The Star of Seven

I was at an estate sale yesterday and I found this little wooden bookmark hiding away in a corner that really intrigued me. I picked it up and read on the back something about The Star of Seven Day. Further intrigued, I purchased it and brought it home to research. It turns out it is a scene depicting the story of the Tanabata Festival. And this is where it got cool. This is the annual star festival in Japan that is celebrated on the 7th day of the 7th month each year. It celebrates the meeting of the deities Orihime and Hikoboshi (represented by the stars Vega and Altair respectively). According to legend, the Milky Way separates these lovers, and they are allowed to meet only once a year on the seventh day of the seventh lunar month of the lunisolar calendar.

If you're new to the story of my late-fiance and I - I will fill you in. Mine and Andrew's initials spell STAR. And the week before we began dating, we were out star-gazing on the beach one night and we saw seven shooting stars, making seven wishes a piece. We later learned that we both wished for each other, seven times. It became a beautiful part of our story... And crazy enough our first rela date and thus anniversary was the 7th. Stars and sevens continued to show up in other ways in our time together, and they still do for me. The web address for my photography business is sevenshootingstars.com because I couldn't think of anything better for it to be named since my photography is so deeply influenced by our story. In the entryway of the hospital where my first solo photo show was displayed, there were seven large blue stars hanging. Lots of things like this happen all the time for me now. So now when I see stars, particularly in combination with the number seven, I know someone is trying to get my attention.

There's no doubt in my mind that this bookmark - which I learned was likely brought home from Japan by the husband after WWII for his wife - was meant for me to find. It is our story - two stars, a galaxy apart. Maybe it was just a hello from afar. Or maybe, on the 7th day of the 7th month every year, we too are brought closer together like in this legend. I also can't deny that, since he died, I often get very clear signs that revolve around the direction I should go or decisions I should make in relation to my art. Which makes this finding especially cool...

While at this same estate sale, I was introduced to an interior designer who had seen my solo photo exhibit at the hospital and offered me a really exciting next opportunity for showing my work this fall. We hadn't said two sentences to each other before he was offering to show my work in his space. I was so taken back, and so honored that someone would offer such a thing so immediately to me based on the work of mine that he had already seen. For this bookmark to be right in the same space as where I met this person - I dunno, I like to believe in that sort of thing. And I like to believe I was brought there to find both the bookmark and the person today - and it was just one more sign that I'm going in the right direction.

Signs of Flight

Since Drew was a helicopter pilot, helicopters and anything to do with flying are always the biggest signs I get from him. I even found a tiny toy helicopter in this shack on the island of Barbados last spring while vacationing there with his family. It had washed up on the beach and the guy collected it to sell in his shop. No joke!

And just a few months after he died, in the fall of 2012, I stumbled upon this artist's creative business e-workshop that was called "Flying Lessons". Drew was also a flight instructor, so it was all too obvious that he was telling me something. I signed up immediately. The Facebook group for the course truly carried me through those early months. Because of the theme of the class, all the women in the group would write cheesy encouragements to each other like "keep flying!" or "I'll see you up in the clouds!". It always made me smile, and confirmed he lead me there for a reason.

All things flight definitely seem to follow me around now, but it's been a while since I've had any signs that made me stop in my tracks. Until yesterday…

I was tinkering away on a new sculpture at a local clay studio I just started working with. It was midday and pretty cold, so the place was empty. After about an hour, I took a break to take some process photos of my work, and as I framed the picture, I noticed something written on the worktable just a foot above where I was working. As I read it, I'm pretty sure my jaw dropped to the floor…

I was speechless. For those who aren't aware, Drew died in a helicopter crash. Of all the places for this message to be… on the work table in a clay studio??? In front of the exact woman who's fiancé had died flying? And it wasn't even the spot I usually work at. Because it was so cold out, the owner told me to work in that corner because it was the warmest spot in the studio. So I took his suggestion and moved there. For about 20 minutes after reading it, I just sat there totally stunned. I kept looking around the room - my mind saying a bit humorously, "Are you SURE you're dead?!?". When I first read it, of course my interpretation was something like "flying is pointless unless you die doing it". Well, what a totally demented and Drew-like thing to say, lol. Of course as I sat with it longer, I realized it was really talking about living life. If you don't die really living life, then what's the point of living? Damn. That's SO HIM to say. And SO how he lived his life. 

I realize someone else's hand wrote that message - but somehow, that message found its way to me… in the far corner of an art studio an hour from where I live, out on a 20 acre ranch that I'd have never even known about if it wasn't for Drew's mom having taken classes there and introducing me to the owners.

