More Snow and Videos
Thursday, March 13, 2003 --  9:29pm
Posted by Bar


Thursday March 13, 2003

It's snowing again.  I think and hope that this time next week I will be
complaining about the heat or the fact that we didn't have a spring again
this year.

When I went upstairs earlier, Peter was watching Forrest videos and making
copies for his parents who are needing a Forrest fix.  I can tell you it is
really strange to see Forrest on the TV when I'm longing to see him so bad
that my body hurts.  I haven't done much video watching so far.  It's really
painful in a sort of pleasurable way.  I find myself totally involved in
watching and remembering all of the love we shared only to be left
thoroughly empty when the TV goes off.  Peter is upstairs now finishing the
copy and I can hear the two of them playing as though Forrest were actually
there.  It's weird.

The part of the video that Peter is watching is the last part - the part
that started on November 3, 2001, three months before Forrest died.  When
you watch it, it's impossible to believe that this kid was sick in any way
let alone that a tumor that's going to kill him is growing on his brain.
Later in the video around Christmas, his beauty and energy and joy are so
overflowing that I can hardly believe he was real.  We taped his "Dear
Santa" letter right to the tree by his request, and then he climbed up on
his "thinking chair" (that's a Blue's Clues reference), and danced his heart
out.  On January 7th, one month before he died, he was still as full of life
as any child on the planet.  In fact, the last video we have of him is two
weeks before he died, and there is still no sign of his being remotely sick.
It's incredible.  Even as we study those images to see if we missed some
clue, there are none.  The only thing I saw that was even remotely unusual
was the way he asked me to hold him on January 7th.  We were having a
conversation about "Everything Purple Day" at school and at the end of our
talk he said, "will you hold me?"  and I went over and picked him up.  He
was immediately himself again, but in that moment that he asked me to hold
him, I suspect that something was wrong that he could not describe.

I suppose someday that I will enjoy watching those videos just like any
other mom whose kid has grown up and gone away.  Right now, it just feels
strange as can be.

I haven't had much to say these last few weeks - or rather I've had so much
to say that I haven't known where or how to start.  The state of the world,
the weather, and my otherwise heavy heart has made it difficult to know how
to begin or what's appropriate to communicate.  On Tuesday, I went to the
dentist for a cleaning and while I was sitting in the chair with all that
stuff in my mouth, the hygienist told me that she missed reading my e-mails.
She was very sweet to tell me that since I didn't know she was reading them
in the first place.  Several other people told me something warm and
important about how my e-mails have helped them recently, and I was sort of
overwhelmed with the thought of it all.  Maybe these meanderings help
because I am apparently alive after experiencing a mother's worst nightmare.
I don't know, but I am very grateful and deeply honored to have become a
part of so many of your lives.  A part of me is reluctant to write these
days when I don't have something cheerful to say.  I wonder if somehow,
some way I am supposed to be done with my public grief now.  Sad thing is,
that for me anyway, this grief thing is getting heavier and heavier.  I
function.  I get through the day.  But I am not filled with the buoyancy and
love-of-mystery that I celebrated throughout most of the last year.  The
gifts that I experienced while the veil was lifted seem to have ceased - or
if they are happening, I am not willing to experience them that way.
Yesterday, while I was doing yoga, one of the prisms in my window placed a
beautiful rainbow steadily in the center of my chest.  I noticed it, and I
appreciated it, but my heart didn't swell like it did 6 months ago when I
thought Forrest might be telling me something when unusual things like
rainbows showed them selves on my chest.  I loved that time.  I loved the
magic and thrill of it all.  Now, I feel like I'm carrying around a 30-ton
cement block.  I know that this will pass.  I know that I will feel better
and that my heart will swell again.  I trust in that.  But I sure do
miss that time.

My sense is that many people are feeling this heaviness right now.  The
world is in despair and we are all confused and distressed.  I feel the fear
and the anxiety and I can hardly contain myself.  It's similar to the kind
of fear and anxiety that Peter and I had to live with when cancer was in our
lives.  There's a sort of dread that settles in when a person knows
something is going to happen but doesn't know what it will be and what it
will look and feel like.  I am practiced in this way of being, but I do not
enjoy it.  I want the whole business to stop.  I want compassion and
understanding to rule our world, but it does not.  I guess you could say
that after losing Forrest, I cannot bear the thought of anyone else having
to worry about their children.

All of this thinking reminds me that ultimately there is a reason for
everything.  I am reminded that there is little that I can do right now
except to be kind to the people in my life.  All of the wars, the
environmental destruction and the disease in the world cannot change the
fact that I am here today in relationship to the many people that I see each
day.  I cannot necessarily change the world on a grand scale, but I can
change the mood of a single person just by being kind.  When I want so much
to do something, what else can I possibly do?

I must tell you that I have been shown so much kindness in the last few
years that I am constantly reminded about its power.  People are so careful
with me.  It is a wonderful gift, thank you, and I feel very lucky to be the
recipient.

I'm off to bed.  Sleep has been my tonic this winter.  I'm drawn to my
dreams and grateful to have a retreat to go to within.

Spring will be here next week. Cheers!

Love from Bar