overcast

We’ve had a couple of overcast days, but still. no. rain. What a tease. Those clouds so pregnant with moisture, I know, but still, no rain.

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We got back from the cabin earlier than planned. It was bit much for me, even though it was beautiful. Cool breeze, verdant views, running river. But I had a deep urge to scream. Too many painful memories there. There used to be melancholic beauty in feeling pain amidst beauty. These days it is just brutal.

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Thanks for the suggestions re: what to do if someone tries to break in. Why is it it involves a cellphone? Am I the hopeless on-the-brink-of-extinction-creature who does not have her cellphone grafted to her arm, or some other body part? I never ever bring my cellphone upstairs with me when I go to bed. And I think my cellphone has crappy reception. What if it will not reach any living thing from inside my wardrobe?

The story is, one night I heard someone trying the lock on our side-gate, but I was not dead sure. It is a word.lock so we know it has been attempted. Now, what?

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Two days ago I tore the June page off our calendar on the fridge and muttered to R, “Another month gone. A freaking half year HAS. GONE. BY!”

The thing is, I am looking forward to Lyra’s half-birthday. I know, I am sick, but I am thrilled for it. It had been a wild six months.

But, the thing is, another 6 months has passed by in Ferdinand’s absence. Even if he’s not physically here, we still remember.

And so, I was looking at this, Shades of Ruby. Ruby is his birth stone. I defiantly feel in this month of mourning and remembrance I will wear no black but instead scream-in-your-face red. I want to buy up strands of big chunky red necklaces and drip in them all month long. Like blood.

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Number of unread emails in my Inbox: 11,070

No kidding. I don’t even want to know about unread blog posts. I just want to run and hide and hope no one notices.

How many unread mails do you have??

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I am not really doing anything pa.triotic for Saturday. How about you?

bottleneck

• Seriously, what are you supposed to do when a burglar is trying to break into your house? Especially when you are alone with kids? I am not just asking idly… …
• I finally received the necklace I custom-made to wear in memory of Ferdinand. I’m going to find time to take pictures and write about it.
• I will be away for about 10 days to our cabin, where there is no TV, telephone or dishwasher. Hopefully I make it back alive.
• I got a translation assignment but the size of it was many times bigger than when we discussed about it a month ago. I will still do it, but I hate that the next weeks will be crowded with work, when I wanna have time to do other things, and think about Ferdinand.
• I have been wondering what it will be like to go cold turkey internet-free. Anyone been-there-done-that?

social animal or hermit

What are you? Party animal? Recluse? In-between?

I’ve a new post up at Glow today… …

realizations

Those rocks that travelled all the way from India were not all for me. It took me a while to realize.

After some time, I had a sense of that. The rocks spoke to me, or something like that.

A woman in one of the circles I move in had a stillbirth a few weeks back. I hate this, I hate when things like this happen. I really wish Ferdinand was the very last stillborn baby because it kills me to hear of this happening to others. Anyways, I do not know this woman well but I was approached by a mutual friend and asked if I will be willing to talk to her. Willing? Of course. (although we have not really spoken, yet.) But I also wanted to give her something. I wondered if she journaled, then I could buy her a journal. I also know she’s a crafter, but did not know exactly what, and I thought maybe I could find out and buy her some things that she can craft with.

Then I realized if she already journals, then she probably has a journal. If she is a crafter, she probably has tons of stuff on hand and I really need not tell her to craft, whether for healing, or to do something in remembrance.

One day as I sat, I realized that the rocks were sent to me not for my exclusive possession. (Of course not, you moron, was what I said to myself.) They were meant to travel on. I knew I have to part with at least one of them, for that bereaved mom. Why? I don’t exactly know why. A sharing of the grief, perhaps. And I think I heard Ferdinand whispering, Yes, mom, exactly.  it’s really not all about you. I love you.

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Sometimes I think I wanna take a rock and pound my grieving heart with it, and my grief will be stronger than the rock, reducing it to powder, instead of the hard rock making a pulp of my heart.

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It is Summer Solstice, and I have not planned anything to celebrate. I just don’t feel like. No energy, and sulky, and drained from the anticipation of yet another anniversary.

I thought of July 29 and I still feel like cursing. I also realized if I wanna register the girls for some fun art classes, registration begins on July29 and that is when I should call them. And I thought, Why must you set the date to July 29?! On that day I will be as good as dead and the last thing I wanna do is speed-dial and redial your number a million times and be all chipper and polite and register my girls for art classes.

