June 27, 2012

Intervention of the Souls


Dave’s birthday is Friday.  He would have been 42 years old.  Half of his life remained, presumably.  That is such a long time.  I will live half my life with his decision affecting me, profoundly.  My kids will live just about their whole lives without a father.  Without a father.  I think about how often I’ve thought, “What would my dad think.”  How many times it may have stopped me from doing something stupid.  I can only pray that “What would my mom think” will be good enough to garner the same effect for my boys. 

The grief ninja is working overtime, in stealth mode.  He slaps me down at every turn.  Yesterday, out of nowhere, the tears began to fall.  They haven’t really stopped for any long duration.  I want to kick and scream and let it loose, but not in front of the boys.  They’ve seen me crying, and that’s ok, but the exorcist stuff is scary.  We have a busy day, with swim practice and a swim meet and stuff sandwiched in between, or I definitely would have shipped them off, maybe done a couple shots, smoked a few cigarettes that were left here by the muthas and cried and screamed until my tonsils bled.  

I feel him.  He is all around me.  He is sucking the breath right out of me.  When my head hit the pillow last night, the theme song from the movie “Ghost” played so vividly in my ears.  I don’t remember all of the words anymore, but the ones I remembered were enough.  Through gritted teeth I hissed at him to leave me alone.  You can’t be here.  I can’t take it.  I can’t think of you.   An incident that occurred shortly after he died was flashing in my brain too.  I think of it a lot when I walk into my bedroom at night.  The house is finally quiet.  Everyone is finally asleep.  I feel such a sense of peace at this time.  A lot of time this is when I write.  I never watch tv.  It’s too stupid. 

There was a night; I guess a week or so after he died.  It was after the funeral.  I woke up in the middle of the night, as I often did back then.  I always woke up at the time the robbery occurred.  I stood up in my bed, and looked out of the transom window.  I was looking under the tree in front of the house, the tree under which the robber had parked.  I was checking to make sure his car wasn’t there.  Just making sure he wasn’t coming back, because he told us he would come back for more money.  I did that for weeks or months periodically.  Only when I looked out the window that night, I was mesmerized by what I saw.  Lights.  Unlike anything I’d ever seen.  Maybe 50 of them.  They were floating in mid air.  They were in the shape of rectangles, but not with hard edges.  The edges were blurred.  They were opaque.  They were not small.  They were probably a foot long, maybe longer, and at least six to eight inches in height.  I stood there for a few minutes, staring.  Obviously, at first I thought I was going crazy.  I knew I was awake.  I looked down at the baby sleeping, as if to verify my reality.  I stared intently at every single thing I could see out there, looking for a good explanation.  Lights coming from the ground, from people, from something above.  I seriously thought it might even be some weird UFO thing.  Fucking aliens on the lawn would not have surprised me at this point.  There was nothing.  Just the lights, hovering. 

The feeling I had in that moment, deep inside me, was that it was an intervention of the souls.  He wanted to come back.  Only he couldn’t.  What does this mean?  I whispered to him, “You can’t come back.  You did this.  I don’t know what this means.  I can’t help you.  It can’t be undone now.  We have to learn to live with this.”  It was real.  It was as real as it could be.  I know it’s weird.  I knew no one would believe me.  I told people anyway.  No one said I was crazy.  They probably thought it, though.  I was awake and completely in touch with reality. 

The next day I googled it.   I couldn’t find anyone who described similar lights, although many people described similar circumstances following a death.  I remember thinking, this is great, some great sign, only what does it mean? 

A year later, I still know it really happened.  I wasn’t really medicated, other than ½ of a low dose Klonopin each day for anxiety.  I’m comforted by the experience.  It wasn’t scary in any way.   I feel honored that the veil was lifted in that moment.  He exists, somewhere.

