Power of Slow

Words. The ever-illuminating light-filled landing of things. The means to an end. The way we connect with each other.

No words. I have no words.

I’ve heard that a lot lately, in the space of the departed. Grievous times of vacuous notions. Histories and stories. Memories and vacancies. We do not know why. We will some day.

When I birthed my first child, pressing her out into the world, I felt a sensation of humanness, as if I were invited to learn the secret of knowing what it means to be alive. The rush of instant beingness, held tight for nine months of wombness, let out into this space to Be.

And sixteen months later, when challenged by a spirit whose message was so clear, walking unknowingly across the Stop ‘N Shop parking lot in Cambridge, Massachussetts, who said: You MUST have a second child. Now.

And so I complied. And so it was.

In retrospect, all these years later in the aftermath of his departure, I envision two archangels, clipboards in hand, with the spirit of my son between them assessing the situation: Yes. She’s the one. She will do well by him.

And well we did. Years of feeding and fostering, dreaming Big Dreams, telling stories over laughter and scraped knees. ER moments, hurdling me forward, reminding me of our connection no matter where we both were.

Later, aggressive downfalls, some voluntary, some not. Holding him close in my heart as he tried to make sense of the world. Telling him he mattered. Offering help where I could. WhatsApping to the very end. Praising his songs, his pictures, him. Proud, proud, so proud of you. I love you forevermore.

The spirit is a divine being, never to be broken amidst the brokenness of this world. We talked. We cried. We laughed about it all.

His bank account of time has been depleted. The hardest Power of Slow lesson of all.

Today, left by his spirit, I remember him in the stillness of midnight hours and dawn. Every step, every moment, every embrace. He will rise from the ethers, and some day, I know for certain, we will meet again.