Mom's Mandala

The last message from mom came to me at the one year mark of her passing. I recognized Thursday, May 7th, 2015 as the one year anniversary of her leaving the body behind and re-entering the spirit realm. Even though she died on the 8th it was the day, not the date, which mattered to me; and, it was an amazing day reconnecting with my mom! We spent most of the day coloring a picture together. But, that was just the beginning...   
         
On Wednesday, the 6th, after doing my evening meditation instead of going up to bed I was inspired to do something different. I went hunting for all of my many art supplies. I had been meaning to start doing art work again; and, at this moment, even though it was late, I was determined to begin.
           I had had my mom’s roll top desk for nearly a year now. However, I had not put any of my art materials in it like I thought I would when I first received it. I faithfully followed my intuition, and gathered everything I could find to take upstairs to her desk. 
            Mom left me her roll top desk. I had asked dad for it shortly after her funeral because I knew he wouldn’t be using it. I didn’t see why I couldn’t take it home. His answer to me was "no, not yet". He wasn’t giving any of her things away for a quite while. That was all right. I understood why he couldn’t let her things go. However, I really, possibly selfishly, wanted to have her desk right then. I didn’t want to wait a year like he was suggesting. I wanted that piece of her in my life. It was very special to me. I knew I would use it every day. Still, I honored dad’s wishes and I didn’t ask for it again. 
           Exactly one month after mom left us, my son Richard was leaving us too. He was heading off to boot camp to join the Marines. We said our farewells and dropped him off at the recruit’s office on a Sunday afternoon on June 8th, 2014, three days after his high school graduation and precisely one month after my mom passed away. Saying goodbye to him that day crushed my motherly heart. It was one of the hardest things I have ever done, leaving him in the hands of those stern Marines. The life of a Marine is not the kind of life I would choose for him, or anyone else for that matter. I understand he feels he has a purpose to fulfill as a United States Marine. Nonetheless, I was scared for him. I didn’t know what he would have to face at boot camp, or what he will have to do as a Marine once he is deployed across the world. Yet again, I was letting the fear of the unknown, and the ‘what if’s’, get to me. It’s a vicious cycle when you let the mind run wild with your deepest fears. It’s a good thing I didn’t know when we dropped him off that day just how dangerous this career would be for him so quickly. My heart goes out to the families of the men and women who have made the ultimate sacrifice for our country. I truly wish war was never an option! 
          I cried a lot that first day, and night, without him at our home. I was sitting on our front porch drinking a glass of wine, weeping, watching the moon and the stars come out one by one on that Soul-crushing Sunday evening when my dad called me. He was very sweet and loving. He is a veteran from WWII. He knew how hard it would be for Richard at boot camp; and, how hard it was on me to see Rich leave. First, my dad told me he was very sorry, and then he told me it was important for me to take home mom’s desk as soon as I could. He had changed his mind. Whenever I was ready to haul it to my house, it was mine. It had been such a long hard day for me, to get this news at this precise moment was a very bright light at the end of that dark, depressingly sad Sunday. I don’t know what changed his mind. I was just very grateful he could now let it go. We took mom’s desk home that summer, and we helped dad turn mom’s old office into his new office. I love my mom’s roll top desk. I sit at it almost every day reading, writing in my journals, reading tarot cards, and doing other activities. I wanted to put my art supplies in it when I first received it. I just never got around to it until late that night nearly a year later... 
             After I put all the art supplies away in the drawers, I decided to draw a simple Mandala quickly before bed. I would color it the next day, which was the anniversary of mom's passing, dedicate it to her, and give it to my dad when I saw him the following weekend as an early Father’s day present.
             I called dad around noon on Thursday the 7th. I wanted to let him know I was thinking of him, and to see how he was spending the day. Fortunately, my sister was with him so he wasn’t spending that day alone. They were having a good time together remembering mom. After we hung up, I decided to start working on the Mandala. I sat down at mom’s desk and pulled out my water color pencils. As I looked at the picture I had drawn the night before the word's, “The flower is a rainbow...”,  unmistakably came into my mind,  I thought that was really strange. Yet, it was crystal clear. So, I pulled out the colors for a rainbow. As I colored the lotus flower in the center like a rainbow, I could feel mom’s presence once again getting stronger around me. I wanted to see if the rainbow suggestion had come from her. I asked aloud, “Mom, what color should the space around the flower be?” The answer came quickly and plainly to my mind, “pink!” This was really wonderful! It took me all day to color the picture. I would ask her what color should be next, and then wait for the impression. I had to take breaks often to care for my kids, but every time I came back to the picture, she was right there waiting for me. 
            That evening when I finished the mandala, I just stared at it. It felt so wonderful to be creative again, and I think it is a lovely picture even if I do say so myself. (It is the picture at the beginning of this post.) As I stared at it, I thanked mom for being there with me and for guiding me. I asked her, “Is there anything you want to say to dad?” I had an open note book sitting on my desk. I reached for it, and started writing a letter for the third time.....
 “Dear John...”, and it came to me as easily as the other two occasions.
          After the letter was written, I wrote a thank you note to my mom on the back of the picture. I thanked her for talking to me, guiding me, and simply being with me that day. I thought while I have her talking with me, I should ask her about the meaning of the colors she chose. I wrote her answers under my thank you note on the back of the picture. That was the letter for me. After I finished writing her message to me, it was over, and she was gone. She left me with angel bumps, chills throughout my body, and tired eyes leaking silent, sweet tears of joy. It had been a marvelous day. I was very excited to share all of it with my dad the next time I saw him. I would be visiting him the next weekend.
          I arrived in Logan on a Friday afternoon. When I had some time alone with my dad, I shared the picture with him. We were sitting in the kitchen at the table. I told him every aspect I could remember about feeling mom with me as she chose the colors though me. I told him about the letter for him. He was very pleased about it. He had me read it to him this time. We were both crying blissful tears, as I read the words that had come to me that day. Just like before, dad had been thinking specific things around the anniversary of mom’s passing. Again, his answer was in her letter to him. He also said a sentence to me before I read it to him. She was answering his prayer in a lovely way. One of the things she told him was to stop worrying, and to enjoy the life he has left to live. Now that he is gone, looking back, I think he did that the best he could.
         
    My father kept that last letter from my mom in his shirt pocket close to his heart; and, he read it almost every day, sometimes several times during the day, for the rest of his life. He would live another 21 months and 1 week after I received this final message from my mom. In the summer of 2016, he asked me to be sure to put mom's letter in his pocket before we closed the casket. He wanted to be buried with it, which I did. This is a picture of me and my dad just before we closed the casket. The letter is in his pocket just like I promised. There is so much meaning for me in this photo. Someday, I hope to look upon my memories of my father, once again, with loving fondness, which is how I looked upon him on this day before the casket was sealed for good and all my memories turned to crap. A shit storm was brewing of which I was totally unaware at this moment. It was good I didn't know the meanness of which he was capable while attending to him on his death bed, and while speaking at his funeral. The worst was yet to come...

Namaste!

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