Sunday, February 1, 2015

Working through the pain and stepping back out into the world

Letter to Jess, my sweet daughter who passed into our real home on January 9, 2015

Birth - this one's not for sale : )
My Sweet Jess,

I am looking at some of your precious things that I brought from your home when I had to go and take care of things when you passed away (hardest thing I've ever done), and I treasure them because I know you loved them. Some of them I gave to you years ago, like the beautiful ring on my finger that my gentle grandfather gave to my beloved grandmother, who gave it to my mother, who gave it to me, which I gave to you. You wore it always, and I hadn't expected to wear it again, but I do, and it is very precious.

I am missing you and trying to stave off the pain in my tummy, which I know will ease in time. I am looking at the beautiful beadwork necklace I started making on the day of your passing, even before I knew. It is called Birth because of the little red fossil among all the white and beige ones in the larger cabochon. It seems a message to me to celebrate your birth into the very best of places, of beingness. Oh if I could have a party there I would certainly be dancing with you.

We will likely have that opportunity, but later according to Earth time. I know that where you are time is irrelevant, all things being simultaneous and accessible - how wonderful that must feel. I know we've felt it before and we will again, and I celebrate that. Our Earth time is linear - with the moon and the sun marking it exquisitely - and clocks, maybe not so exquisitely.

I've put on some good jazz, David Sanborn, while I'm writing to you - because smooth jazz is the most healing music there is, and because you love jazz. You're invited to this little party. You're always invited to come into my dreams and to flit around to celebrate the sun and the love that is always here for you.

I want to tell you thank you so much for coming to me, for putting up with my "Mommy demons," and for letting me love you. Thank you for all the wonderful, absolutely delightful conversations we had. I've never met another person with whom I've shared a connection that close, and had that much fun except for maybe your brother, who can also make me belly laugh, and my sweet husband. You and I understood each other, two peas in a pod, and you said some of the most beautiful things a mother ever wants to hear. Thank you for saying those beautiful things to me. I know there is a great and abiding love between us, and I hold that very dear. You are so very special.

I'm uber proud of you for so many things, perhaps the best would be your zest for living. And among others, your strength, determination, sense of order, work ethic, ability to love greatly, your love of dance and music, your connection to the arts, whether music, visual, photography, or writing. I'm uber impressed with how very much you got out into the world, with the wonderful, delightful, sometimes scary stories you shared with me of your road trips and your friendships, the photoshoots, the activities you were involved in, and your pure love of children.

I think you were absolutely gorgeous to look at in your human body, and I know you were also truly beautiful inside.

My little butterfly, Jessica Rabbit, Pumpkin, Marshmallow, Pocketbook, I love you dearly.

I'm working with a lot of emotions as I journey through the experience of you going first, and am trying to do a good job of it though sometimes I'm not so good. I'm a little confused and angry but I recognize these as "Earth emotions," or "ego emotions" where we have "expectations" and they are not real. I'm angry at the doctors, at the sickness, at the dreams we might have had that won't happen this time around. Please help me with the spring when life comes to the planet again, and you are not here. Help me through the winter as the snow falls and the winds blow, and you are not here. Help me through the autumn when the leaves fall and crunch and smell so good and you are not here. Help me through long summer nights when the moon is full and passions rise and you are not here. Let me feel your peace and delight in your new journeys.

The hardest emotions to deal with are the doubts. Could we have done more, could I have protected you better? Could I have given you more to make your spirit want to stay here and shine?

And of course I know the answers are that I have to respect your spiritual choice to go, as I believe we all find a way to do that when we're done. The doubts include anger with the systems we have here (economical, medical, educational, our foundational responsibilities) along with doubts about people who were around you that might have hurt you.

But I step back into the love that poured out from your Facebook page, and the love that poured out when I met the people who loved you while you were here. The stories they told are treasures close to my heart. You touched a lot of people with your beautiful heart.

I am so sorry for any times I may have hurt you, and any times I was not able to give you what you needed. The doubts make me wonder if I failed you.

But again, I remind myself that no matter what, we are all our own ancient spiritual souls and we will go when we are ready, regardless of circumstances here, and we will not go if we are not ready, regardless of circumstances here (remembering my friend Mary Lou who went parachuting and her parachute didn't open and she fell thousands of feet through the air and landed tangled in a tree with a broken leg, and remembering my way too close brush with the serial killer Bundy).

Thank you for the gift of dying warm and cuddled in your bed. That was so very graceful, as long as no one hurt you - which I think is not the case. I respect your wishes for independence and dignity - and it would have been okay to pass away in my home while you were here, but you rallied and gained strength so you could be in your place of choice. I think you did that to protect me, and I'm humbled. If I could have spared you any of the pain you endured I would have. I know you know that. And I am so so happy that you no longer feel that pain.

I need to ask you to help me with something. I'm still here, and when I wake up after sleeping it's really hard crashing back into this reality. I need to move back into the world and make myself useful, both financially and artistically and I need to be able to focus to be able to do that.

I want to guard the pain, because somehow it makes me feel like I'm guarding you. But some part of me knows you are in the best of worlds, surrounded by wise guidance, truly wise, and incredibly loving. And I want you to know that when I focus on my work, you are always in my heart, as you will be regardless of time, circumstance, or any other factor. We are, and we will always be - no one can take that away - it IS. But I cannot guard like I did for the past year and a half. I am humanly tired. I need sleep, and to wake with the sun. I need to function to be useful. So when I let go to do that, know that I am holding you just as you want and need to be held always, always in my heart and soul. No matter what I'm doing.

Now I will say thank you for everything - I'd do it again in a heartbeat as you know. Beautiful girl, child of my heart, I will step into the world and I will take with me all the energy available at all times to be useful. What else can I do until I join you?

Come and be the first to greet me when I come to our true home. This will be a great joy. Until then, happy journeys, bask in the love that surrounds you both here and there.

We will meet again if it pleases you.

I love you eternally,



  1. Kelpie of Corrievreckan, you have now been upstaged.

  2. Crying. My heart literally aches for you.

  3. I know, uber owies. I remind myself all the time, that, as Glennon Melton says, we can do hard things.

  4. Not wallowing, just doing the work....

  5. Oh Jen,
    Your writing is so incredibly exquisite and your amazing spirit shines such a wonderful light, even in your darkest moments.

    You posess a grace, Jen, that so many people can only dream of. I'm so proud to call you my friend.

    I love you so.


    1. Lesa Lesa Lesa, do come in the spring, we'll laugh and drink and swim and tell tall tales. HUGE HUGS to you.