Signs
I look for signs he is still with me
I am trying to come to terms that my son will no longer be with me, on earth, for the rest of my life on earth. It is the most painful realization that I wake up to each morning. I want to believe he is still with me, just not in the same way. I talk out loud to him when I am by myself. I keep looking for signs that he is with me.
Last night I sat outside on the patio before bed. It was dark outside and peaceful. There was enough wind to keep the mosquitoes at bay. I looked up to the stars, and I asked my son to give me a sign he is with me.
I went to the cemetery the other day to water the new grass growing over my son’s gravesite. I periodically do this, particularly when there is a dry spell. He is buried next to a friend who died from cancer a little more than two and half years prior. After my son’s grass came in, I noticed that his friend’s grass was comprised of crabgrass, not the nice bluegrass, next door. Fall is the best time to plant grass, the experts say, so the next time I went out, I packed my SUV with a rake, organic topsoil, and grass seed. My watering has now expanded to both sites.
His friend is in the Iranian part of the cemetery, so that is where my son is buried. An older couple, husband and wife, were at the cemetery, placing red roses on several graves and a bouquet of roses in a vase on one in particular. They took pictures and said prayers.
I watched their ritual from the corner of my eye, hoping not to invade their privacy, as I filled my watering can and went back and forth from the water spicketthat is located 50 feet away. Later, after sharing this story, I got the idea that I should just bring a hose and hook it up to water spicket. Watering would go a lot faster. I bet the caretaker has never seen anyone bring their own hose before, let alone a watering can.
The wife walked over to me and asked which grave I was there for. She placed a red rose on my son’s site. I was so overwhelmed by that gesture. She knew his friend and wanted to know my son’s story. She hugged me and then went back to her husband. On the way back to their car, they stopped over and offered me halva1, which is an Iranian tradition to share. I remembered this dessert; they shared it at his friend’s internment.
I realized this was the first time, after his funeral, and outside of mental health professionals, that I had to share how he died. I said he died by accidental suicide. He was having a drug-induced psychotic episode, from ingested street marijuana, and could not tell what real or a hallucination. I said it straight-faced, as I believe this to be true. I do not think he intended to take his life that day.
I know my son is with his friend, and I think they were watching over me, wanting me to be comforted, while I was at the cemetery.
The wife said it was the first anniversary of her mother’s death. She then spoke in Farsi to her husband; I assume telling him how my son died, and her husband said to me, “We will all meet again with our loved ones. The pain we have, until then, will never go away; we just have to learn how to live with the pain until then.” They then hugged me goodbye, and I thanked them again for their kindness.
After they left, I walked over to her mother’s marker. The anniversary of her mother’s death was really the following day.
We can make up whatever we want in our minds, but I know my son is with his friend, and I think they were watching over me, wanting me to be comforted, while I was at the cemetery.
Last night I sat outside on the patio before bed. It was dark outside and peaceful. There was enough wind to keep the mosquitoes at bay. I looked up to the stars, and I asked my son to give me a sign he is with me.
It is now Friday morning. I want to go back to the cemetery to water their grass seed before it gets too hot and before I had my nails done. I infrequently have my nails painted, but I wanted them to look nice before attending a family wedding the following day. My husband was slow leaving the house, and I usually start my day after he leaves. I did not want to have to explain to him what I was doing putting a hose and a watering can in the back of my car; so, I left the house a little later than planned.
Was this a coincidence? You see, I need my cousin. She brings me comfort, makes me laugh, and she gets it. I think that was the sign from my son, that he is with me, and trying to help me get through this.
I had just started my watering routine, and a car pulled up next to mine. I park in a “No-Parking” spot in front of the service road entrance, so I thought it was odd a car pulled up next to mine. My dear cousin, from the East Coast, and her husband, got out of the car. I could not believe it. I knew they had flown into town the day before, escaping Hurricane Florence, to attend the wedding, but we had not arranged to see each other until Saturday. They have another family in town, so they were spending time with them beforehand.
My cousin’s father-in-law lives within several miles of the cemetery. They had gone for coffee, and they were headed to visit his brother who had just driven in from out of town. My cousin came for our son’s funeral, last March, but her husband was not able to attend. She thought the cemetery was somewhere in the neighborhood but did not recall the directions, so she was going by memory. The cemetery is easy to drive past because it is in a large woodland area. Passing it by, they did a quick u-turn, to drive back to it. They could not believe it, driving to where they thought my son was, to see me, standing there. My son still does not have a marker, but that is a whole other story, so they needed me there to find his grave.
Was this a coincidence? You see, I need my cousin. She brings me comfort, makes me laugh, and she gets it. I think that was the sign from my son, that he is with me, and trying to help me get through this.
My daughter was in town that Friday night with her architecture class on an architecture tour. We met her downtown for dinner, at a restaurant I always wanted to try. It is in the eclectic warehouse district and the top tier of restaurants within our state.
My son would have joined us. He loved eating out at good restaurants and getting dressed up. We then went for coffee and dessert at a dessert kitchen. It was a nice night out as we walked back to our car. There was live music playing overhead, perhaps coming from a concert venue nearby. The song playing was, “Can’t Stop the Feeling!“ (Timberlake, Martin, Shellback, 2016). There is history with my son and this song. While working at a camp in PA, he created a dance move and choreographed a dance routine to this song, for a performance by the camp “non-bunk” staff.
It could very well be a coincidence, or it could him, arranging for us to be walking past while the song was playing, giving us a sense of his presence.
For his fellow staff members, his father, sister, and me, this song will forever remind us of him. It is a famous song, so it could very well be a coincidence, or it could him, arranging for us to be walking past while the song was playing, giving us a sense of his presence. My daughter and I danced on the sidewalk while it played.
The camp has found a couple of clips from the choreographed dance; one of the group, and a second performing a move from the movie, Dirty Dancing.
I want to thank all of those who keep sharing stories and thoughts with me, about my son, even if they are just text messages. Each is so meaningful, telling me how he shared his life with you, little details, perhaps intimate things he shared. Please take the time to do this. Telling me what you miss about him, what you remember; share pictures and videos as you find them. My son had many friends and acquaintances. I also want to thank those of you who have introduced yourself to me and shared about yourself. You are now part of our lives: his father’s, sister’s, and mine.
1. “Persian Halva is a sweet, dense paste made of flour and butter, mixed with a syrup of sugar, saffron, rosewater, and cardamom that gives it a pleasant taste and smell. In Iran it is usually served at funerals or during Ramadan(fasting) month, garnished with shredded coconut or slivered almonds. Marzie, and Lilly. “Persian Halva.” The Persian Pot, 20 Sept. 2016, <www.thepersianpot.com/recipe/persian-halva/>.
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