Stars In My Sky

Borrowed from the Internet

 Chasing Stars (v2)

darkness engulfs the vast sky

just moments after the sun's parade;

and it grows with every heartbeat

until the emptiness seems absolute;

the pain, wrenching,

from a beloved irrevocably lost;

then, with a blink, pinpricks of light ---

they appear in silent succession;

the constricting darkness gives way to

a boundless bejeweled sky;

and I --- I fall into its quiet embrace

of endless possibilities;

this is where I will remain,

embracing the darkness, chasing stars;

as I await the promise

of my inevitable new dawn.

When my son passed away, it felt a lot like a supernova event that quickly evolved into a black hole; and, for a time, I was just floating in that void.  It was like being under water, almost like drowning.  You hear distant muffled sounds, voices; you feel the burning in your lungs demanding for air; you flail your arms and legs and yet you can't break water.

I feel its tug under the current

I close my eyes in surrender

And then I hear a thousand whispers

Prayers echoing in the darkness

Until the lightness embraced me

And I emerged just above these high waters.

That is why I feel compelled to say "thank you" to all those pinpricks of light that broke through my absolute darkness.

• Satellites.  I have 3:  G, P and Jack.  They get me out of bed.  Without them, I probably would not have emerged from my room. In many ways, they seem to reflect back some of my son's light while he was with us. 
• Asteroid Belt (Yeah, maybe not exactly shining at night).  These are my family and close friends who formed an asteroid belt around me, so that I won't float away and get completely lost in space.  They are an endless fountain of strength for me even though I know they are grieving, too.
• Venuses.  These are my sisters in grief.  It brings me tremendous comfort having them with me, sharing the journey with people who know exactly how I feel.
• Shooting Stars.  These are the friends (mine and Anton's) who pass by every now and then, shooting by my dark sky and lighting it up -- even for just a moment.
• Distant Stars.  The constant friends, who, although they don't prod the topic, find ways to shine their love and light my way, especially through prayer bouquets. 

It has not been easy.  Often, grief is a lonely journey and sometimes it feels more comfortable than actually moving forward.  I am grateful that God had planned this so perfectly, providing me with just the right support to patiently and lovingly push (and pull) me forward.

Thank you!  You know who you are 😊

I wake up to dusk

Melancholy claims me

As daylight fades into darkness.

I curl up in its embrace

Not wanting to get up

Safe in the cocoon of my sadness.

Then I hear a distant bell ringing

Time for family Mass

Time to go back to the living.

Anton's and Mama's Bumblebee Playlist

Music had been an integral part of my relationship with my son. I had always enjoyed listening to music, but, when my son came along, I learned that it was also a useful tool for calming kids and an effective mode of communication.

As a toddler, my son was a jumping jelly bean and it was a challenge to dial down the energy enough to get him to sleep.  It got frustrating at times, but I found some techniques that worked like magic.

Option 1 

1. Hug him close to my heart 
2. Slow down my breathing  
3. Play "Always" by Plumb or Kenny G
4. Wait for the telltale jerk
5. Lay him down on the bed

Option 2

1. Ask him to lay down on his bed beside me
2. Read a book or have a quiet pillow talk while looking at glow-in-the-dark stars
3. Give him a baby massage (I used J&J's lavender bedtime oil) 
4. Wait for the telltale jerk
5. Quietly get out of his bed

Later on, he would get diagnosed with ADHD (and much later with Aspergers) and I would find out that my techniques (as with the academic and social teaching techniques I used) were most suitable for kids with ADHD or in the spectrum.  (The therapist even asked why I did not pursue Child Development.  I thought it was an odd comment, since it felt more like just a Mom understanding her child's needs).  She said, that I should continue leveraging on music as a means to help him cope.  Thus, it became integral to our daily life, bonding us (and sometimes dividing us:  Ed Sheeran vs. John Mayer for best guitarist) and bridging us.

I created playlists for him on my iPod (not everything I listened to is kid friendly). And, when he learned to bathe himself, he would even listen to it while taking a shower.  

When he was old enough, I installed Spotify on his assigned mobile device, and he started creating his own playlists. During drives, we would take turns listening to each other's playlists.  He shared music he discovered through his friends and I would school him on classics and music I grew up with.  

