Mothering Boyhood

Boyhood @ KillBear Provincial Park, Ontario, Canada

I peaked from under the brim of my hat – nervously watching their wet feet carefully slide across the edge of the rocks. The skin around their toes shrivelled up from being in the water too long. Their skin all different shades – some darker than others; some by DNA others by the warmth of the sun. All different sizes. Small feet, medium feet, large feet — all wet and vulnerable to easily loosing grasp on the sharp edges of the cliff rocks they insisted on climbing. I looked up from under the brim of my hat to look at their smiling faces full of pride, courage and a little fear. Their skin shivering, covered with goosebumps. Hair wet dripping down their shirtless torso’s into their soaked swim trunks. The wind blew an uncomfortable cold breeze emphasizing their goosebumps and mine under my layers of clothing.

Hand on tree branch. Foot gripped on tree trunk. Nervous smile on face; he assessed the area of the lake down below the cliff, calling out to his friends on the other side to watch him complete the jump. It didn’t matter that I sitting on the sidelines would be witness to this adventurous accomplishment – his friends needed to be witness. Only then would a passage to boyhood be granted.

I took a deep breath, shut my eyes, and listened; secretly praying that I would soon hear the sound of the water down below break. I exhaled with the sound of the splash down below. He made it. His buddy at the top of the cliff smiled, laughed and made his way to the edge of the cliff, prepping himself for his very own right of passage. Hand on tree branch. Foot gripped on tree trunk. Nervous smile on face. My heart skipped a beat; his likely accelerated from the adrenaline rush. Splash.

With each successful splash into the lake, the smiles at the cliff up top grew wider and wider. The pride exploded into fearlessness and the encouragement for higher, more ignorantly dangerous cliff jumps grew taller than their lanky selves.

With every jump, every vulnerable climb of wet feet on top of the cliff rocks; my breath was shortened, my heart skipped a beat and my mind ran through all of the dangerous scenarios that one slip up could materialize.

As I nervously sat there and watched this display of courageously foolish boyhood display, I wondered how I could ever endure this if Jude’s feet were the wet ones running across the cliff edge. I know that the simple answer appeasing my heart and nerves would be simply to not allow it. Not allow him to go anywhere near the edge of that cliff. Not allow him to jump off even the smaller rock landings only 1/2 a storey high – never mind 3 storey highs being played out in front of my very own eyes. Nope. He just simply would not be allowed to participate in such dangerous activities . In fact, I wondered ,where were the mother’s of these boys. How could they allow them to participate in this. Didn’t they see the danger? Didn’t they know the value of their little boys’ lives?

But, with each little boy splash into the lake, out came the wet face of a little man – displaying the newly gained self-confidence that only a jump from a 3 storey high cliff into a lake can give you. It was the presence of that newly gained self-confidence that enabled me to watch jump after jump, making me realize that if Jude was physically present with me, that I wouldn’t be able to deprive him of that feeling. That sense of pride. Sense of accomplishment. Right of passage to Boyhood. That innocent display of free childhood made me realize that my motherhood is tough. It’s hard and at most times overshadowed by immense sadness from the loss of my sweet Jude. But it also made me realize that the motherhood of any of the moms of those boys on the cliff that evening at sunset wasn’t exactly any easier just because their little boys were alive and physically present. Their motherhood was overshadowed by the constant balance of love and fear. Fear that in a blink of an eye, one wet foot slip off the edge of a cliff rock could end badly. But against the orange light of the setting sun, love won; as they too held their breath, peaking from under the brim of their hats watching their little boys jump into the lake and come out a little man conquering their passage into boyhood.

Sweetest Haunting Dream

#judedays, Child loss, Grief

In the numb, grief fogged days following the loss of our sweet baby boy Jude, my husband, desperate to memorialize our son, went out and purchased “the angel of comfort” from the willow tree collection. In fact, he went out and purchased 8 of them – one for us and one for each of Jude’s cousins; young and old, who were eagerly awaiting his arrival. Attached to a message of comfort, hope and love, we shared the angel of comfort with each of Jude’s cousins instead of sharing the joyful news of his safe arrival.

9 months after loosing Jude, the angel of comfort sits prominently on our mantle in our family room – a physical reminder of our baby boy. I often stand in front of it – looking at its perfect depiction of our sweet Jude. The angel of comfort is a boy – a rare depiction in the willow tree collection of angels. The angel of comfort is sweetly holding a grey puppy, a striking resemblance to our long loyal four-legged friend, Logan, the Weimaraner. The angel of comfort has no face – a trademark of the willow tree collection, but also a symbolic representation of what I have come to know as my sweetest haunting dream.

Faces of babies, toddlers, teenagers, Men, flip through in my dream like flash cards being presented to me – testing me to guess the right one. The faces flash before me for a second and the level of frustration increases within me with each unrecognizable face that flashes by. In the dream, I know that none of the faces are his until I come to the realization that I actually wouldn’t know which face would belong to Jude. In that moment, the sadness sinks in while the faces continue to flash by.

Until one face catches my heart and it stops in front of me for one additional nano second. In that nano second, I realize that’s the face – that’s the face of my son. And as my heart glees with joy and pride that it has managed to recognize Jude, the face dissolves just as quickly as it appeared and I am left with nothing. A blank space – a blank face – just like the one on the angel of comfort. It is then that I wake up – partially sad, but equally as happy that for one nano second, I saw the face of my sweet Jude. The face that is not recognized by my eyes, but by my heart – the only proof that I need.

This dream haunts me almost every night. It’s the sweetest haunting dream I have come to love. It’s the only window from my heart that my eyes look through to see Jude.

