GOD IS WITH US EVEN WHEN WE ARE YELLING AT HIM

It seemed like an ordinary day when I woke up on a Friday morning a few weeks ago. It was a cloudy, muggy morning in Northern NJ.  But one thing was different – it was my wedding anniversary and because of that my mood was unclear.

It became clearer as I was preparing breakfast for myself.  Twenty minutes before, I had dropped Ryan – our second and youngest child– off at middle school so I was home alone. As I sliced some onions and other vegetables, I could feel a range of emotions pushing against my heart.  


Most immediate was a burst of gratitude that Rich and Ryan are still living and physically in my life.  As I turned the stove on, the sweet face of my oldest child – Christopher -- appeared in my mind. A smile formed at my lips and a tear slid down my cheek.  How could this possibly have happened? I wondered. Sixteen years ago on that beautiful sunny day, Rich and I could never have imagined that such a tragedy would occur. And as if a key had turned and a channel in my heart had become unblocked, the tears started to fall one after another.

“I just miss you so much,” I said out loud.  Sadness became mixed with anger, “Why did he have to die?” I shouted.  “Why did You have to take him? He was only 9!” My voice was progressively rising. “Why can’t he be here?” I was now shouting and sobbing uncontrollably.  The tears were falling so quickly, I could barely see.    

And then a scream parted from my lips.  But the sound was not my own.  It reminded me of a wounded lost animal.

After what seemed like forever, my crying began to slow.  Seeking to find an anchor, I considered going to church, but quickly dismissed the thought as I knew I didn’t have the energy to move much past the kitchen.   Instead I called another anchor -- my mom.  Just hearing her voice and knowing that she understood helped to ease my pain a bit.   Afterwards, still seeking comfort, I decided to watch an episode of Charmed.  This series had become my companion the months after Christopher died when I couldn’t do much more than watch TV.

Grabbing the remote, I sat down on the living room couch and clicked the power on.  My eyes did a double-take as the program before me was Morning Mass.  How could this be? I wondered. Pressing the information button, I saw that the station was on Channel 10.  This struck me as strange as no one in my home watches this channel.  Then in a moment of clarity, I realized I must have turned it off on this station while channel surfing last night.

Still, it felt like God was saying to me, “if you can’t come to Me, I will come to you.”  

Equally surprising was that the priest was reading one of my favorite gospels – the one about the boy and the five loaves of bread and two fishes.  This reminds me of Christopher and how even young children can impact many.

Mesmerized, I continue to watch.  In the homily, the priest spoke of how we only need to use our two hands to do God’s work.  Even the Prayer of the Faithful felt like it spoke to me.  The lecturer prayed, “For all those who have died, may they enjoy the fullness of life with God in heaven.”  Earlier I was crying about Christopher’s death, but now they were praying for his life.

After about 15 minutes, feeling uplifted but still intent on watching Charmed, I reached for the remote to record the Mass and change the channel to 37. But my movements were slow and instead channel three switched on.  It was a broadcast of a bible study class!  Pages from the bible appeared on my screen and the host had underlined the words “God is with you.” My skin began to tingle.

From the window, I could see that the sun was beginning to shine outside.  Inside my heart was beginning to soften and grow lighter.

After I finally did turn to Charmed, I took a moment to reflect on this morning’s experiences.  Perhaps if we open our heart to the pain, we can gain some clarity to the many gifts that surround us.  And God is with us even when we are yelling at Him.

Standing beside me

As I turned to leave Rocca's Cafe the other night, I glanced down at the floor and noticed a petite woman not much taller than me standing at the counter. It was her new french pedicure and her bright yellow flip flops that caught my attention. Flip flops and bare feet -- two reminders that the warmer weather was definitely here. Just the thought of summer brought a lightness to my step.

Then, I noticed beside her a boy around 13 in a red and white running shirt -- he towered above her by about five inches. My heart clenched and my breathing paused. Then as if I was learning a new concept, I thought 'Ah, yes, children grow and can become taller than their moms -- especially their petite moms.' On my way out, I couldn't help but wonder what Christopher would look like standing beside me.

What If?

What if to add some variety to your day, you introduce something new. It could be as simple as driving down an unfamiliar street or a street you haven't taken in some time. What new experiences could you have by creating this one small change in your day?

