Garden Grace

Every year, Nik’s memorial garden amazes and delights with an explosion of color. The daffodils begin the parade, announcing the return of summer, swiftly followed by the iris blossoms in an amazing array of purples, yellows, pinks, chocolates, light blues, and lavenders.

I’m not by nature a gardener, but am blessed with numerous gardening friends that bring new treats for me to plant. The garden seems to be blessed by angel wings, because everything grows in Nik’s garden (including the weeds).

Digging in the rich soil, pulling weeds, and caring for the memorial garden brings me a sense of balance and peace. In the garden, I feel as if I am surrounded by my son’s love. It’s a place where I can fight the demons of guilt, anger, and the pain of the missing, and embrace the happy memories and focus on light and laughter.

Soon, the berries will bare fruit, the lettuce will be ready for harvesting, and I will enjoy the produce of this special space created in memory of my son. I miss you, Niko, every day.

RED, by Rhoda Sanford

I read it, long ago
how the trees sing in the wind,
how the tulips dance.
Long ago, I read it.

Today, I watch
red roses bloom,
reflections of the sun,
swaying with the breeze.
I watch today.

Tomorrow I wait
for the birds to flock,
red robins hopping on the grass,
jays scolding from the trees.
I wait for tomorrow.

No Happy Birthday

Happy Birthday. The missing swallows the day. No trace of your smile lines my face. My eyes glitter with tears.

Nik was very proud of his Christmas cactus, which blooms at Christmas. After he died, it donned three flowers that looked like angel wings. On my 50th birthday (in February), it bloomed again. It continues to dazel and amaze every Christmas, and after my brother died a couple of weeks ago, it sprouted with more than 15 flowers. Nik is letting me know that he is with his Uncle Rex.

My Brother, Rex Mayo

Three days before I set off to set sail on the Liberty Clipper, a vintage tall sailing ship reminiscent of a pirate ship, Rex Mayo, my 54-year-old baby brother, dropped dead from a massive heart attack. We were in a state of shock, as Rex was in good health and had no signs of heart problems. My family insisted I embark upon my vacation, which I had saved up for and planned for a year.

With mixed emotions, I left on my journey, worried about my sister and my mom, and unsure as to whether or not I would be able to enjoy myself. While the ocean soaked up my tears, my family made arrangements for the memorial.

I returned, rested and a bit sunburned, with a fresh perspective on life, and new insights into the grieving process. It felt like I had gone on a walk about (sail about), and that my brother had taken the journey with me. We talked about old times, we swam in the blue waves, and we walked on sandy pink beaches. Rex assured me that he was happy I had gone on my trip, because according to Rex, life is short, and right now is the time to step up to the plate and embrace it.

The family is gathering for the memorial, and our tears continue to fall, because we are left missing the brother, the son, the Uncle, the friend, the cousin, that always had our back. His early departure leaves a gaping hole in our lives, and we are left trying to figure out how to get along without him. And then I see him on the aft of the Liberty Clipper, helping the crew pull up the main sail, and he is smiling, the sunshine a halo above him, the waves dancing in blue, and I know he is free.

My brother didn’t care about material possessions. He cared about people, and kids, and family, and friends. He didn’t hold grudges, he worked hard, and he was always willing to help. And he never asked for anything in return. Today, I will honor my prince of a brother by acting with kindness and compassion, by reaching out to help others, by forgiving early and often, and by remembering to live in the moment, here and now.

Snow Cascades

As Snow cascades like candy

Fog settles across my brow

Covering the grave of a noble dog

Framed by a solstice bough.

Every day you walked me graciously

guarded us from zombie armies

You did your job with a sense of gravity.

And saw my son on his journeys

racing before our eyes

dogs age at a faster pace

I’m glad to have known such a gallant dog

you finished your time with grace

I wept at your side

Surrounded by hearts that love you

We buried you deep within the ground

pawfuls of his ashes above you

May you run in vaster fields

May you chase after your boy

You’ve surely earned your respite now

And in heaven both reside with joy.

Merry Ho Ho Ho

The Christmas tree isn’t decorated this year, a first since your death, as I have two kittens in the house that would have loved to destroy every ornament and every decoration. They remind me of you—one minute sweet and cuddly, and the next, little demons stirring up some kind of trouble—and then charming their way out of their mess with kitten purrs, in stereo. Of course, you didn’t purr; you smiled and laughed and hugged and joked. You charmed and captivated.

Even without a decorated tree, the holidays descend as surely as the snow that has covered the ground, the deck, the roofs and the roads. With every shovelful, I think of you, and remember that eventually, you would grab shovel or roof rake and help clear snow. I remember you helping neighbors out of ditches, and I remember you did it with a smile on your face.

If you had lived, you would be 25ish, and you wouldn’t be living at home, but I like to pretend that you live close by, and you drop in and grab a shovel or rake and the snow disappears in your path like magic. You’d have a child, my grandson or granddaughter, and they call me granny, and they dance to my music and sit in my lap.

Instead, I have two kittens and a sore shoulder and no Christmas tree. I have tears that fall as fast as the snow outside my windows, and a heart that will never be quite whole. I have learned that I can survive without you, and my life is graced with music, friends, family, kittens, snow, and love. And that everything I have to say grace over today is a result of surviving your death, and one kitten pounce at a time, learning to live without you.

At first, I thought there had to be a grand scheme, as I searched for meaning in your passing. I have come to accept that you died in a car accident, that alcohol and gravity killed you, and that ultimately, it was an accident that scratched you out of my life. But I have also come to believe that I can honor your life, and find some solace in random acts of kindness and courage, and this has made me a better person. And that just makes me love, and miss, you more.

Merry Christmas, Niko. I miss you everyday.