Another Week
Tuesday, February 5, 2002 -- 8:23pm
Posted by Bar


It's Tuesday night and I'm tired.  The last couple of weeks have been a real
roller coaster of emotion.  You'd think that by now I would be used to the
ups and downs, but alas, I am not.  Two weeks ago we were celebrating the
removal of Forrest's catheter; last week we struggled with the terror of
what appeared to be a stomach bug that made Forrest very uncomfortable and
made his mommy and daddy scared beyond measure; this week we are barely back
on our feet again.  Forrest is still iffy with regard to his tummy, but it
seems that many of the kids around here are suffering, so we stick with the
tummy bug explanation VS the it's-all- over explanation.  When I was a wreck
on Friday, Peter was strong.  He listened to me wail and then said, "Bar,
when you start to get scared, take a deep breath and say to yourself `I just
don't know'".  He really understood the frenzy I had worked myself into.  He
knew that my anxiety stemmed from wanting some control in my life and from
wanting desperately to understand something about something that's happening
around me.  His advice has proven very effective.  Since Friday, I've been
able to comfort myself with not-knowing and somehow surrendering to that
not-knowing.  I know in the back of my mind that I will have more difficult
days, but for now I am well and at-peace with things again.  Our healer,
John, also talked to me about surrender.  I called him in desperation on
Friday morning, and confessed that for the first time I felt as though I
wanted to give up the fight for Forrest's life.  I told him that I felt as
though I no longer had the hope or the strength I needed to carry on and was
sort of thinking a car accident wouldn't be such a bad thing.  When I used
the words "give up" he encouraged me to rethink it all in terms of surrender
- that giving up and surrendering were very different things.  Surrendering,
he suggested, meant understanding that something bigger - God - was running
the show; that surrendering is a giving-over to that bigger thing in the
universe when there is nothing else to do, and realizing that ultimately,
there is never anything else.  Giving up, on the contrary, was like saying
that death is better than life.

John invited me to his home Friday afternoon to take part in a class that he
was teaching.  Several women in the class were people who are living strong
and healthy lives after terminal cancer diagnosis.  They had all been given
very little time to live at one time or another, and are living proof that
people live well with and after cancer.  One of the women, aged 70ish, was
diagnosed with breast cancer 19 years ago.  It had spread to her back and
she was in great pain.  When I asked her what made the difference when her
doctors told her and her family she would die within two days, she told me
she realized in those "last" days that she needed to live a more spiritually
rich life.  I guess she got it that she still had some living to do and so
even with her body so close to death, she turned herself around.  She says
she still has some back pain when she does too much or if she forgets what
her purpose is in this life, but she had shoveled all afternoon and looked
beautiful to me.  The lesson over and over again is that we just don't know
when we will die or what will become of us.  The lesson I got really clearly
last week was that, not only don't I know when Forrest will die, but that
his life journey is a very different one from mine and that I need to tend
to mine.  That doesn't mean that I abandon my role as his mother and
caretaker, it just means that I use my energy wisely and take care of my
needs (spiritual, physical and emotional) while being his mommy.  I don't
serve either of us if I expend a ton of my energy trying to figure out what
is happening to him or what the future might bring.

So, here we are at the beginning of a new week.  Forrest will hopefully be
able to get to school tomorrow.  I will get into my studio to finish a
recording that I am working on, and Peter will go off to work as usual.

I hope that all is well with you.  My sense is that these e-mails will begin
to taper off...but I guess I've said that before.  My problem is that both
Peter and Forrest love this computer and I simply can't get any time on it.
Can't complain..

Much love to you all,
Bar

Forrest
Saturday, February 9, 2002 -- 7:23pm
Posted by Bar


February 9, 2002

Forrest passed away this afternoon.  We are in shock and I do not know what
else to write - I just wanted you all to know.

We came to the hospital yesterday afternoon to get some fluids into his
little body.  He'd been sick so much since Wednesday afternoon that he
needed to be hydrated.  This morning at around 11, he had a couple of
seizures, went into a coma and then very gracefully died at 2:10.
Apparently a tumor had grown in his brain.

I will let you know about our plans for his burial as soon as we
have made arrangements.

I love you all. Thank you for so much kindness towards
us this last year and a half.

