When I Die...An Open Letter To My Family

       Death is a difficult concept for people to accept, no matter what you believe about the afterlife.  Even if you don't believe that death is the absolute end, there is still some fashion of finality there that saddens and burdens the soul.  There is an empty place in the hearts of the loved ones left behind where that person once took up space.  Now there is a hole there that can not be filled by anything else because that space was very specifically shaped.  That's okay, nothing else was meant to take that space.  That emptiness was left there so that we would continue to remember.  I would like to think that I have left a very "me" shaped hole in the hearts of those I love, and when I pass I hope that I have loved those people hard enough that they will miss my presence.  But I also hope that I have instilled enough of myself that they can feel the imprint of where I once was and smile in the sure knowledge of my wishes.  When I die I want my family to cremate me.  Don't spend tons of useless money on coffins and burials, just turn my body into ashes.  I want them to gather together, especially the family members who haven't spoken in years, and mourn together as one.  I want to bring my family closer together, and if that's something that can only be done through my death, then let it be.  I want them to remember who I was completely and wholly.  Remember the little person I was once, the evil that came, the mistakes I made, the strength it took to overcome, and who I flourished into.  I want each close family member, especially those struggling with the loss, to get a handful of my ashes to take home with them.  Right now I am speaking to my husband, my children, my father, my mother, my brothers, and my sisters.  Whenever it rains and you feel alone, stand in the downpour with your fist clenched around my body of ash and let the tears flow.  Let the water mix and turn me into mud in your fingers and cry and wallow in the rain until your eyes are dry and your clothes are drenched.  When you feel angry with me for leaving you in this world, take my ashes and throw them as hard as you can into the wind.  The breeze will carry me along the path that leads me back to you.  Scream into the currents of the air, let out your frustration until your body is too weak to hold a grudge.  And whenever the sun is shining, stand in its beams and toss my ashes into the air.  Remember the good times and how we laughed and danced together as my body falls to mix with the dirt under your feet.  Do these things to process and to grieve.  Do not go to the cemetery to tell me about your day, because I will not be there.  I will be wherever you keep me. I will be kissing your forehead when it rains, hugging your cheek when the wind blows, whispering secrets when the thunder strikes, and beaming down at you with love when the sun shines.  Most importantly, don't forget the music. Whether or not you choose to abandon all cares and move with the rhythm in your soul, don't forget to be true to the heartbeat that lies just beneath the surface of us all.
What's your will?

Shall We Dance?

       I have two children, both boys, and they bless me every day.  They are my world, my existence, my love place.  After the birth of my second son I found that quite a few people were asking me if I was going to have another.  "I just had this one," I would think, but I found myself answering that maybe we would try for a girl.  I did want a little girl, but as I conversed with my husband about conceiving another child, he got my mind to wondering.  He spoke very logically about money and time and sleep, and I was disappointed.  But why was I sad about not having another child?  I was already not sleeping at night and we were both stretched beyond the limit to give them the attention and support that they desired.  Then I started to feel guilty about my longing for another child.  It really wasn't fair to the baby that I just had to immediately have another one, because then he wouldn't ever have the one-on-one with mommy time that I desperately wanted to lavish upon him.  So WHY did I feel the need to have a little girl?  Letting myself sit in that question for a while, I allowed the answers to float around in my brain until I could reach up and grab the true one.  Because I wanted a miniature me, because I wanted to see what I would look like as a little girl, because I wanted to raise a little girl to breathe fire, because I wanted to instill the strength and confidence into a little person that I never had as a child, because I wanted to protect a little girl...because I wanted to protect MY little girl.  That was it!  I had my innocence snatched away at such a young age that I was never able to truly BE a little girl.  Well, that was indeed a purely selfish reason to have another child.  So now what?  I had to find my inner child.  I had to remember who I was before bad things happened in my life.  I had to remember what it was like to feel free.  But I needed a little help remembering.  Have you ever just sat and watched your children?  Like, REALLY watched?  Aren't they little gods?  The young ones, the ones who haven't been damaged by other people yet.  The ones who are still just themselves.  They are perfect, beautiful, and pure.  They wake up when they're ready to wake up, and sleep when they're ready to sleep, and eat when they're ready to eat.  They cry when their little feelings are hurt, they squeal with excitement at the smallest of delights, and they scream in anguish when they are frightened.  They wallow on the floor and eat dirt and splash in the mud.  They strip down naked and run around laughing at the pleasure that they feel as the wind whips around their bare butts.  They laugh without restraint and dance to music that isn't there.  They don't care about rules or manners, or anything that we think they should care about.  They care about how they feel and they long to explore the world around them.  Everything is new and magical to them.  Magic!  That's definitely it.  Children believe in things that we are taught can't exist, and they're happy with that.  Children don't know why the rain falls, nor do they care.  They only want to run and play in the puddles that collect in the street.  They don't care about the mess they're making, they care about the fun that they're having along the way.  As adults it isn't always feasible to strip down and roll in the dirt, but there comes a time when we have to remember who we were.  Only then can we heal from trauma and pain that happened along the way to adulthood.  We have to go back, back to a time when we were innocent and free and unconfined.  We have to learn not to care about other people's opinions of us once more.  We have to remember how to believe in magic and how to dance in the rain when the only music playing is in our hearts.
What's your child dancing to?