For me, it is a sign to keep doing the things that make me feel alive. To keep taking big chances and doing things that maybe totally scare me, just to see where they take me. It is definitely the sort of advice he would always give me. And what's also crazy, is that I had that exact talk with my counselor a few weeks ago. I've been in a real slump since my job ended a month ago, and he recommended I focus on things that make me feel alive - not happy - but ALIVE… which is somehow way easier to focus on in the midst of grief than the idea of "happy". There isn't much that makes me feel truly happy since he died, but there are lots of things that make me feel alive. That I can do… in fact,  that was the reason for going to the clay studio to begin with. Man, you can't make this stuff up!

And then of course today I am promptly slapped in the face with an opportunity to leap into the air and try to test this message out: A job opening to teach art lessons to a young boy. I have no experience teaching AT ALL and am completely terrified of stepping this far out of my comfort zone. Despite that, I cannot stop thinking about how much I want to share art - my deepest passion - with other people. So, I guess I'm gonna listen to the writing on the table… here's hoping I fly.

Crap..

I’m sick of death.

I’m sick of the 27^th of every month.

On July 27^th, I passed the three year anniversary of my husband’s death. That same day a friend I have known since Jr. High passed away.

August 27^th (The 37^th month of my husband’s death) my childhood best friend became widowed.. without warning.. at the age of 30.

This friend I have known since I was about five years old. She was three years old.

I was very young when she was in a horrible car accident and was in a body cast from the chest down.

I pulled her around the neighborhood, in her body cast, in my red wagon.

Because she was cooped up and bed ridden, I pulled her around.. to get her out.. for some fresh air and fun times.

Now I have vowed to pull her again. Drag her through the “neighborhood” of widow land. I might need a wagon. I might need to drag her kicking and screaming. But I refuse to let her step into this strange and foreign land alone.

While I wasn’t alone when I started this journey, I didn’t have anyone that truly understood how devastating losing a spouse is. I felt like I had nowhere to turn.. nowhere to go for support. I refuse to let her face this alone. Sorry Michelle, I’ll be up your ass for quite a while.. so get used it.

When she contacted me this week and told me the news of her husband I swear my heart fell out and shattered on the ground.. shattered all over again. How could this happen??

When I got news of both my friend passing away and my friend becoming widowed.. I instantly was pissed off at Seth. Where was he? Why was he not protecting my friend and her husband? What is he doing?? Off playing in the amazing after life while we are left to fend for ourselves?

Why in the hell am I watching my friends die and become widowed at 32 years old??

What happened to living the long, amazing life? What happened to growing old and gray together? Sitting on the porch in rocking chairs watching our grandchildren play?

What the crap happened??

Watching all this unfold is crap.

It’s crap that at 32 years old I know the pain of being widowed, and I am now watching it happen to my friends.

Pure crap.

No coincidence

I am having one of those days where the very idea that he is dead and never coming back is unbearable. 
I want to crawl out of my own skin. 

I can neither comprehend or entertain the thought that  I will never again look across a room to be met with blue eyes and a smile that said "I see you, I love you .... and I know what you are thinking".

Maybe it is because  the weather is miserable and I spent a great deal of the early hours of today worrying about the rainwater seeping in to my garage again and dreading the monumental task of sweeping it out time and again.

Maybe it is because I am on holidays and I am sick and feel like my own grandmother.

Maybe its because I tried looking at an online dating site again and came to the conclusion that the particular combination of brains and sense of humour I am looking for does not exist. 

Maybe its the after effects of last Friday's meeting where a monetary value was placed on his life.  On his worth.

.... I just really miss him tonight.



...and then just like that.
Right this second. 
Just as I wrote the above words, an e-mail came through....

My best girlfriend, bridesmaid and almost-sister sent through some photos taken in 2006 of my beautiful boy playing with the kids at a party for her son.
I have four new (old)  photos of my love with my loves.

I feel like I've just looked across the room and got that nod that says "I see you, I love you .... and I know what you need right now".


...and I know that this is no coincidence.  

Hopeist

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I was recently asked how Dave's death affected my spirituality and this was my response. I thought I'd share it here.

I was an agnostic at best before Dave died. Very scientific, raised by an atheist physicist who abhorred organized religion, I was skeptical (sometimes I think skepticism can be judged as a negative trait, but I think it can be healthy) and approached all of life with a “lemme see the evidence” attitude. 

I was much more open than my dad was, though, and appreciated all the different religions and how comforting they seemed to be for others, but they’d never appealed to me personally, at all. 

Losing my mom to cancer by the time I was 5 and watching my dad drink himself to death by the time I was 28, I had difficulty understanding why life was so hard. I had a VERY hard time with statements like “they’re with God now!” and “God only gives you what you can handle!” and so on.

 I didn’t know what I believed in and I didn’t know what happened to us after we died, other than becoming a part of the earth again (unless we’re preserved and buried in a giant concrete box, of course). 

After Dave died, I was cracked open. My skepticism was softened by my grief and my need to be comforted. I was open to a lot more, not organized religion or a belief in a God, but a desperate hope that I’d see Dave again (even if it meant as a spirit). 

