The hardest part about leaving my birth family has been watching my innocent children experience the hurt of conditional love. My daughters only know the love of grandparents as expressed by Hallmark on select holidays and birthdays now. I find both heartbreak and tremendous pride each time my girls courageously make a phone call to or go to visit adults who do not reciprocate. The wisdom of my dear, sweet Grandma comes to mind at these times. She often said, "Nothing so bad ever happens that something good doesn't come out of it." I believe the blessing here is that my extreme choices are being validated for my children. They are gaining insights and lessons that my words alone could never impart; actions speak louder than words. Valuable lessons or not, what parent doesn't try to shield their child from pain?
Christmas holds high (and often unrealistic) expectations in our culture. It can be a challenging time for the "ideal" family, let alone our tiny, fragile one in the earliest stages of re-development. We spent our "first Christmas" in Riviera Maya, Mexico. I harbored no illusion that we could run away from the sadness, but David and I hoped a change of scenery would minimize painful reminders of traditionally family-oriented times for our girls.
We had fun in the sun, occupying our minds in all sorts of ways. On Christmas Eve, we took a taxi to Puerto Moreles and attended midnight Mass at the church of San Jose. We were welcomed by those with whom we could not communicate; a big smile and "Feliz Navidad!" seemed to create an instant bond. After so many years of attending Roman Catholic Mass, we didn't need to speak the language to understand the Mass offered up in Spanish. We enjoyed singing Christmas carols in the foreign language and I wondered about the meaning of holiday decorations that made no sense to me. I loved the fact that there was a giraffe in the manger! Still, I could not help but break down while singing Noche de Paz (Silent Night.) I wept for many reasons, but mostly for the two beautiful young women sitting beside me, for relationships and love they would never know. This was one of the saddest times in my life, but it strengthened my resolve to become a shining example of unconditional love and acceptance to my daughters.
We returned to the US on December 28, 2011. At the airport in Cancun, security found a metal nail file in my purse that I'd forgotten to place in checked luggage. After all my preaching to the girls about carry-on rules, I was busted! We all watched as the Mexican TSA agent took my nail file and threw it in the big gray trash can.
Maybe it is just me, but I "know" my "beauty implements." Stashed in a number of convenient locations, I have a variety of nippers, tweezers, files, etc., but I know them all; which ones serve in a pinch and which are the best. I distinctly recall thinking, as that file was discarded, "I'm glad it wasn't my favorite!" Being OCD about snaggy nails (and certainly a lot of other things,) I made a mental note to replace the file in my purse as soon as we got home.
Luckily, some traditions would remain unchanged in this eventful year. We still looked forward to hosting New Year's Eve dinner for friends from Minnesota and California. These friends have become family over the years and this dinner is a highlight of each Christmas season. We spent New Year's Eve day getting ready for the party, but I wanted to attend Mass before the guests arrived. David worked on dinner and I went to church.
After my near death experience, Mass took on a very different quality. I had a new perspective and understanding of the same words I'd heard thousands of times before. The song "We Are One In The Spirit," so popular in the '70s....I literally FELT that in my NDE. This was no longer just an abstract concept and I knew God was at the center of my profoundly spiritual experience. I returned to Mass attempting to recreate this spiritual connection but my prayers weren't getting me where I wanted to go. Prayer had been a one way conversation before my NDE. After hearing God's "voice," I realized all those years I thought I was praying, I had simply been babbling about things that meant nothing in the vast scheme of things. Furthermore, I was not even listening for a reply after my self-centered babblings. I desperately wanted to make that "connection" I'd found in my NDE once again but I had not learned, in my entire life as a Catholic, how to do it.
Back in my familiar church on New Year's Eve, I couldn't seem to pray at all. As I sat in this stunningly beautiful church, I compared and contrasted my experiences within the previous seven days. I'd celebrated Midnight Mass with the poorest of people in a very simple church; now I sat among some of the wealthiest in one of the grandest churches in Saint Louis (perhaps the country?) It seemed to me that I could feel Christ's presence more strongly in that simpler place of worship, among those dressed in ill-fitting clothes and dusty sandals. This is not to disparage the wonderful people in my parish, but in Mexico I had felt the space for the awareness of God created by detachment from the need for more than the barest of necessities.