Bar

Ceremonies
Sunday, February 10, 2002 -- 9:00pm
Posted by Bar


Hi everybody,

Pretty gloomy here, but also bustling with preparations and gatherings of
family and friends.  Peter and his brothers are building a very beautiful
coffin, me and the women in my life and Forrest's are embroidering his
pillow, food is arriving for us to eat, the phone is ringing constantly and
I cannot handle talking to anyone yet.  I cry every so often.  I am still in
shock, I think, and not quite sure I believe what is happening.  It is all
so beautiful and also the heaviest thing I have ever been involved in.  I am
so glad to feel the love that Forrest inspired in so many people.  He was
very much loved and known here in Woodstock and it's the fact that people
took the time to really know him that makes me very, very happy.  He was
well worth knowing.  He has inspired many lives by the sheer power of his
smile.

We have made plans.  We met with the funeral home this afternoon, bought
plots for the three of us and have set up a schedule for the next couple of
days.  Any and all of the events are open to those of you who wish to come.

There will be a viewing at the Lasher Funeral Home in the center of
Woodstock from 5-7pm tomorrow (Monday) night.  On Tuesday, we will gather at
the Colony Arts Center on Rock City Road in Woodstock at 3pm.  We will all
process from there (on foot) to the cemetery which is right next to the
Colony, at 3:45.  (People who would prefer to drive to the burial site can
easily do so).  The burial will be at 4pm.  Please dress warmly as opposed
to dressing-up.  St Gregory's Church, on route 212 east of Woodstock, will
be open for silent meditation and prayer following the burial and until 6pm.
And please come to our home if you would like following the burial.  There
will be plenty of peanut butter roll-ups and macaroni and cheese to
share..Forrest's favorites.

Because this town has been so involved in Forrest's healing and ours, we
will be holding a community gathering the week of the eighteenth as a way of
celebrating his life.  I think that it will take place Wednesday night the
20th, but I have not secured that date yet.  I'll let you know as soon as I
do.

Tomorrow morning the kids at Supertots, their parents and Cheryl will have a
ceremony of closure for Forrest.  I think of all of the events that will
happen for him, that one may perhaps be the most powerful.  The children at
school have been enormously important to Forrest and, needless to say,
Cheryl has a wonderful opportunity to help them cope with their loss and to
explain that death is part of life.  I don't envy her role tonight.  It will
be very hard, but she is amazing at explaining these heavier sides of life
to kids who already understand it on many levels but may not be assimilating
the grief around them too well.

Sleep is impossible.  I am running on empty.  Wondering what next week will
look like when everyone has gone home.

Thank you for all of your messages.  It is wonderful to hear from you and we
are very grateful.

Much love to you all,
Bar

Love
Thursday, February 14, 2002 -- 12:08pm
Posted by Bar


Hi everybody,

I don't feel ready to share too much about what's going on
inside me right now. It's hard to put words to it all. I do know
that I will want to share much of it with you and that when it's
time I'm sure it will flow.

However, I did want to let you know the final plan for
our celebration of Forrest's life in Woodstock on Wednesday
the 20th. We will gather at 7pm at The Colony Art's Center
on Rock City Road in the center of town that evening. Please
join us if you would like to. We thought it would be nice for
Peter and me if everyone created a sort of scrapbook of
their memories of Forrest. I think that in the long run it will be
a nice source of strength for us to be able to read and
re-read your thoughts. If you would like to add something to
the book, we'll be putting them in a 3-ring binder - standard
size. We'll have paper at the Colony on Wednesday for those
in attendance. For those of you who can't be with us, please
do send us a line, a drawing, a poem, a prayer, whatever
you would like. And thank you in advance for doing so.....

Bar Scott and Peter Schoenberger
P.O. Box 81
Glenford, NY 12433

Before I sign off, I can't help but tell you how beautiful and
moving the last few days have been. Peter and I have
been completely surrounded by love. It has been our
strength and it's impossible to describe how important and
huge that love has been.

I send you all loads of love in return.

