Ice Crystals and Cherries
Sunday, February 2, 2003 --  5:32pm
Posted by Bar


Words are difficult and frustrating to put together these days.  Not just
the words I might use to try and explain how I'm doing to someone who has
asked, but the words I need to try to talk to myself and make sense of the
world that I am in the middle of.

Words like:

Longing, ache, despair, insanity, emptiness, confusion and exhaustion sort
of describe some of what I'm feeling.  I wake up in the middle of the night
and I am still immediately aware of Forrest's absence.  Everything still
feels out of sorts; not quite right; not familiar; not the way I like it.  I
talk out loud and have no idea what I am saying or if anyone is listening.
My verbalized thoughts don't necessarily resonate even with me.

People are constantly saying things like:

"Forrest will always be with you", or "Forrest is your angel" or "Forrest is
in heaven now", and I confess that none of those things make real sense to
me.  I don't feel things that way.  Forrest is not with me as far as I can
tell.  He is not an angel.  He is a little boy that died and I don't know
what angels are.  And as for heaven, I just don't know what to do with that.
I want to think that there is a location in the universe that is known as
heaven, or a dimension in creation that could be described as heaven, but
honestly, I don't know.  Last night I woke up and spoke out loud to the
Forrest that I hope can hear me and I said, "I don't know where you are.  I
don't know if you can hear one word of what I am saying.  I don't know if
you can read my thoughts some how.  I don't know if you're alone or if
someone else is taking care of you.  If you are alone, I have faith that you
are well because in this life when I knew you, you were always just fine
even when the rest of us were a mess.  And if you are being taken care of by
a new mommy, I hope that she loves you as much as I do."  And to tell you
the truth, even when I talk out loud like this I don't know if what I'm
saying is true.  I don't know if I'm insane or trying to stay sane or making
things up.  I am exhausted by the endless exercise of trying to figure it
all out when there is absolutely no way that I can.  I am humbled over and
over again by my lack of understanding.  I used to be comforted by the
mystery; now, I'm beaten down by it.  I am giving up trying, but I won't be
able to.  I am realizing that I will never know anything about death until
that blessed time when I die.  Peter and I joke - in a dark humor sort of
way - about the lucky one who will get to go first.  I look around me and I
see what so many of us are going through and I can hardly believe how hard
life is.  When I realize the depth of everyone's experience, I am reminded
of the wonder of it all, and then my mood is tipped in the other direction.
Sometimes the swing from bliss to despair is too much for me.  I think
that's what has worn me out this time.

As you may know, this week is the anniversary of Forrest's death.  We are in
the countdown of that final finale, and it's probably why I'm struggling so
much.  It's strange to be remembering all of the final moments of Forrest's
life all the while knowing that he will be dead at the end.  Last year at
this time we had no idea.  How is it possible that we didn't see it coming?
Every time I review it, I am grateful beyond measure that I didn't know.

I was given two great lessons this last couple of weeks that have helped me
cope.  One came in the form of a dream; the other by simply observing
nature.

In the dream, I was experiencing a series of images that I somehow knew
represented lessons I needed to learn.  I woke myself up enough to bring one
of the images into my conscious mind so that I wouldn't forget in the
morning.  The image was of a wide-brimmed, clear water glass with a 2 or
3-inch stem.  It was full of very plump cherries.  The glass and cherries
were set up in such a way that they could be photographed for a very
sophisticated and elegant gourmet magazine.  The lesson I was being taught
was that I needed to experience the cherries for myself rather than taking
someone else's word for what they are like.  When I transcribed the
dream/image in my journal the next morning, I realized that:  Life is a bowl
of cherries, and that I was being taught to trust life as experienced by Bar
Scott rather than relying on the observations and experiences of others for
my truth.  It was a profound lesson and just exactly the lesson I need
(present tense) to learn.

The second lesson came from the patterns of ice that formed on our kitchen
window last week.  It was very, very cold here 10 days ago, and I was sick
with the flu and not going anywhere for about a week.  I finally got up on
that Thursday when the sun returned and it seemed like life on earth was
possible again.  When I went to the kitchen sink, I noticed 4 or 5
incredible ice formations glistening in the winter sun.  They looked like
fern leaves painted in ice on the glass - so intricate, so delicate, so
perfect.  They were asymmetrical and in spiral shapes like a fancy lace that
would have taken months to create by an expert hand.  They reminded me of
the fantastic images my mother has shared with me of chaos in action in the
universe.  Just beautiful.  I looked at them for quite some time and even
left Peter a post-it note on the window so that he would be sure to see
them.  It was as though someone had literally hand-painted these things on
the window.  I realized that something HAD "painted" them, and that that
same something had also created the trees, and the snow, and me, and
Forrest, and you and everything else.  What was most striking, though, was
the realization that both the crystals and Forrest were temporary.  Both
were incredibly beautiful; and both are gone.

