Create Your Own Signs

Sometimes (most of the time) my mom ends up telling me the exact answer I need to hear before I even know what the question is. Do all moms have this magical power or is mine just even more amazing than I already thought? I'm thinking it's both.

We got into a conversation tonight (the messages are split up into three sections, forgive me if the formatting is confusing) about what I want moving forward. Do I want to learn how to connect and talk to Blake? Or do I want to distance myself so I can start moving forward? I am struggling to pick because choosing seems impossible. But at the same time, having it both ways seems like an inherent contradiction.

After my mom suggested I look up how to contact people who've passed away, I tried to explain to her that I'm not sure if that is what I want. I don't necessarily have things I want to say to Blake or things I need to hear him say, I just have a desire to know he's always there. Especially in my weakest moments, I want to have confirmation that he's looking out for me.

She responded by telling me that I already know Blake is watching over me and I need to be secure with that. I don't need continual reminders.

I pushed back a bit and insisted that constant reassurance is what I crave. Maybe I second guess his presence so much that I need those outward signs to remind me. Maybe if I have proof that he's watching over me, I can focus on other things. If I don't have to question that he's always going to be there, I can move forward.

This is where my mom employed some tough love. Basically I was sounding like a needy, insecure girlfriend. When Blake was alive, did I ask him to tell me he loves me all the time and assure me that he was there for me? Of course not. First of all, that would've been extremely annoying and self-conscious. Second of all, it wasn't necessary. When Blake was alive I never questioned his love for me. I always knew that no matter what he would be there for me, comfort me, stand by me, and support me. Why would it be any different now?

    It isn't.

Probably the most profound part of our conversation came in the final part. This was one of those pearls of wisdom that my mom gave me before I even knew I was asking for it. Even now I'm kind of in awe of her insight. When I explained that maybe I just like getting signs because receiving them makes me feel good and renews my faith our connection, she simply told me "Give them to yourself."

Give them to yourself? Can you even do that?
Yes. Absolutely, one hundred and fifty percent, yes.

Although these are not the grand signs like finding the blue heart-shaped sea glass or an old email popping up on my computer screen out of no where, these kind of signs are just as important. The signs I give myself might actually be more important because they come from within my own heart.

There is a confidence in our love that dwells inside of me. It is so strong that it could sustain me even if I never get another sign from Blake again. This belief doesn't need the validation of anyone else because to me, it is as indisputable as fact. If I can tap into that internal truth and bring it out, I create conviction in Blake's presence that won't disappear. Distance, time, and the doubt of others won't affect my certainty that Blake is with me. That's what it means to be self-sufficient. That's what it means to create your own signs.

Keeping an Open Mind

Without realizing it at the time, I went searching for Blake today. After waking up, I found myself looking up directions to the San Diego SPCA. Throughout our relationship, Blake and I spent hours talking about what kind of dog we'd get together one day. We even had a name picked out for him: Moose. Although I knew that I wasn't going to actually adopt a dog today, sometimes just entertaining the idea makes me happy. I felt a pull to the animal shelter, so I listened.

I walked around looking at all the puppies, seeing if Moose was in there. I know that when I find the right dog it won't necessarily be a particular breed or color, but a feeling I get when I look at him. Almost like Blake telling me he's the one. Unfortunately, Moose wasn't there. But I decided that was ok. I know I'm not ready, so it might have hurt more to see a dog there that I wanted, but knew I couldn't get.

I started walking out, feeling a little defeated, when I noticed there was a nature trail close by. I didn't have any plans for today, so I decided to take a walk. I felt weird about doing this all by myself, but something was telling me that I needed to get better at enjoying time alone. Besides, the day was too beautiful to just go straight home.

Someone close to Blake messaged me last night to tell me that Blake is all around me trying to help me, but is having a difficult time getting through. A few months ago, this would have sounded crazy to me, but after my recent experience with the medium nothing sounds ridiculous to me anymore. She offered me more information about the symbolism of the blue sapphire, which started me thinking about what I need to do to heal spiritually.

As I was walking, I was drawn off the paved path onto a side trail. To my left was a bed of fallen leaves in a sanctuary formed by clustered trees. The way the light poked through the branches as the wind rustled through them spoke to me. I decided to sit down and try to meditate.

This didn't go well, as I don't know the first thing about meditation. Blake tried to teach me a couple times, but my brain was always too busy to actually slow down enough to make meditation work. As I sat cross legged on the ground, the blowing wind felt like Blake trying to coax me into relaxing. I closed my eyes and it got stronger, but not powerful enough to silence my thoughts. I opened my eyes and whispered "I'm sorry, Blake. I tried." The wind gently swept my hair off of my face as if it was saying it's ok, you'll get there soon enough.

Although I couldn't clear my mind, what filled my thoughts was a message I wanted to write down. I didn't have any paper, but I decided to remain in my hideaway and jot it onto my forearm:

"Always searching for the path to you. How can I open my mind enough for you to fill it? What can I do to show you I'm ready? Ready to receive the gift of spiritual awakening. No longer trapped in my head and a slave to my own negativity. One day I'll be ready. Every day is a step in the right direction. A step closer to you, yes, but more importantly a step closer to me."