Bar

Things I'm thinking about....
Tuesday, February 19, 2002 -- 10:35am
Posted by Bar


It's Tuesday morning, already a week since Forrest's burial; 10 days since
his death.  Peter's friend Willard just left after spending yesterday and
last night with us.  Peter has gone to work in an attempt to normalize and
distract himself a little bit.  So, I am alone - not for the first time, but
for the first time that's supposed to be sort of like the rest of my life.
No one is coming over for the day today.  Peter is gone.  I have time to do
anything I would like to do, and of course, I'm a mess.  I'm lonely beyond
words, I'm confused and sad and a little angry and I'm desperate and unable
to imagine a life for myself.  I'm scared that I will start to forget every
detail of Forrest's body.  Already I cannot remember what he looks like.
The only images that come to me are of the photographs that are around our
house.  We've been able to keep busy with friends and family enough to keep
us enjoying our time mostly, but then we're slammed with reality

in an instant by some seemingly small detail.  Last night I went into the
closet for a wash cloth for Willard.  I opened the drawer and there were all
of Forrest's little socks.  Useless.  Just sitting there like they have been
for years.

I am grateful for the connection that these e-mails make.  I need to be in
touch with people but picking up the phone is just too hard.  I want to be
alone in a strange sort of way, but I also want and need the company.

Despite my grief and my shock, there are some really good things to share.
I guess I told you that the outpouring of love and the physical presence of
so many people this past week has been wonderful.  Lots of great things have
happened that assure me that more is going on in this world than we know how
to describe in words.  Several of Peter's relatives had very specific
experiences involving Forrest at the time of his death.  His niece was
camping the week before Forrest died and on that Saturday was out for a
hike.  She was not particularly close to Forrest, but she does have a
history of clairvoyance.  At around 2pm while she was walking, she had a
powerful sense of Forrest.  She described it to her husband as being bigger
than the universe, like freedom and, for her, a most joyful feeling.  When
they got home several hours later, they got the news.  She has since written
it all down for us to read and it is truly comforting.

Peter's brother, who lives in Vancouver, was out running that Saturday
morning.  At 11am his time (2pm our time), he started to weep and had a
conversation with Forrest about his cancer.  Again, he and Forrest were not
particularly close although they knew one another.  He had no idea that
Forrest was in the hospital or that the tides had turned for him.

At that same time, Forrest's music teacher and a woman who I've sung with
were working together in the teacher's studio.  Both women have been big in
Forrest's life; neither knew that he was in the hospital or that anything
unusual was going on.  At 2pm, they both burst into tears and both knew that
he had died.  After their crying stopped, they celebrated the gift that was
his life.

When I was arranging the hundreds of stuffed animals that were at the foot
of our bed last Sunday, I picked up Forrest's beloved Tinky Winky and it
said "Bye Bye" to me.  Then a little girl came to visit on Friday, turned on
a computer that Forrest loved, and the computer said "I love you", something
I've never heard it say before or since.  And the most dramatic thing was
the night of his burial.  At around 11:45 while Peter and I were lying in
bed unable to sleep, I asked him what he was thinking about.  We talked for
a few minutes and then at 11:50 a great clap of lightening hit nearby.
There was loud thunder and all of our exterior lights went on.  The wind
swirled and snow began to fall.  We could see the turbulence around the
lights that had somehow turned on.  It was powerful and huge and lasted just
10 minutes.  At mid-night it stopped and returned to the placid winter night
it had been a few minutes earlier.  No one else seems to have experienced
the same weather, although his teacher, Cheryl, who was also unable to
sleep, went out to run her dog before mid-night and remembers that the
weather was somehow crazier just around that time.

At the burial, my friend Sarah handed me a CD that our overtone singing
group recorded the night after Forrest's death.  I was absent, of course,
but they sang for Forrest that night.  At the end of their singing they
recorded 3 minutes as a gift for Peter and me.  It is the most glorious
music I have ever heard:  The sound of voices together, in unison at
moments, in harmony at other moments.  There is sorrow in their sound but
there is also joy and a sense of something much, much bigger; a sense of
knowing that Forrest's spirit life is expansive just as all of ours is.
When I listen to it I feel as though I am in touch with him.  I felt the
same thing last night at a yoga class Peter, Willard and I went to.  We were
all at peace at times in that class and in those moments we felt, I felt,
like we were in the same place that Forrest is and it was very nice.

