can see now is the view (and of course, that next boulder and next peak.) We won’t move just yet. Another gift of River’s journey – allowing things to be a process that must be a process. 
This dream, to purchase a piece of my favorite place, it was suppose to include a growing River. She would celebrate the victory. She would ask all the interesting questions and notice all the little details through her big blue eyes. She and Josh would frolic through the green grass, the forests and snow – experiencing the novelty while I followed behind to explain the this’s and that’s to their half-listening ears. The traditions of New England, I would pass down, as my people have for centuries. When I let that pain sink in, it cuts me like a knife and I can feel myself silently screaming. I have learned that I have to sit with that pain, so I do. I have also learned to recognize and honor it, but not let it kill me. Being in Vermont this summer allowed me to begin to heal the deepest parts of myself. The ones that have existed since childhood. My people at home received me and mourned with me in our way. The water there, for which River was named, cradled me and removed the space between us. There is a sadness in those little green mountains that creates space for deep pain to exist.
Despite all of it, I know that I’m a lucky person. So incredibly lucky to be River’s mom. She was a angel and the fiercest person I’ve ever met. She knew gentle touch and absolute rage, silliness and dedication – and man, did she like to laugh! I am lucky that she died in a beautiful peaceful way – outside of the hospital without beeps, needles, cords and strangers. Together with her family, in my arms, with her daddy, in a bed of unicorns and on her own terms. I’m lucky that I have people who get the power of this story. I am lucky to have found true love in Josh – lucky to have the very best of friends – lucky for a large family who sees my special gifts. Lucky for the children I get to support. The boys moved to Boston this year and they have frolicked and listened with fully open ears. Lucky for the brilliant teenager in my life who bakes on command and needs the mothering skills I have to offer.  Lucky for my elders. Lucky to be able to see that tiny ray of sunshine as I navigate my way out of the darkness of grief.
****River’s Forest is still alive and well! I have trees to add and will soon. Thank you to everyone who has participated and thought about participating in the project.**** Plans are in the works for a small forest at our Vermont House. 

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