These thoughts are pretty disjointed, but I like them as they are. I am proud of myself for keeping an open mind and trying new things even if they aren't coming naturally yet. As the person close to Blake told me last night, another gift Blake gave me through his death was opening me up to a more spiritual and meaningful way of life. Although this is all new to me, I'm getting closer to figuring it out. This will be a lifelong process, but one that I'm sure will transform me in a beautiful way.

Meet Me in Between

I came across a quote that really resonated with me. "You know that place between sleep and awake? The place where you can still remember dreaming? That's where I will always love you. That's where I will be waiting."

The final two sentences hit me especially hard,"That's where I will always love you. That's where I will be waiting."

Last night when I read this quote and reread those last two sentences again, and again, and again, I started to believe it was a direct message from Blake. My dreams are where he's always going to love me. That's where he's waiting for me.

I was so excited to drift off to sleep. I just knew he was going to be sitting on the clouds of my dreams saving a spot for me right next to him. Through my dreams I was going to be able to see his face, hear his voice, kiss him, be held by him. In that state between sleep and awake, we could be together.

When my alarm jolted me awake this morning I realized immediately that I didn't have my date with Blake. I felt defeated. Why hadn't he met me? I was waiting for him and he stood me up.

Why is he abandoning me?

The abnormally gloomy San Diego skies matched my mood. I let each grey cloud serve as a reflection of the storm brewing in my mind. He's gone. Thunder. He's never coming back. Lighting. He's slipping further away each day. Wind. And I have to accept it. Rain drops.

As I was ruminating, I decided to reread the quote again. Only this time, instead of concentrating on the last two sentences, the other two sentences popped out and shifted my focus. "You know that place between sleep and awake? The place where you can still remember dreaming?"

In my initial reading of this, I took it quite literally. I imagined myself in the state, lucid dreaming, right before I wake up and have some volition over and memory of my dreams. This made me believe that the rest of the quote meant that I would be connected to Blake and loved by him there. That's why I was so disappointed when I awoke this morning and discovered the he hadn't been waiting for me there after all.

But maybe I was wrong to interpret the message literally. The place between sleep and awake could mean something besides the obvious. It could be a space that exists between reality and unfathomable hope.

Maybe I can meet Blake in a meditative place within my heart that allows me to connect to real things not seen by the eye, felt by the skin, or understood by logic. In this place, unbound by the constraints of facts but not too outlandish to be possible, he will wait for me. That's where he'll always love me.

Religion in the Time of Death

I am Jewish, but haven't been very "religious" in years. When I was young, I remember loving going to services on Friday nights because my mom let me wear my faux fur coat, frilly socks, and even some lipstick. I went to Hebrew school up through high school, attended a Jewish sleep away camp every summer, was very involved in youth group, and even got a generous scholarship from USC called the Jewish Leadership Scholarship. I have always loved my religion, have never been ashamed of it, but up until recently I haven't put much thought into the role it plays in my life now that I'm a young adult.

When my parents were visiting me two days ago, my mom mentioned that Judaism has very specific rituals for people to follow throughout the first year of mourning. The first year? Although I didn't ask her to elaborate at the time, this stuck in my brain. Everyone respects that this is going to take time, but after less than three months I already feel pressure to start moving on. Knowing my religion acknowledges that I need specific guidance and support for a whole year after a death provided some relief. 

Last night I started researching the guidelines Judaism lays out for people in mourning. The thing I latched onto the most is that people in mourning are instructed to display various outward signs of their grief to reflect how different they feel inside. Wow.

I was talking to a friend the other day about how hard it is to feel so torn to pieces on the inside, but look so normal on the outside. I almost wish I had an illness, broken bone, scar, something so it was more obvious that I am not ok. If this were something physical, people could actually watch as I heal and know by looking at me that I'm still recovering. It's not like I want any of these physical maladies to elicit sympathy from others, I just want them to know that I'm not the same. I'm not normal. I'm not entirely myself. 

The excerpt from the website that I pasted at the top of this post was my favorite ritual I read about. This part: "This ripping is a concrete expression of heartbreak. It allows mourners to physically express what words cannot," was exactly what I needed to hear. It spoke directly to the struggle I was explaining to my friend. How can my body be so intact when my heart feels completely broken? The ripped clothing above the heart is a level of symbolism that is both beautiful and profound. Something tangible that represents how the invisible internal pain feels. 

Blake and I discussed religion a lot. Although he was Catholic and I am Jewish, after several long discussions Blake and I came to the conclusion that we both believed in the same thing. We both believed religion shouldn't be about who your savior is or what happens to you after you die.  It should be about shaping you into a moral person and providing comfort when you feel lost. We both agreed that even though our religions were different, we both wanted the same things from our faith: guidance, comfort, forgiveness, compassion, and understanding.

Although I'm no longer that little girl in faux fur and red lipstick in temple every Friday night (...which would probably not be the best look for me now, unfortunately), through my religion I can still seek and find all of those things. For me, it's not about going through all of my clothes and ripping them above my heart, but the idea that I could. My religion understands that I'm not ok even though I may look fine and that this is incredibly frustrating. By having specific rituals to address this discrepancy, it helps me understand this is a normal struggle.

Whether it's religion I need or just the reminder that what I'm feeling is normal, it doesn't make a difference. I hope people understand that although I look the same, I'm still healing. A broken heart might not be visible, but it's a pain just the same as any other. 

**I really don't know the rules about citation on blogs, so just in case I'm going to put a link to the website I got the quote from: http://www.mishpacha.org/deathintro.shtml **