I don't know what all of these things mean.  I'm trying to stay sane and
human and both of those things may include my imagination or some real
interaction with the soul that we named Forrest whom I've loved more than
anything.  I do know that these mysteries give me peace.

All of the joy that I have had this last week does not erase my sadness.  I
am very aware of my humanness and am in no hurry to move past this time.  It
will pass when I am ready.

There's much to share and I suspect I will continue to do so for awhile.
Thank you in advance for sticking with me.

Much love to you all,
bar

A Quiet Sunday
Sunday, February 24, 2002 -- 2:31pm
Posted by Bar


Hi,

Where do I start?  Grief is impossible to share.  I am glad that you are
there and so glad that there are so many people around us here in Woodstock
- people smiling at us with a knowing that is very comforting.  But
ultimately, I am feeling what I am feeling by myself, just as Peter is, just
as you are.  I know that I have never felt anything even remotely like what
I am feeling now.  I am very grateful that the sun is shining and that it is
otherwise a beautiful day.

I went out to visit Forrest's gravesite this morning as I have done just
about everyday since his burial.  It's strange to sit beside him knowing he
is under there looking very much like he did a couple of weeks ago.  The
coffin that Peter built with his brothers is made of catalpa wood which
turns out to be about as long-lasting a wood as there can be.  I can imagine
Forrest's body in there with owl beside him.  He's covered with his blanky
and there are a few other little treasures in there with them.  His catheter
is stowed under him, he's lying on a quilt that his friends from school and
their parents made for him just after his diagnosis.  Naturally, he's
wearing his Steve shirt (from Blue's Clues), which was an obvious choice for
me; Peter wasn't as sure but ultimately agreed.  He's got his blue-jean
overalls on and his most favorite shoes and looking as though he's off to
school.  But he's not there.  I don't look down at him while I am visiting.
I look out.  I imagine him being somewhere out there but I'm hard-pressed to
know just where.  I think that's the thing that's making me the craziest
these days:  I don't know where he is and I'm his mommy.  I'm supposed to
know where he is and I'm supposed to be taking care of him.  Not doing that
all of the sudden is very painful.  Even giving that job over to God is
tough.  I guess that's because I am so uncertain about so many things right
now.  Maybe it's just because I'm a mommy.

Our gathering for Forrest on Wednesday night was odd for Peter and me.  We
struggled with the performance aspect of it.  We were grieving that night -
particularly Peter who'd had a very rough day - and yet, we wanted to put a
celebratory spin on the evening in honor of Forrest.  A lot of people came.
People sang, people spoke.  It was very sweet and seemed to give everyone
around here a sense of closure.  Personally, I enjoyed speaking with people
at the end of the evening the most.  There were many faces I had not seen
for a long time.  There were lots of people I hardly knew and I was very
moved by everyone's presence.

It's Sunday afternoon.  Peter is out with our friend Maiya gathering cherry
wood to make bowls out of.  He's been making some very beautiful things
these last few months.  I hope that he will continue to do so in the coming
years.  I am here in the kitchen listening to Yo Yo Ma and Bobby McFerrin
performing "Ave Maria" in a way that only they could.  It's a problem having
so much time and so much quiet.  The house is filled with flowers.  I take
the failing pedals out to Forrest so that they can return to the earth.
Tomorrow we are going to school for Beach Day.  That's the day that Forrest
was so excited about - enough excited to want his catheter removed so that
he could swim with his buddies.  Some of his friends think that because
Forrest is gone, Peter and I are gone too, so we thought we would go to
reassure them that we are, in fact, still here and still in love with each
one of them.  The kids at school have decided that they will continue to set
Forrest's place at snack time and that any guests who visit school may use
his cup as a way of knowing him.  WOW!  That was their idea.  What
sweety-pies.  I swear kids are much more adept at coping with death than big
people are.  They celebrate and do not forget so quickly as we adults force
ourselves to do.

Yo Yo and Bobby are getting a little silly now.  "Purple Haze" and Bach all
in one phrase.  How do they do that??  I guess it proves that all music is
created equal.  I think so anyway.

I'll go now. Not sure what I'm going to do, but it's time to do it.

Much love to you,
Bar