REFLECTIONS OF A YEAR PASSED SINCE LOSING WELDON

Last March, Weldon's mother, goddess mother, and I climbed Enchanted Rock together with Weldon's ashes. Enchanted Rock, deep in Central Texas, has long been held by Native Americans of this region to be a special, holy place. It is an enormous granite protrusion in the earth's surface, almost a mountain of it's own. The view from the top is tremendous. I could see so far that I understood the feelings the Olympian gods and goddesses must have had as they looked down from their home in the sky.

We were there to release Wel's ashes to the wind and earth. I carried the precious little package up the Rock. I had thought that climbing Enchanted Rock would be the hardest thing I'd do all day. "I'm well past the bursting into tears agony of losing my only child', I thought. "I look at his pictures every day and miss him terribly, but I'm okay to do this today."

We'd picked that particular day because it was exactly one year after Weldon left us. It was cloudy, windy, and just a bit chilly atop the Rock. I sweated from the exertion of climbing and shivered in the strong breezes. We took some pictures along the way and finally came to the top and found a suitable spot. Weldon's goddess mother drew a circle for us all. Then we began praying.

I've spent the last year letting the pain and horror of losing my baby boy leak slowly out of me. I don't think that it will ever be totally gone, of course, but I am healthy and able to function again. The awfulness did abate slowly, slowly, slowly. From one individual day to the next I couldn't have discerned the difference. Only over time can I see the ebbing of the black tide I was engulfed in since the heart stopping moment I learned my tiny son was dead of SIDS. I didn't see myself on dry land, yet, but I'd found that I could breathe, relax, and smile occasionally. A year previous I'd wanted to die myself rather than be left in this World with the pain of Weldon's loss. In many ways the discovery that I'd moved from one emotional place to another was a bit of a surprise to me, even though my rational mind had expected it. The feeling of the transition was something like waking up from a nightmare and not really remembering what it was about. You don't forget about it, but it no longer holds anything specifically scary.

The previous Samhain (31 October, the Wiccan Feast for the Dead) was a blessed boon to both Silver, who is Weldon's mom, and I. Perhaps someday she will write of her experience that Holy Eve. As for me, so much of the terrible blackness and anger I had unknowingly carried was lifted from me that night by the visit of Weldon himself. At first I trembled and shook with grief in my robes. Some of my coveners had to hold me upright to finish opening the Gate to the Summerland. Weldon didn't speak. He let me know that he was there by putting his head on my shoulder and letting me feel his weight on my chest; just like when I used to rock him in my favorite chair. The feel of him was comfort.

His work upon me was to cut away the destructive portions of my mourning. He took away the desire to kick the ass of the Universe. With his baby soft touch he turned my eyes away from a self-destructive round robin of rage and irrational guilt I'd been swirling around inside of. Frankly, I tend to think of myself as being as sane as a brick most of the time but I didn't even realize that I was still carrying some of those black, ugly emotions within. With those completely gone I was finally able to accept with my heart what I had only been able to acknowledge with my head up to then. My child of love was gone, but it will not be forever. We shared the Dumb Feast and it was as though he filled the food and drink with a light that I've followed ever since. I hadn't really been aware that I still wanted, on some level, revenge against the Universe for not having Wel here with his mother and me. He reminded my heart that our lives will be circling around together again, in Time. I remain very grateful to the gods for that short time with him at Samhain.

So there we finally were; good pagan folk atop a holy hill to do a holy work in honor of a brave little boy, and to say good bye. We sat on the chilled stone and said our good-byes and our prayers for Weldon as we each took turns offering a portion of his ashes to the wind. I wept. So did Silver, and Wel's goddess mother Singing Wolf.

At one point as I offered up a portion of ash the wind direction turned back on us and the super fine ash was blown back onto me. It permeated my clothing instantly. I was mortified until I heard Silver say "Awww, he wanted one last hug from his Daddy before he was gone". That one kind word cancelled the ticket for the major guilt trip that I was about to embark upon. We finished our good-byes with tears. Fortunately, none of the other climbers of the Rock that day bothered to come near to us as we did.

Later, after we'd finished we climbed back down Enchanted Rock. More of the weight of his loss had been lifted from me but I don't think this process will ever be finished. Our mood was subdued in the car all the way back to Austin. We'd shared a moment of finality and, I think, we were digesting it.

There are many, many more moments that I could tell you of over the last year. Healing moments, mostly, and much kindness from our pagan community. Still, there were some moments and dreams so poignant and dark that everything I am was tested to near destruction. On balance, the battle has gone to the healing side of the ledger and for this I am grateful. One year ago I could not see this quite so clearly. Perhaps it has taken this long to get my head and heart back into accord over Weldon.

Do I still hurt? Damn right I do. I don't think that I can ever be the same as I was before this tiny life became part of mine. I still talk about him all the time. I carry his pictures with me everywhere I go. I just try to channel the pain into something more positive.

Are things "better"? Well, short of asking for the impossible, yes, I think so. I can smile again when I see little children. I can laugh with them as I listen to their jokes and think about what jokes my son would be telling if he were here. I didn't feel like that would ever be possible again this time last year. Except when I sit down to write something like this little epistle I don't seem to have the uncontrollable weeping problem much anymore. I don't catch myself feeling awful that I'm enjoying a TV show or a nice meal anymore. Silver and I can talk about Weldon now without falling into each other's arms and sobbing. Now we raise a glass to our little boy from time to time and remember aloud the goodness of it all more than the pain.

How about you? I know whom I am writing this for and why most of you are reading it. Will you believe me, probably over the protestations of your heart, that the dawn of each new day sets flight to more darkness than just the night?

I want you to expect your broken heart to heal just a little more slowly than your intellect and yet know with certainty that the healing is progressing at it's proper pace. Take heart, my friend. Know that if you walk down this horrible and broken road that you are my friend. I will not tell you anything that isn't true about this path and what I tell you is simply this: Let what anger you have over the loss of your little boy or little girl melt into the Earth. You do this simply through the process of talking about it with your child's mother and your family. Be courageous enough to bring it up often and cry your way through it when you feel the burning tingle at the corner of your eyes. If you try to "tough guy" your way down this path you will be cheated, as will those who need you be bereft of the chance to finish mourning with you. If you hide the emotions away, brothers, you will become as remote to your loved ones as the one who is already lost. Give yourself time to heal, talk of healing with the others wounded by your loss. Expect it to come at an unexpected moment, as it did for me at Samhain and when Silver said what she said to me on Enchanted Rock. If you do these things, you will heal soundly over time. You can take this from a father who has crawled the same cracked and broken path as you.

Tears dry away, brothers. You never lose love that you keep alive in your heart and on your lips.

Destinova
May 2001

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