On my way to teach a yoga class one rainy morning last week, I took a new short cut. It wasn't intentional. It was a last minute quick left turn. Thankfully there was no on-coming traffic. Instantly, I was mentally transported to a different rainy day when the boys were little. My surroundings reminded me of our many visits to the library for story time, and our other travels around town. If I let myself, I could actually "hear" Christopher and Ryan sitting behind me, buckled into their boosters, and giggling sweetly. This experience led me to think, what if? What if, we are just open to new possibilities?

Later in the morning, I had to run errands in Ridgewood. Rather than parking right outside the store, I parked at the top of the Avenue, grabbed my umbrella and walked in the drizzling rain. More 'what if's' poured into my brain. What if I wrote down on a piece of paper all of the careers that might have been fun to pursue. Actor? I could take a local acting class through the community program. Teacher? I could volunteer at an elementary school to share some talent that I have. Master Gardener? Well, I'd have to get past my fear of killing the plants first. Maybe I can start with one small plant. I just have to let myself try.

Another what if comes to mind - What if things don't go as planned? A fun appointment gets cancelled. A friend can't visit. How do we handle these small disappointments that at times can feel so big? Well, just like moms plan rainy day activities for small children, we need to have have our own bag of tricks readily available. What if: you write down 20 things you would like to do. The first 5 or 10 might be easy, but for the rest of the list you might have to do think of things you used to do --like when you were in your 20's or even as a kid. Or maybe it's things you would like to try, but haven't ever had the chance. Let this be your basket of tricks. We just need to be open to try.

WHAT IF?....you fill in the blank.

Reconnecting with my Dad

My head rests gently against the side left door of my family’s 1979 Ford station wagon as I sleep on the long car ride up to Mad River in Vermont. Beside me sleep my sisters’ Elizabeth and Camille. In the tippy back, my other two siblings, Melissa and Anthony, also sleep. It’s surprising that we all fit with the ski bags, suitcases and poles.

My dad slides the driver side window down just a crack. The frigid air sneaks into our warm car and I momentarily wake. “Dad, close the window. It’s cold,” a few of us screech. My mom is talking quietly to my Dad. Softly in the background, I hear the symphony music that my Dad is so fond of.

It’s “his” music that has brought me back to this car ride. It’s a few days after Christmas 2011 and we are visiting my Father-in-law, Richard, and his wife Brenda at their home in Pennsylvania. Everyone around me is getting ready for bed as I sit here and write.

Earlier my father-in-law made a facial expression that reminded me so much of my Dad. Then later when we were playing Rummy 500, he turned on a television station that happened to feature “my Dad’s" music – the music that my Dad always played on our long car rides up to Vermont. If I had just let my eyes close, I could have easily returned to that time in the 1970’s.

Now after our card game has finished I can do that. I’ve ripped out a piece of paper from the pad we used to keep score and begin to write. As I do, it is as if I’ve entered a dream state as those physically around me grow hazy and I travel back in time.

We finally pull into the parking spaces beside the North Jersey Whiz Skier’s Lodge at Mad River Glen – a lodge that my father and some of his friends started in the 1960s. The bright spot lights above the parking area combined with the swoosh of cold air through opened car doors jolt us awake. “Suzanne, grab a bag,” my mom calls to me as I start to wander toward the front door empty handed. The snow squeaks under our feet as we walk – a good sign that they’ve gotten some fresh snow lately. Once inside the foyer, my Dad greets some familiar faces.

It’s so nice to hear his voice again,” I think as I write. His smile lights up his face. “Dad, it’s so good to see you again!” I say without any words. No words are needed to communicate with my Dad since he died two years and three Christmases ago. This experience of writing the memory and actually bringing it forward to the present is new for me – at least as it relates to my Dad as I do this often with my son, Christopher.

Have you ever tried to write down a memory as it appears to you? We all have connections that trigger memories that can transport us back in time. Music is a popular trigger. The next time you remember something, consider jotting it down on paper – what you recall will likely be more vivid. It’s also a good way to help retain memories.

Sitting at the dinner table at the Silver Dollar in upstate New York – a good half way point for dinner – I smile as my Dad smiles and say again, “Dad it’s sooo good to see you.”

Seeing the light within

Last night I taught a yoga class and I wanted to share my dharma talk here:

This month we have been talking about the light – seeing the light within ourselves and others. With the recent holidays, we've spent more time with family. Sometimes how we relate to family is different from how we relate to friends.

This often makes me think of a passage in the book The Shack – I don’t know if anyone has read it but – there is a scene where Jesus, the Holy Spirit and God are cooking dinner and regardless what your faith/beliefs are there are important messages to gain.