I went through the motions at Mass on New Year's Eve, listened to a lovely (as always!) homily by Fr. Marek but knew that I needed to look elsewhere if I was going to find my way back to the Oneness I'd glimpsed in my NDE. I didn't know how it would happen, but I was going to find a way. I drove home from Mass wondering where in the world to turn, how to proceed if my life-long religion couldn't help me. A sense of determination was sparked within me. I couldn't identify the feeling, but it seemed certain and comforting, if completely obscure.
Back at home, I parked my car in our garage and grabbed my purse. Then I saw it. There on the passenger seat, lying where my purse had been was THE nail file that had been confiscated in Mexico four days earlier! My body went completely numb for a few seconds.
This file was not on the seat when I got in the car after church. This file had not fallen out of my purse (the replacement was still in place) and as I mentioned earlier, I knew the file. This was the file that was left behind in Mexico. I ran to David, blabbering like a crazy woman. As I tried to explain....tried to make sense of this, I began to cry. I was a bit frightened and yet, crazy happy; I felt, with that deep sense of "knowing" that I now clearly recognize, that someone or something was reaching out to me.
I spent the rest of the evening in a kind of fog, detached from what was going on around me. Yes, it is true that we had quite a bit of wine that night, but there was a different quality to this feeling; a separation of sorts, like walking on a cloud or being carried along. My friend-family hypothesized and proposed ideas on the appearance of the file. It couldn't be the file! It must have fallen out of my purse or emerged from the seat somehow! (Those of you who know me will know that I do NOT drive a cluttered car! : ) In the end, everyone had their own idea but for me, there was and still is no doubt. This was THE file and its appearance was significant.
[Aside: Our house is unquestionably haunted; I'm considering a blog on this subject as well. For quite some time, I believed the nail file episode was our friendly resident ghost making his/her presence known in yet another silly way. Over the course of time, as I've learned more about myself and "how I work" since my NDE, I've come to understand what I was really feeling that night and it was not the work of our ghost.]
This is a big year for my little family. My oldest daughter graduated high school and her senior year brought bitter-sweet moments. Anyone who has raised a child understands, but I struggle emotionally when I see three generations posing for a photo to commemorate special times. When sadness creeps in, I try to concentrate on the blessings I've been granted with the struggles. I am grateful for newly found happiness and strengthened relationships with those who remain in my life. However, I am most grateful for that glimpse of Oneness in my near death experience. In that tragic/magic event, the veil that covered my eyes was lifted. Now I understand that life is simply a series of opportunities for us to recognize our unity with all beings. Knowing that this veil exists helps me to forgive. When I am strong enough to pull myself out of an emotional state, I can see others' actions objectively without taking them personally. In the right frame of mind, I recognize that others do not yet understand what I have been so blessed to "see," and it eases my pain.
I try to view life always through this new "lens," but I am only human. It is difficult for me to remain in that higher state of mind. Some life-long relational issues are so deeply rooted that I am overcome by emotional reaction and fall into habitual patterns of behavior before I can consciously choose to be in that higher state of mind. It is a lot of hard work, but I am learning and improving my ability to access this God conscious perspective. I have been blessed with the kindness and generosity of teachers who have walked this path before me. Naturally, serendipity and synchronicity have brought us together in most unusual ways! As I spend greater amounts of time in that higher state of awareness, I realize I am making that spiritual connection I wanted so badly on New Year's Eve in 2011. I think my nail file experience was a sort of bread crumb telling me that I had the right idea, to seek beyond the familiar as I decided that night after New Year's Eve Mass. I'll keep working and maybe someday I'll be strong enough to face those with whom I so easily become unbalanced. In the meantime, I bless them from afar, knowing that they are doing the best they can, still shrouded by the veil of separation...... and I am always looking for more crazy signs telling me I am on the right path!
Please forgive typos and grammatical errors. This writing comes in a flow from the heart and I admit, I am not perfect!