13 comments:

  1. Today is just a random day. Not "special" by its date in any way. But this morning on my way to work, I again imagined him sitting there in his car. I wonder how he was feeling. Was he distraught and crying? Was he calm and purposeful? I imagined that moment when he would have pulled the trigger. I imagined the life leaving him. I burst into tears again. I haven't cried like that in quite a while now. It's been almost 3 years since that fateful day. And I think the same thing as you. My kids will mostly not know a father in their life. I see beautiful pictures of dads with their daughters on their wedding day, and my heart just aches. I noticed the other day that my son has shaved for the first time; without his father's input or instruction or pride in him in entering this stage of his life. I get so mad at him, and then I'm just heartbroken. He may think that I broke his heart, but he certainly broke mine right back; along with a lot of other people's hearts too. I, like you with Dave, will never live without Dale with me in some way. I feel him all the time. I talk to him often. I am often reminded of what Dale would think if he saw this or heard that. He will forever be carried with me, and sometimes I think I just have to embrace it. I stand up for suicide prevention efforts. I do what I can to raise awareness about suicide; trying to turn this negative in my life into something positive in any way I can. I still can't help but think that I may never be able to repair the damage. And I, like you, hope that the words they hear from me and the things they learn from me will be enough as they grow older and need advice. I often try to tell them what their dad would say or what he would likely think about various things. They just smile and say nothing. I wonder what they remember about him. I will keep hoping that their damage will be minimal; that their memories will be good ones. It's all I can do. I'm glad you had the experience you described, even though you don't quite understand it. Whatever it is that brings us that kind of peace in a situation like this is worth it, even if we don't understand why or how it happened. ((hugs))

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  2. I believe you and I don't think you're crazy!! I've experienced a "spirit" visit or whatever you wanna call it, shortly after a close friend died. I've wished for something similar with losses since then, but I haven't. Treasure it...and maybe one day the meaning will be clear.

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  3. Dina, you brought tears to my eyes. Hugs.

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  4. Light is always a good sign/symbol. Light is welcoming, light is what we flip or turn on to guide our way from darkness so we can see where to go or what to do. Light is a comfort. In your case I think light in shapes of boxes mean "I was trapped but I will help you, guide you & light the way." I also think the location of the lighting was symbolic-where a bad event began to unfold & you were supposed to see "It is Ok Now!!" Please prepare for some more light over the next few weeks.

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  5. Hi Dina, Im Sonya, we r of the same age n I'm a mum too .. Read your article and feel too much pain for u although I have never met u., please feel free to write to me when ever u need to "talk" .... Pray the Lord gives u strength, direction and peace in your heart to go on ...God Bless ..Hugs

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  6. July is THE Month in our house. My three kids, all special needs,all adopted from foster care as older kids have to face both their daddy's birthday and the anniversary of his unexpected death9heart attack). I feel your pain and grief as you deal with your loss. My kids are older than your children (14, 11 and 9) but because of their backgrounds are not maturely on their ages plus they had a daddy for such a short amount of time( only 10 months for my youngest) and it is so hard. I find your blog a way for me to grieve also, especially the time between Father's Day and July 31st.

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  7. Tomorrow is Friday, in the morning when I wake up I will say a prayer for you! To give you peace and love in your heart to help you with the day. Many Blessings to you!

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  8. Thinking of you, hope this is a day that you can get through with new memories!!

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  9. Hope the day felt like any other .... (((hugs)))

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  10. I can't tell you how glad/sad I am to have found you on Facebook, & followed the trail here to your blog. Our son will be 11 on the 21st of July, his dad's suicide will have happened 7 years ago December 23 of this year. I have the priveledge, & punishment of my son looking just like Jeff, especially as he gets older. Also, as he gets older he becomes more like his Dad (my husband who's been with him since he was 8 months old), because he never really knew Jeff. He was too little, & our lives were too chaotic for many memories. Sometimes, I see him doing something so Jeff like (Jeff & I met when we were 11) it's almost as if he's been possesed. I feel guilty, still, for everything. Yet, I could have prevented nothing. I see him in every 2001 pearl white Prelude si on the road, some guys in the 7-11 will look just like him for a half a second as well. And I think, "What the hell is the matter with you? This asshole did this to us, but we have a good life, & a great little family has come from this awfulness. Why are you still sad?"
    If I find the answer to any of these, or the other millions of questions that swirl around, I will give them to you too. Until then, welcome the lights when they come, cry when you can, & believe that your boys are stronger than anyone thinks. I hope your weekend was busy enoughh for you not to get too lost. <3

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  11. I just found your blog and I was completely touched. I don't think you are crazy with what happened. I believe you experienced it.

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  12. I'm going to sound batshit too but I think you're right. Once he was free of all of his earthly sicknesses, he probably did want to come back; he could see clearly. Or maybe it was purely for you - he was telling you he was there, and he was with others and surrounded by love.

    Your blog is amazing, btw.

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