In this scene, Jesus is carrying the main course, that God has spent hours making, over to the table. On the way he drops it and it spills all over the floor. At first there is a pause and then the three of them - God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit - start hysterically laughing. God kids Jesus and says he has slippery fingers and the Holy Spirit says Jesus was trying to see if the bowl could bounce. McKenzie – the only human in the room – is surprised by how they reacted and the fact that no one found fault with Jesus. To him, Jesus basically ruined the dinner.

McKenzie realizes that what was truly important here was the love they had for one another and the fullness it brought them, not whose fault it was that they could no longer share the meal God had made. He also noticed how different they treated each other from the way he treats the ones he loves.

Can you imagine? What if you spent hours preparing dinner and your husband, child, boyfriend fill in the blank dropped it on the way to the table? How would we respond? If we don't like our response, how can we work to change it?

Yoga teaches us to pause and to breathe and to hesitate before we respond. This hesitation or pause allows us to choose our words and our intention. We can then be intentional in our actions and seek to remember the love and see each others’ light.

I wish you all a happy light filled new year.

Namaste - I bow to the light within you.

Finding Strength - A Momma Bird & Me

Below is something I experienced in the summer of 2009 that I want to share. It's quite amazing.

July 2009

It was still early when I got out of bed this morning so no one else was awake yet. I slowly pushed my feet into my slippers and went downstairs, grabbing my bible and a notepad on my way out to the deck. It felt like a long time since I last talked to God and an even longer time since I prayed outside.

Lately, I've felt such intense pain and shock. This grief is always present, but some days it feels like I'm being pushed under water. This morning was one of those days.

When I woke up today, I couldn't remember. Maybe it's just a dream, I told myself. With a feeling of hope, I thought maybe Christopher is asleep across the hall from Ryan. Then as my eyes adjusted to the light, I remembered.

Waking up is often the hardest time of day because for a second or two and if I'm lucky, a little longer, I forget. It's remembering my new reality, that is most painful. Often I want to go back to sleep where I can visit with Christopher.

Almost two years into this new life, I have learned that I HAVE to pray and seek God's help to stay afloat and find peace. Yet oddly, I do it for awhile until I feel really strong and then I get weak and skip some days or longer. That's where I'm at today.

Little did I know what was in store for me this morning.

Sitting at the outside table, I slowly opened the study guide and the related bible passage. I was struggling to find some peace and decided to repeat a study that had helped me last summer. The focus of the study -(Luke 1 26-33) was to expect the unexpected as Mary did not know she was to see the angel Gabriel that day. In the margin of the text, I noticed I had written 'Who does God come to? A boy named Christopher?'

Just then, I heard a commotion - a frenzy of birds chirping - in the yard behind the jungle gyms.

I lifted my head, but couldn't see past the grill, so I pushed my chair back and walked down into the yard. On the ground I saw two baby birds. One was motionless and didn't seem to be alive. The other was flapping its wing trying to get up. Apparently, it was just one bird who was causing all the noise -- the baby birds' mother. She was flying backing and forth and calling loudly -- it felt like she was saying, "Did you see what just happened?! My babies are hurt -- please help them! Please let them be okay!" She reminded me of a frightened, suffering mother. She reminded me of me!

Quickly, I knew I had to help this baby and its mom. But how? I wondered. The nest was too high and frankly I was afraid to touch the baby bird. But, I had to do something -- so I ran back in the house and up the stairs yelling to my husband to wake up. He barely heard me.

I knew I couldn't wait for him to wake up, so I rushed back down the stairs and into the kitchen, rummaging under the sink for some gloves. I found a thick pair of green latex gloves - the kind I used to change Christopher's dressing. Grabbing the gloves, I hurried back out to the chirping baby bird.

Squatting down, I cradled my hands, preparing to pick up the bird. Its wing flicked the back of my finger and I jumped back and froze. "I can't do this," I said out loud. I'm not even a pet person, I thought. Feeling flushed and uncertain what to do, I called out, "Christopher, please help me honey." Then trying to muster up some courage, I said to myself,"YOU ARE A MOTHER. YOU CAN DO THIS. So I bent back down and carefully picked up the baby bird. Standing on my tippy toes, I reached up over my head and placed the bird in its nest. I stepped back and breathed, whispering, "Thanks, sweetie."