What I got from the crystals is more difficult to articulate than what I
learned in my dream.  It somehow comforted me, though, to realize that we
are all created somehow and that we are all - it is all - temporary and also
beautiful.  Those crystals, like Forrest, were so beautiful to me that I am
grateful to have known them at all even if their disappearance breaks my
heart.  Their brief existence has given me more joy than any pain that has
followed.

I just wanted to add, finally, that I spent some time with Maria Housden
last week.  She wrote a book called Hannah's Gift, which describes the
journey she and her family took with her daughter who died of cancer 8 years
ago.  Those of you who have been reading my e-mails for the last year might
remember that I was jealous of Maria when her book was given to me after
Forrest died.  I was grateful to finally have a chance to apologize to her,
and to put that somewhat irrational but understandable emotion to rest.  We
spent a long morning sharing our stories and trying to put into words all
that has happened to us.  It was very comforting for me and I hope for her.
She still hurts.  She still feels love and pain and longing - all of the
things that I feel now.  I worry that someday I will forget Forrest and that
I won't feel anything anymore.  Seems to me that we do forget a lot, but
that we always remember love.

Thank you, everybody.  It is a great comfort to know that you are there.

Bar

Sunday
Thursday, February 6, 2003 -- 11:13pm
Posted by Bar


Peter and I finally took a few minutes to figure out how we want to spend
Sunday the 9th, a year since Forrest moved out into the great unknown.
Turns out we have different needs:  Peter would like to be with others; I
would like to be somewhat alone.  That's the opposite of our normal
tendencies, so I think we're growing!

Here's what we learned from one another:

Peter would love company but the idea of having to be a host or clean the
house to make it presentable is too much for him.  (The house is not that
bad, actually, but we'd want it to be really nice.)  I felt that inviting
specific friends to join us was a little awkward - it's a Sunday, after all,
and we haven't given people time to arrange their schedules and they might
feel obligated in a way that doesn't feel good to anybody.

So here's what we decided for anyone who would like to join us.

We will be at the Woodstock Cemetery at 2pm.  If you would like to meet us
there for a quiet, improvised gathering in celebration of Forrest's life, we
would love your company.  If you would like to join us but cannot, please
take a moment to look around you on Sunday afternoon.  Hug your children.
Pat your dog.  Check out the icicles.  Whatever it is that fills your heart
with wonder.

I have been wishing throughout the holidays that I had asked gathered
friends and family to say out loud:  "Merry Christmas, Forrest!"  or "Happy
New Year, Forrest!"  or "Bon Voyage, Forrest!"  So, if it appeals to you to
toast him in some way, and to wish him well on his journey, please do.  I
know that he would love your joy.

Blessings on you all.  We will be thinking of you this weekend too.

Bar and Peter

My Funny Valentine
Wednesday, February 19, 2003 -- 11:55am
Posted by Bar


I learned something very cool (literally) last week:

If I take a bunch of rose pedals of the red, pink and off-white varieties 
and arrange them in the shape of a heart in the middle of our snow-covered 
front yard, I can send a valentine to Forrest AND I can make it stay there!  

First, arrange the pedals.  Then sprinkle a dash of snow over the entire 
shape as though spreading sand or maybe grass seeds over dirt.  The snow 
holds the pedals in place long enough for them to freeze because of their 
own moisture.  Once they're frozen, they don’t move.  It's great.  

I made such a heart on Wednesday of last week with pedals that the local 
flower store saved for me during their insanely busy week of Valentine's Day 
roses.  Each day my heart got a little bigger, and each day I was amazed by 
how well it stayed in place and by how incredibly beautiful it was lying 
there in the snow.  When the so-called "Blizzard of '03" hit here on Monday, 
I watched as my heart slowly disappeared over the course of the day.  I 
found myself curious about how long it would be before the snow melted 
enough for me to see it again, and what shape it would be in when that day 
arrived.  

But wouldn't you know it.  I just went upstairs to get a drink of water and 
when I looked out the window, I saw that a deer had discovered my heart!!  
The whole yard is trackless; no animal prints anywhere, yet right there in 
the middle of the front yard is a single set of deer prints walking right up 
to my heart.  The snow where my heart was is completely turned up, and then 
another single set of tracks walks away from my heart!  

I have to laugh.  What could be better than my buddy the deer finding that 
heart under 12 inches of snow?  Do you think it's a cosmic joke or 
something??  Anyway, I am smiling and it does seem fitting somehow.  

Hope you're enjoying the weather where you are. It's spectacular here. 

Happy Belated Valentine's Day, 
Bar