BLOOM

 

Is this not the cutest flyer ever created? The Park District helped design this beautiful announcement of an upcoming class I am teaching for them. Am I nervous? Yes. Excited? Yes. Nervcited is how I like to think of how I feel when something is coming up that gives me butterflies. I did a trial run of this workshop last summer with friends, so I'm pretty sure I can pull it off. I offer the tools, the participants do the work to make changes in their lives. A little like coaching. A little like counseling. 

I took a bold step and asked the park district if they would be interested in having me teach this class for them. What was there to lose? They said yes. That's what I've been working on: being bold. Or at least more bold. 

Now we have to see if 4-10 people will sign up. I could meet an entirely new group of locals. That would be pretty cool. 

Gobsmacked

Just when I'm noticing I haven't cried in awhile, or been caught off guard with some random occurrence that sets off an emotional cascade, it happens.

Friday night on the way out of a restaurant, I ran into a couple of bereaved parents. We briefly talked about attending a child loss support group on Tuesday. Our sons were friends at different points growing up. Their son died after Adam, and when I visited them after their loss, they reminded me of things I had forgotten: the boys wrestling together, going to church camp, and attending the post-graduation river cruise. When I saw the dad outside I got really choked up and teary-eyed. 

I was with someone who keeps their emotions tightly buttoned up (until they are not). They rarely speak of Adam or his death, so I don't bring it up. After I introduced them to each other, and we were in the car on the way home, they asked what I was doing on Tuesday evening. I said I was attending Compassionate Friends for parents who have lost a child. They replied something like, "Oh." 

I have wondered to myself recently why I don't talk to this person about Adam. They were as close to Adam as most anyone, and I know they just don't know what to say. I tell myself I don't start the conversation because I don't want to wind up taking care of their emotions. But maybe I am just being stubborn and selfish. 

Suicide is Preventable

 Here is a potentially triggering sentence. It was mentioned a few times at a volunteer training for American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. It was noted, this is not say every suicide can be prevented, or to make anyone feel guilty or responsible who has experienced suicide loss. 

Suicide is preventable the way child abuse is preventable. No one has to die by suicide or be abused as a child for the world to go on. In fact, it would be a better place, I think we all can agree. Some diseases are preventable with proper lifestyle habits. If we didn't believe all of this, we wouldn't try to improve our mental health, learn better parenting skills or exercise and eat our fruits and vegetables. There are people lucky enough (I don't know any) to master this trifecta. 

I can get on board with this suicide is preventable idea, knowing that it will strike some as a judgment. My mission is to be a light in the dark tunnel of suicidality. Let's de-mystify this word, reach out with kindness, and put positivity out there. Think before you speak, write, or post and help others to know they are special and valued. 

Me at 59

 Meditation and sleep produce such wild thoughts for me. This morning during meditation, my mind said, "If you could switch places with Adam right now, would you?" The resounding answer, especially after thinking it through is, Yes, absolutely. 

I'm 59. I often think if my time was up, I would feel good about what I did, who I was on earth. I lived hard at times, I experienced joy and sorrow on the deepest level. I did many, many things I wanted to, and have been blessed exponentially. I gave it all I had. So yes, to give Adam another chance to live his life, especially with the clarity I believe he would have now, is a no-brainer. I wish I could plop him right back down to earth, at 33 years old and ready to give it another go. The past six years would have been hard on him in this life, but wisdom comes with age. He could do all the things he dreamed of. He would know all the things that happened after he was gone, how much love and respect there was for him. How he helped people he didn't realize. What a diverse array of friends he had and how unique he was. He could build on  this. It's exciting to think about. I'd like to write this up as a short story or novel. 

My belief about our soul is that once it leaves earth, it is unburdened of all the entrapments of our physicality, our emotional injuries, our burdens and foibles. We are pure awareness, and it's totally freeing. This pure, softer, gentler Adam would do amazing things. I am thankful for my ability to imagine such wonderful images.