Beautiful Journey

A few days ago I joined a friend for a run at 5am.  It was darker than I imagined it would be and we were heading out to do 6 miles, my only goal, to keep up with him for as long as possible because he’s faster than I am and I knew running with him would make me stronger and faster.  The first few times I ran with him, I struggled just to keep him in my line of sight just to be able to find my way back to our starting point because I wasn’t as familiar with the loops he runs and I hadn’t done much running more than a mile in a very long time.  I kept up, matching stride for stride, allowing my mind to wander to the sky changing colors before my eyes, taking in the smells of summer.  I started to think of Aidan.  

The truth is, I’d been thinking a lot about him the past few weeks, more than usual, having dreams of him being alive still, as a healthy 14 year old boy and I could feel the grief gripping onto me again.  I could feel myself doing what I always do when grief starts to choke me, I withdraw, get quiet, and do my best to hide until it passes. As I ran, I began to feel the grief releasing its grip. I started to realize, how he has been my reason for pretty much everything I have done the past 14 and half years.  When he was alive, it was about making his life the best it could be, and then when he died, it became about keeping his memory alive, to keep him real, his passing, inspiring nearly every single thing I do.  As the grief shook loose this day, I remembered why I loved these kind of long quiet morning runs.

I looked up as we turned the corner and I was still right there with my new running partner stride for stride. Maybe a slow runner is who I was but no longer who I am. I looked around. I was in a new place, new friends, new running  routes, my life had changed without me even looking to change it and I also realized I was happy here in these new moments and new changes.   I began to see in that moment, to truly enjoy this newness and embrace it fully, I have to let go who I was to be who I am today.  I need to step both feet together and stop keeping one foot firmly planted in the past. And for me that means to stop defining my life within the boundaries of loss.

We ran down to the beach and turned around, I was surprisingly, still right with him.  I was coming back to life and I could feel it in my bones.  I began to wonder, how do I release a past that shaped me and still honor my son’s life?  Is it a betrayal to him to define my life by happiness? To let go completely of that past that hurts so much so I can stop trying so damn hard to be happy?

I would feel those answers and truths come up for me just a couple days later at Camp Yoga.  I has seen the information about it and immediately knew I had to be there. I went because I thought it would be a fun way to get to know this new group of friends a little better but I got much more out of it than just fun. The yoga was challenging for me, not in the strength but in the stillness and quiet of it and the intimacy of seeing those truths in me, good, bad, and ugly from a past I continued to fight and run from. 

Almost immediately, I was challenged to look into my partners eyes and I just couldn't do it. I became aware of the guilt I have carried and hid from these past ten years, ten years of hating myself for uttering two words of giving up, “stop compressions.”  I know the doctors would have to have stopped eventually anyway. I had refused the life support, because I knew he would never want that life, but it was my words , my voice, that ended his heart beating. Over the years I became unsure if my reason was truly unselfish love or selfish giving up. I’m not always sure if I didn’t want him to suffer or if I didn’t want to watch him suffer. I lost my hope in that moment that I gave up on my son, trying to convince myself letting him go was done in pure love for him. I’ve tried reminding myself for years, I made him a promise that I wouldn’t make him open his “zipper” as we called the scar from his heart surgery that ran down his sternum. I did make and keep that promise but it hasn’t stopped the guilt from suffocating me when the grief hits.  And so I compensate, I do as much as I can, for as many people as I can, I keep myself busy, and I do everything with Aidan as the inspiration and center of my world. But he’s not here anymore, I am and I am doing these things for me, to atone for the guilt I carry, and that needs to end.  And so, in those first few moments, to avoid beating myself up all weekend and allowing those wounds to be seen, I began to forgive myself and breathe new life into those broken places. 

Feeling relieved at my realization, the next morning in class, we were in a pose, I honestly couldn’t tell you which one, I just remember the instructor challenging us to trust ourselves. And there it was the other piece, all those years of guilt, and self loathing, I stopped trusting myself.  I had grown strong, tough, and guarded, never letting anyone too close, all while moving through with a smile on my face because everyone has needed me to be so strong. Something shifted and now my life is not going to be defined any longer by the pieces of the past that are no longer serve me or are  any of my business. Aidan will always be a piece of who I was and who I am, but now it’s my turn, it’s my time to trust myself again. Later that day, challenged again by the intimacy of yoga, I found myself able to allow my partner to look in my eyes without fear of her seeing all those broken pieces, unlike the previous day when my reaction was to avoid eye contact at all costs. 

As the weekend continued I began to notice, I was laughing, laughing in a way I hadn’t felt in ten years.  I was laughing until tears were in my eyes and my sides hurt.  And I didn’t feel the guilt of being happy trying to stop me anymore. Instead I felt grateful to myself and courageous  for showing up and choosing to be present, allowing myself to quietly heal the darkest deepest wounds, letting joy fill those empty spaces.

Walking back up to my cabin the last day, feeling lighter and free in a way I haven’t in a decade, I saw a monarch butterfly fly across my path and up to the sky until I couldn’t see it any longer and I knew in that moment, everything was exactly the way it was supposed to be and I had healed a lot of the wounds that I started the weekend with.  Wounds I would deny I even had if someone asked because they were too raw and real to trust with anyone including myself. But I can trust myself, now. I am enough just as I am today. I may have got a little lost along the way, made at least 10,000 mistakes, but,  I  still found my way to the perfect moments to allow myself to heal.  I may be in a constant state of healing and growing and learning and forgiving and  transforming and that’s okay too because aren’t we all? Isn’t that what life is? It really seems it is truly all about showing up everyday and trying again, allowing life to determine the route you run, until you find your way back and learn how to  be completely present in the magical moments of this beautiful journey.