And then I know, it does not matter, because every day, somewhere out there, someone is touching his or her hand to the heart, feeling that throbbing pain and ache, and missing, and asking why? Every day, someone is hurting. Every single day, every single second.

Such a wide-eyed look Ferdinand’s death gave me of this world. And I mean this in a good way. So much beauty, so much hurt, so much pain. This is why we wanna escape from samsara.

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Lyra looks exactly like Ferdinand, when she is sleeping. It kills me. But I love to watch her sleep, it is so peaceful and sacred. It is loving that makes us hurt so much.

the second post

I know it is not nice to post so much in one day but sleep is escaping me and I really wanted to get word out about HOME. If you have not watched this documentary yet, then double-up and go watch it. It is a great movie… erm, not exactly make-you-feel-good, but it is wonderfully made and is a very good and well-needed slap for us to sit up and get up and do something.

Val actually burst into tears half-way through because she could not believe human beings are dumb enough to destroy their own habitat. She was so emotional we had to pause (thank you, Youtube) to explain, discuss, comfort and re-affirm. (Truth be told, at some point I had to wonder at this world myself but I told her this movie was made not to make us sad but to make us realize that we are all responsible and therefore ought to do our part to make it all better.)

This film was made Luc Besson, whom I heart. I love love love Le Grand Bleu and of course, The Professional. Well, actually, once I told a fren I really liked Le Grand Bleu and she watched it and wondered how I could like such a movie?! She thought something was quite wrong with me. (heck, I cannot remove this italics…) And sometimes, I do enjoy violent movies, if they are, erm, well-made, with crazy cops like Stanfield (I thought Gary Oldman was very good in that role).

Anyways, I am not getting the italics to go away, which is annoying… but I wanted to tell you to watch this movie. It is worth that 93 minutes, it being so beautifully done. Of course it will also gnaw at your conscience, which may not be a bad thing.

be really interested

I was reading this article by Sylvia Boorstein in the Shambhala Sun the other day, talking about how striking up a conversation with a stranger and being truly interested in what they say can lead to unexpected insights. So she spoke with a woman on a flight from San Francisco from new York, and that woman was claustrophobic and was on her way to attend the funeral of her brother-in-law. (She said, “I’m not embarrassed. Everyone has something. I have claustrophobia.”)  She also revealed that her eldest brother was killed in the war in the Pacific when he was 17, and that it was terrible for both her parents and that she felt they both never got over it. When her siblings grew up they started a foundation that puts kids in some of the small Solomon Islands to school.

Boorstein said that encounter reminded her of her mother’s advice to her when she left for college: Be interested in other people…. pay attention. Don’t pretend. Be really interested.

That advice really was from a mother who wanted her daughter to be loved by others. I think it’s good advice on how to be a human being. It could also serve as good advice on how to be a friend to a bereaved.

You see, many people are afraid to be really interested after a child has died. They don’t want to go near it. Don’t want that reminder of their mortality and the mortality of their own children. Don’t want to hear about the sadness, the dealing with grief, the darkness of it all. Don’t want to listen for the umpteenth time the horror and the craziness. They are not sure what to say, and are afraid of appearing like an idiot. Grief is like one of those dark, narrow tunnels dirty and stinking, appearing along life’s path and  no one wants to wander down one of those, hoping to postpone that experience for as long as possible. I guess I don’t blame them.

It’s not easy to be really interested in the bereaved. It’s not a fun hing to do and presents no rewards. So I say thank you to all those who pay attention, ask questions, sit around (but do not expect to be entertained) and be really interested and do not expect a medal, or dessert for not leaving the room at the very first possibility.

The thing is, being really interested in a bereaved is not much different in being really interested in any other person. That’s what I think. Like that woman on the plane said- everyone has something. We all require someone to be patient with us and listen. We all could use help and compassion from time to time. We are all dealing with life, with living, even if we have had to deal with death. Everyone runs into crap at some point and could use some encouragement, empathy and just genuine interest in our plights. If you are truly interested in being a friend, it is not hard to be really interested in what your friend has to say.

For Boorstein, her conversations with strangers and being really interested in what they have to say have lead to unexpected insights. I am not sure what insights the bereaved have to offer to the really interested. At least I know I do not have much to offer except the struggles and the reality of what it is like to have to experience this.

But reading Boorstein’s article reminds me to be really interested, to be genuinely interested, to be humble and truly interested, because there is still so much to learn.