Stepping Stones

 On Saturday my four-year-old grandson came over to play with me. He wanted to paint and so he chose a delicious color combination. He likes to paint one color on one paper and a second color on the next paper. He is very orderly that way. I busily. painted, cut and pasted right alongside of him. 

 

After that we had a snack then headed to the garage to romp around. He left his art hanging on my bulletin board. 

 

Two days later on the anniversary of Luke’s death, I dropped everything, set an alarm for 15 minutes and started to cut the papers into pebble-like shapes. Each rounded shape felt laden with emotion. My overall grief-o-meter was high. I was feeling cheated out of part two and three of his life.  That aimless rant. 

Thirty-four years ago his death cracked me open exposing all that I’d rather have concealed. His disappearance left unfathomable gaps. 

 

Over the short term his death brought relief for both of us.  Not that the last two weeks of his life were all bad. There were some amazing moments. After all this time I can’t describe it. For lack of a better word, I would say he was fully present and fully exhausted at the same time. During his illness he had become a mere skeleton and was wracked with weakness and neurological pains up and down his legs.  He would dream and go to heaven then come back to talk about it. He would see auras.  HE was growing excited about the next phase. He wanted out and so when he died I felt relief. 

 

Afterward I began a long road of healing. Life became imperfectly perfect. I could never hope to put it all back together the way it was. But I could move forward in a world that perpetually folds into itself. I could reassemble the pieces, round out the edges and live with more intention. 

 

 And so I finished my collage and felt better. My heavy, sad yet beautiful paper ovals became stepping stones for a way in and out, back and forth navigating life’s mysteries that we mere mortals are destined to gather clues but never solve.