I believe that energy isn’t destroyed and our bodies (including our souls/minds) are energy so I don’t think Dave is just GONE now although it sure seems like it via my senses and awareness.

I believe his energy is now a part of everything else. 

I don’t necessarily believe he sends me signs or visits me. I have no idea if he does or not. I can see certain things that are perfectly normal and explainable and say “that’s Dave sending me a message” and if that helps me, great, but I don’t always fully believe it’s true. 

If I witnessed something truly inexplicable I’d be open to believing, but I haven’t yet. I’m not afraid of it, either, though. I’d like to see a medium one day, just to see what happens, but to be honest, I’d still be skeptical, simply because not everything is as it seems and often times, people are unscrupulous, taking advantage of people who are desperate to hear from their dead loved ones.

I’m completely open to hearing about others’ beliefs about the afterlife. My belief is that I don’t know ANYTHING about what happens to us after we die. I can guess. I can hope, but I’m not convinced of anything, either way. 

I can see how it’s the only comfort one can sometimes find to say to oneself “I’ll see them again one day” or “They’ve gone home to God” or even “It was their time to go”, but they don’t comfort me as they seem to comfort others. I deeply wish they did.

Buddhism, on the other hand, and its focus on the impermanence of life helps me the most. Its focus on understanding more than blind faith really fits into my world view and personality. 

According to Buddhism, the first noble truth is that life is suffering. It’s unavoidable and normal. This helps me because it allows me to look at the truth and see it for what it is, versus trying to put a pretty, romantic, angel spin on it, which just doesn’t work for me. 

Actually, as the doctors were trying to keep my husband alive (with no luck) I asked my religious friend to pray and I prayed right along with her with a fervor I’d never had before, though I wasn't quite sure who I was praying TOO. I suppose I was simply praying to Dave himself. I believed in him and I had seen over the years how much he loved me. I prayed for our love. If I could’ve prayed a miracle into existence I would have. I was open to believing anything might happen, but a part of me somehow knew I'd lose him as much as I pleaded and prayed I wouldn't. 

 

I might not have religious or even spiritual convictions, but what I do have I have a ton of. I have hope. 

 

Hope is in the people who turn up when you least expect it and lighten your load when you’re suffering. Who extend a hand to you when you’re drowning. Hope is in the little coincidences that bring you the people and experiences you need to move through the pain. Hope is in the strength that tragedy reveals in us and the unique lessons it provides. Hope is there, it’s just sometimes hard to find, which makes it all the more important to REALLY take note of if it and grasp onto it when it makes itself known. 

Maybe hope is my religion. I'm a hopeaholic. Wait, no that sounds wrong. A hopeist. There we go. I'm a hopeist. 

Reunion

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Steve and I just finished reading this book called "Heaven is for Real" - it's a boy's account of his visit to Heaven and back while he almost died from appendicitis at age 3. Whatever your beliefs are about Heaven, it's definitely a great book that will give you a lot to think about.

I went through a phase in my grief where I longed for Heaven constantly. I longed to see Jeremy again with an ache that was so intense, I couldn't think about anything else. I remember writing multiple blog posts about Heaven - it was the first time in my life where I had actually spent any significant amount of time thinking about what Heaven would be like.

One thing that changed when Jer died was that I no longer feared death. No matter how excited I am about the future, no matter how many things left unfinished here, no matter how much my kids need me here...I know that I'm ready to go whenever. But the thing I feared for awhile was wether or not I would get my reunion with Jeremy in Heaven. I've dreamt about it and thought about it so frequently that the idea that I might not get my moment in Heaven with Jeremy was one that made me feel so sick.

As Steve and I were reading this book together, there's a chapter in which Colten (the little boy) asked his parents about his sister that died in his mommy's belly. It is a chilling account since Colten had never been told about the miscarriage his mother had, nor had his parents known the sex of the baby. But Colten tells them he saw her in Heaven and that she was waiting for them and couldn't wait to see them. I was reading the book out loud in the car, and I had to put it down because I couldn't hold my emotions in.

Even though the story was compelling, that's not what got me. It was the idea that Jeremy was waiting for me in Heaven, that his anticipation to see me was as strong as mine to see him. But not just him...my brother popped in my head and the thought of seeing him and giving him a hug also tugged at my heart in a heavy way.

It's weird that something that seems so hopeful and peaceful can be so emotional - that so much pain is tied in with it. But I know the emotion is really just the pain of having to wait. The pain of knowing I can't see them now. It was a painful yet peaceful thought. I'm not a cooky person and up until I experienced it, I would have never believed that Jeremy's presence would be so strong in my life after he died. But I've heard him, I felt him watch over me, I felt his blessing over my relationship with Steve - I feel him protecting me and loving me through my relationships. And in that moment, through the story of someone else, I felt his anticipation to my arrival.

I can't wait for our reunion.