In this blog post, I’d like to share the words of my friend
Cecilia Farran, who lost her son to complications of alcoholism when he was 39.
Slowly I breathe. And then, like a child in the finger paint, I try another pinch. And another. And like that child, I grow more bold. I dive in. I scoop out a great handful, powder sifting through my fingers, and I toss it to the water, to the breeze.
I lose track of time. I am sobbing, elevated to a state beyond myself. And when I am done, and all ash is gone, I am spent.
And it is then that I know why I have come alone to the water. A lifelong dance between my child and I will never be over, for ashes, like all of life, in the end, are for the going on and for the letting go.
THE
KEYS
I met Cecilia when I stopped in to see if she’d like to sell
my book, Waking Up Happy, at her store, 43/90 North Earth Gifts, in
Spring Green. She has been amazingly supportive of my work ever since.
To heal from her son’s death, Cecilia wrote a one-woman-show
that she performs around the state. In it, she offers her reflections as a
mother and shares the process of grief and healing following her son’s death.
(For details, see www.northearth/performances/currentshows/Voices.)
Recently, she wrote what she calls a “true story of letting go,” which is what
I’d like to share with you now.
A SHORT STORY FROM NORTH EARTH by Cecilia Farran
It’s a sultry night and I am standing knee-deep and barefoot
in the bathtub-warm waters of the Mississippi River off the shores of Prairie
du Chien, Wisconsin. Above me, a giant cottonwood arches over the water with
its cathedral of green. Beyond is the blue-black of the summer night, and
beyond that, ten thousand times ten thousand stars pinpoint light into the
velvet darkness.
Out on the wide waters, towboats ply north and south as the
spears of their lights chart a way through the night. Around me, the blue-black
night, the lull of crickets and the comfort of the river flowing onward to the
sea.
In my hand is a clear, heavy-duty, plastic, zip-lock bag. In
the bag are the ashes of my firstborn son.
I am here alone to spread his ashes on the water’s rolling
flow. And, though I didn’t know it at the time, I am here to learn what
motherhood is ultimately about.
I open the bag and, like a child first touching finger
paint, I am tentative. I take a small pinch, hold it between my thumb and
fingers, and study its gray grit.
My once child. Now ash. Only ash, yet much more, for spirit
and memory live on, rendering ashes holy. I raise them. I hold them. I am
afraid to let them go. Yet, I must. I must. I hesitate. And … I do.
Do you know what happens to ashes in water?
They sparkle for one brief moment and then they are gone.
Gone.
Slowly I breathe. And then, like a child in the finger paint, I try another pinch. And another. And like that child, I grow more bold. I dive in. I scoop out a great handful, powder sifting through my fingers, and I toss it to the water, to the breeze.
And the breeze blows back against me. Against my skin. My
lips. My tongue. I feel grit against my teeth. And my child and I are one, once
again.
He and I there. The two of us alone as once we were. One.
Communion.
And tears. My tears. And I begin to speak to whatever might
hear, softly at first, and then louder, boldly forming a mantra, from I know
not where, for the voice does not seem my own. I cry. I laugh. And I call out
again and again:
My son, you came forth through me, and now through me as
Mother, I release you. I give you back. To Her. To The One Mother: to Her
Waters, which will flow out to the sea, and to the sun and air, which will take
you up from the sea, and to the great clouds, which will send rain to fall and
bring new green to blossom life upon Earth. To the Great Oneness. I release you
now.”
I lose track of time. I am sobbing, elevated to a state beyond myself. And when I am done, and all ash is gone, I am spent.
And it is then that I know why I have come alone to the water. A lifelong dance between my child and I will never be over, for ashes, like all of life, in the end, are for the going on and for the letting go.
If you like this story, you might be tempted to hold it. You
could go to the exact spot if you want. That cottonwood tree holds sentinel
there. I can take you there and point: “See, there is the spot.”
You can find it if you want, but one need not find that tree
nor that spot, for to hold on, one must let go. And just as ashes melt upon the
water, life is not anchored in time or space, but in an ebb and flow. If you
really need hold on to anything, go down to the water, sit beneath a great tree
and grasp the river of life.
Cecilia Farran, owner of 43/90 North Earth Gifts in
Spring Green, writes and performs as a spoken word artist. She recently
performed with daughter, Celia, at the River Arts Gallery in Prairie du Sac,
coupling the above true story with Celia’s original song, “Many Trees.” Visit www.celiaonline.bandcamp.com or see her new
album, “For the Asking,” at 43/90 North Earth Gifts. For more information
about the store, visit http://northearth.com or call
608-588-3313. This story first appeared in Natures Pathways Magazine, www.naturespathways.com
1.
Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting. You can let go of pain, grief, and
confusion while still holding tight the memory of someone you love. The love
doesn’t vanish, it transmutes into another form. The memories don’t dissolve
completely, but you can reconfigure them in a way that brings peace and
comfort.
2.
Using your creativity to put form to your grief is one of the most healing
things you can do. Write about it. Turn it into art, as Cecilia has done.
Turn it into ritual. Cry healing tears, and then move on.
ACTIONS
TO PRACTICE
1.
Perform a letting-go ritual, either alone or with friends. (Some ideas: Let
go of a habit, attitude, or relationship. Free yourself from trying to control
anyone besides yourself. Release old burdens of guilt, resentment, or pain.)
Say aloud and in writing what you’re giving up and why. Then rip up the paper
on which it’s written to represent the fact that you’re letting go for good.
2.
Create your own mantra. It can be long or short, several sentences or just
one word or phrase that you can repeat whenever you want to calm yourself or
focus your mind. Examples: “Om” (the sound of infinity), “Shanti” (peace), “Yes,”
“I believe,” “Take it easy,” “Relax,” “Let it be.” Recite your mantra aloud or
silently for several minutes, right now. Write it on a piece of paper and carry
it with you to glance at throughout the day.
3.
Perform one or more of the exercises described in my recent blog post, “Remaking
Your Life,” which is all about dealing with grief and loss. For example:
Practice deep breathing. As you inhale, imagine breathing in serenity and
peace. As you exhale, breathe out anxiety and worry. Continue to lengthen your
inhale and exhale, filling your lungs as you breathe in and pushing all the air
from your lungs as you breathe out.
Please
contact me with your own stories, strategies, insights, and any questions you
may have, as well as an answer to this question, if you’d like to reflect on it
and send me your answer:
Is
there something in your life that you’d like to let go of? How do you plan to
do so?