A few months after he passed, I discovered probably the last playlist he created, "Anton's BEST HITS 2020" and was happy to find some songs I shared with him, including Ne-Yo's "So Sick" and Aqua's "Turn Back Time".

So, it is no surprise that during the past months, whenever I am at my lowest, bawling my eyes out while grief journaling, the perfect song came on -- addressing my sentiments at the moment. It felt like my son was talking to me. At first, I thought, maybe I'm reading too much into it.  Maybe it's just coincidence ... but I don't believe in coincidences. 

Then, I saw this while I was scrolling through my Instagram feed. 

Just before we laid him on his final resting place, I remember telling him, "You need to guide me now.  Give me neon signs, okay?  You know how slow I get sometimes".  In true Anton form, he gave me, quite literally, a neon sign.

From then on, I took note of them and "processed" the songs in my journal.  But it was only in January that I got the idea to collect them into a playlist:  Anton's and Mama's Bumblebee Playlist (Hint:  Transformers).

It's a good sized playlist now and I will be sharing some of them in my "Bumblebee Playlist" series.  They helped me.  Maybe it would help you in some form, too.

I Am Sad Mad

     For Anton's first birthday in heaven, I took a week off from work.  I did not have anything specific planned out. Afterall, there really isn't much of a choice given the COVID restrictions.  On the evening of Day 2, I decided to watch Home.  I vaguely remember it being a silly movie that Anton and I enjoyed.  It was going really well until this scene.

    In the scene Oh was trying to figure out Tip's reaction; why she was mad at him for leaving her alone for a long time. He concludes that she is sad mad. Her anger is stemming from her sadness.  I recalled explaining to Anton when he was younger how, oftentimes, people get angry because they are hurt. And the people who can hurt us the most are people we love.  So, whenever I get mad, it is normally because someone I love did something to break my heart.  And because I love him the most, no one could hurt me more than him.  I realize, it might be too much to put on a little kid, but this started his habit of checking, "Is it a good day, Mom?  Do you have a happy heart?"

    The flood gates opened. I was full-scale MTV-video levels crying-while-hugging-pillow-in-bed.

    Even after the movie finished, I was still bawling. When I realized the tears won't stop anytime soon, I decided to pray; maybe to Jesus.  I don't even recall what exactly I prayed for.  All I can remember is that I kept telling Him, "I am in so much pain".  

    And in the darkness, as I cried, a visual came to my head of a big man holding me.  I thought it was Jesus, but it was not the usual image I see during contemplative prayers.  He was not holding me the same way and the syntax of what He said did not feel like Jesus.  He held me gently yet firmly and said, "Go on. Lay it all on Me. Blame Me."  

    As I broke down all the more, burying my face deeper into His embrace, He said, "Oh, child!  It is not your fault!" (It was God the Father holding me!)

    Then I thought back to earlier this evening. My heart broke for G when her friend did not show up for afternoon walk.  I knew she would inevitably bump into her friend again around the village, but I also knew how painful it was because she had expected him to be there. But he wasn't.  At that moment, I just hugged her because I knew nothing I said would really make her feel better.  She ran back inside the house sad-mad.

    I am sad-mad because I expected my son in my future. But he is no longer here. I am sad-mad because I did not get to save my son from his final sufferings.

    After I had calmed down, I listened to The Catholic Daily Reflections for May 21st.  It was just the balm I needed.  And I knew the reflection was exactly what God the Father wanted to tell me.

    It talked about how, in Jesus's conversation with Peter (where He asked if Peter loved Him 3x), He also knew how Peter would eventually die -- and how He approved of Peter's ultimate act of love for Him.  He is not happy that Peter is suffering, but He is happy that Peter is offering his suffering as an act of love for Jesus.  There is a greater good in it.  

    I should not focus on a small detail, but see The Big Picture.  During those final hours my son suffered gracefully, in absolute faith and hope in God.  He suffered lovingly and prayed earnestly, putting his trust in Jesus, Mary, Joseph ... and San Raphael, "Mom, I also prayed to San Raphael to heal my tummy."

    I broke down once more.  But, this time, it was out of comfort, relief and gratefulness ... and a little bit of #ProudMom moment.

    My thought echoed St. Elizabeth's, "Who am I that God the Father should come and comfort me?"

    "Why do you think I am here at this hour?  Because I knew you would come.  I came just for you [because I love you]." (From The Chosen, when Jesus came by the well to see the Samaritan woman).