Last week some dear friends of mine from California lost their son. His name is Zephyr and he was as bright as the sun. He was charming and charismatic like his father, soft and beautiful like his mother.
He died suddenly and tragically, in a way that left us all devastated, and in a way that leaves me still jaw-clenched and hardly breathing. It has been the very first thing I think of when I wake each morning. When I imagine how they must wake I can barely breathe at all.
Yet breathe I do, shallow and strained though it is. When I can consciously remember I take as long and deep a breath as I can. I breathe deeply for them in case they cannot. I breathe deeply to remember the preciousness of Zephyr and to remember the preciousness of life.
When I first heard the words from a close mutual friend I could barely speak. As I hung up the phone I went straight to my laptop, opened my browser and looked up flights. I would go, wouldn’t I, to comfort them? As I began to form plans in my mind to go they were countered by all the commitments here that I wanted to keep.
With my heart sinking I promised myself that I would sleep on it and decide in the morning, yet the morning came and went. I talked it over my family and some close friends. As much as I wanted to be there to love and support them, to make food, to sit and cry, to feel the emptiness with them, I couldn’t go.
As I sat there crying, the decision made, I felt into the guilt and immense sadness that came. I asked, “If I can’t be there physically, then what could I do from here?” The answers came quickly and clearly, and at first they were simple logistical things…
I could have flowers delivered. And, so I did.
I could send a message to Zephyr’s parents each day. Nothing that expected a return, just little messages of love and support so that they will always know I care. It helped.
I could call as many California friends as possible, connecting with the community that was physically there, loving and supporting them. I could sit down with my phone and call every single friend I haven’t talked to for a while. I could let every soul I hold dear know how much I care.
The possibilities widened as I considered that I could pray (and pray I did). I made an alter and lit a candle and asked that Zephyr be held in love, wherever he is now, and I felt so strongly that he was. I asked that his parents feel the love and support of all of us who care so deeply, even those of us that are far away. I asked that love would guide them through this unimaginable time. I asked that love would lead the way. In doing so, love led the way for me too.
I could sit with my own grief and trauma. Allow my memories of older tragic events to arise. I could feel the terror, the sadness, the emptiness that rose with them. So, I sat and horrific things arose. I let it be okay and I held them in ways I hadn’t before, loving them more for all they had taught me. I moved closer to healing.
Most importantly, I could walk inside the house and love my own family. I could hug my mother, my Stepfather and my sister who are of the nature to grow old, get sick, and die. I could check in with my Stepmother who has stage four terminal metastatic cancer. I could continue to repair the relationship I have with my dear Dad.
I could follow through with my plans to visit my brother next week and his four children and when I arrive I could sit in bed with his twin girls and tell them a bed-time story every night. I could kiss them and hug them and bless them a sweet nights sleep.
I could call my older sister and make plans to visit them too. I could remember that everyone in my life is a blessing to be cherished. I could love, hold, cherish and support my own tender heart.
With each aching moment and every shortened breath I could remind myself that time and life is precious. That at any given moment our loved ones could leave us. From that space I could let go a little more of anything that blocks the way of love.
And I could write this and you could read it, and you could feel the preciousness of life and time too. Maybe you could go home and let go of anything that gets in the way of love for you.
I could ask you, wherever you are now, to close your eyes and place a hand on your heart for sweet Zephyr. I could ask that you send your love and strength and well-wishes to his parents.
Give it a good long minute and some long slow breaths and feel into the reality of life. Feel into the love you hold in your heart and feel the heart of everyone you give it to. Feel the love come back to you.
If you’re brave enough, feel into the holding, the anxiety, the grief and the fear.
Breathe in, let it out,
Let it go.
Rest in peace Zephyr.
Forever in our hearts