Once back on the the deck, the momma bird's agonizing call started up again. It sounded like she was mourning her baby that was still on the ground.

Back on my deck chair, I reflected:

1) it was amazing how similar this momma bird was to me.

2)it was as if God was showing me that as weak as I felt, I am still strong, and that I am not alone in my suffering.

3) In the margin of the study, I had also previously written , that the angel appeared to Mary when she was alone. So often I seek to fill my day with busyness to escape feeling the pain. In doing so, there is little to no time left to see God.

It was amazing that I was present to all of this. What if I had just stayed in bed this morning? I would have missed all of this. It made me think - imagine what we can experience if we just take the time.

Sibling Fighting

The orthodontist's office is packed. Ryan and I just arrived for his 5pm appointment. We found the last two seats, a padded bench against the wall. It looks like it's going to be a long wait.

Ryan pulls out his math homework and I crack open a book that has been sitting on the shelf for years. Although I can tell from the introduction that the book is very well written, I can't seem to get past page one. Maybe it's because the author, a mom, has written about Disney and the Tower of Terror ride in particular. I remember this ride. Christopher went on it with Rich. He was six at the time. We had SUCH a fun time in Disney. The boys had smiles on their faces the whole time and for many days thereafter.

Yet still, whenever someone mentions Disney, I cringe inside. I shutdown and try not to hear what they are saying. I think it's because I know I can never go back with my two boys. Others might say, "But you can still take Ryan back." And yes I can. But Disney is about the kids and the kids feeding off the magic of the park and the excitement of each other. We parents are just the spectators. I sometimes wonder if children, especially siblings, have a secret language as they can see and even hear things that we adults just can't. We are just lucky that we are here for the ride.

"Stop!' a girl shrieks across the waiting room. I look up and see a teenage boy sitting next to her with a smirk on his face -- obviously her brother. I look back down and think sibling fighting is such a normal part of life. It's almost like fighting with your sibling offers kids an outlet to release the stress of the day. It's not okay to yell at your mom or dad or even a kid at school, but annoying your brother or sister can feel pretty good if you are in a bad mood or even just bored as these kids across the room seem to be. So now I sit here and marvel at my younger son, Ryan, as to where he puts all of that extra energy.

He's not an only child. He was raised as the younger of two boys. Yes, some people may think he is an only child because he is the only child living in our house right now. And his brother is not just away as I sometimes lead people to think. Not people I know, but strangers who ask the most normal, yet difficult question for someone in my situation:

"How many children do you have?"

Other parents who have lost a child may only refer to their living children as the possible follow-up questions are too painful. For me, the answer will always be "two." If we are traveling, I'll often add, "Only our younger son is traveling with us." No one ever asks beyond that.

"Stop putting your stickers on me!" the brother across the room yells out. I look up and see that the brother now has white headphones dangling from his ears. It seems that he's moved on from annoying his sister to listening to music. I guess it's her turn now. Their grandfather who is sitting across from them suggests, "You would be much better off doing your homework, you know." Beside me sitting on the bench, I look at Ryan who is almost done with his math sheet.

If Christopher were here, I wonder...would they also be fighting? Or might they be watching each other try to beat a tough level on their DS -- as they often did together. If Christopher were here has become my question of the day and sometimes my question of the hour. If Christopher were here, maybe Ryan wouldn't be so lonely at times. If Christopher were here, he and Ryan could walk to school together. If Christopher were here, Ryan could just....fill in the blank.

Ryan looked up to Christopher for everything like most little brothers do. When he was only four and in a family CCD class, a priest asked Ryan, "In whom do you trust?" His answer: "My brother."

They were only 23 months apart and very close, yet like all siblings, they did fight. So now, I wonder, how Ryan has gotten used to not having his brother to fight with. The bigger question of course is, how has Ryan gotten used to not having Christopher physically in his life. I don't think he has gotten used to it, or ever will. He does what I do, I guess, just try to stay present to the moment since we don't really have a choice.

But I do remember the bickering and the shouting. Sometimes I could be very yogic and remember what one of Christopher's nurses said when he was only three, "You have to be healthy to fight." It's true. If you are too sick from chemo, you don't have the energy to fight with your brother.

Other times, like other parents, I just wish it would stop. Obviously not this way.

"Ryan," the nurse calls out from beside the counter. Finally, it's his turn to be seen.

What I wouldn't give for some sibling fighting between Christopher and Ryan -- just one of the many things Ryan has to grow up without.