Mother’s Day with Jude

#judedays, Child loss, Grief, Healing, Parenting, Self Growth

I am fortunate that I have the opportunity to travel for my work. Work travel has taken me to so many travel destinations that I likely would have not been able to see on my own. Last year work took me to Vancouver, BC. I instantly fell in love with this humble and beautiful city. Too me it’s the heart of nature – where those that inhibit have the out most respect for its beauty and those that visit it, quickly get told if they disrespect it. It was here a year ago that it all began. It was here that my sweet Jude’s heart began to beat.

A year later, I ironically find myself back in Vancouver on Mothers Day Weekend to embrace this day and honour the infinite love between Jude and I.

As the plane descended and entered the magisterial embrace of the Rocky Mountains, my heart melted. The overwhelming feeling of love and presence of my baby boy Jude poured out and welcomed me back to this beautiful place. I couldn’t help but wonder whether it was truly coincidental that I was here on this weekend or whether this was Jude’s Mother’s Day gift to me. My heart believes the latter.

I prepared my heart for this weekend. I prepared it with unique ways that will help my husband and I honour our little boy. Celebrating our love and unique bond with him. Living his spirit brightly and keeping his memory alive always.

Packed in my carry on suitcase was a love rock I painted with his name and date of birth/death. It will not return home with me. Instead it will sit at the base of the Seven Sisters trees in Stanley Park where our breaths were taken away a year prior as we admired their remaining strong beautiful presence. Much like our sweet Jude’s strong presence in our lives. Folded neatly in my husband’s carry on suitcase were the origami paper boats that we carefully made and decorated in preparation for Jude’s voyage in the Pacific Ocean. Letting go of our baby boy and sending him off on the sail adventure of life is something all parents must do at one point in their child(ren) ‘s lives. Setting sail in his aragami boats with messages of love and support from his mommy and daddy was our way of setting our baby and our hearts free. Pressed between a travel journal purchased especially for Jude, were two postcards that were created and distributed to family and friends in memory of Jude. The postcards were born out of the desperate need to keep the memory of our baby alive, asking all friends and family to fulfill our wish of showing Jude the world by taking him with them on their vacations. The overwhelming response we received so far has been humbling. It was now our time to show our baby boy a part of our world that we had come to cherish partially because of him.

We started in Squamish, BC, where we rode the gondola to the very top of the mountains to take in the breath-taking views. The mountain tops were sprinkled with snow and the green hue varied from top to bottom of the mountain. At the very top of the mountain we pulled out Jude’s postcard and took a selfie – all three of us together for the first time.

It was also at the top of the mountain that I drew a stake in the ground and declared my motherhood through the healing project of #motherheartsalute. It was liberating to allow myself to join this pack and call myself a mother for the first time.

As the weekend went on, the love and presence of our little boy Jude intensified. It was present on the beach where my husband and I watched the waves crash into the rocks of the seashore, every time breaking them down a little much like Jude’s love did with our grief. We sat watching the people enjoy a beautiful afternoon of sun with their families, friends and pets, oblivious to our ceremonial presence. After our picnic lunch on the beach we carefully set out to pick the perfect place to gently launch the paper origami boats we had made for Jude. We hesitantly laid them down on the Pacific Ocean and watched as the waves rocked them back and forth eventually toppling them over and swallowing them into its fierce waves. Holding each other, we watched as our little boy and our hearts, fought the waves of the Pacific Ocean until he and our hearts stopped fighting and allowed ourselves to relax and ride the waves instead.

Our last ceremonial stop was the seven sisters in Stanley Park. Nestled between lovers trail and brittle trail, there the remains of the Seven Sisters surrounded by new tree growth just as tall, strong and present as the Seven Sisters were, is where we laid the love rocks that we made for Jude. Chances are someone will remove them eventually, but in my heart placing them there in that spot, reflected my belief that Jude deserved to be amongst them. His presence acknowledged, our love for him deeply rooted in the ground. His love and spirit free and high – to be admired by young and old.

Each ceremonial stop opened our hearts a little bit more and allowed hints of light back in. With each light streak came a flood of tears – joyful and sad tears that washed away the bitter pieces of our heart only leaving behind the pieces containing Jude’s love.

The revving of the airplane engines drowned out the noise around me, giving me the opportunity to acknowledge the beauty of the Rocky Mountains one more time and softly thank my sweet Jude for a unforgetable Mother’s Day Weekend. There’s only one thing that would make it better – having him with me.

Building the Love Bridge

#judedays, Child loss, Grief, Self Growth

As part of my grief journey, I was advised to “build a bridge from suffering to love” so that I disassociate the trauma of the loss of my son Jude from the love I hold for Jude. The materials and methodology I used to build the bridge was irrelevant. I just needed to build it. I understood the concept and understood the need to build this bridge because I desperately sought out the inner peace that most bereaved mothers seek. The inner peace that allows you to love your child and enjoy their presence when they are the furthest thing from being physically present.

I mulled over the concept, knowing that I would not be able to complete this task unless I felt the methodology was reflective of who I was as a person and in the same way, honoured Jude as a person. Since loosing Jude, I have often found myself facing challenges or obstacles that require solutions that are beyond my creative capacity. But yet, every time the creative solution to overcome these challenges is often whispered in my ear and travels to the brain setting off the creative light bulb. I have come to accept and love that process – I call it the Jude intervention. My rational (or irrational) explanation for it is that somehow, Jude is guiding me – helping me cheat the process in a way, by giving me the answers.

That’s how the idea of making love rocks and leaving them in the neighbourhood playground came to light. These painted love rocks with simple messages of love, are the first “stepping-stones” of my love bridge to Jude. Each love rock is designed with the intention of offering a message of love, kindness and inspiration. Every week, I casually drop them off at the neighbourhood park as I take my dog for a walk hoping it catches the attention of someone who is looking for a friend to play with. The first rock that was dropped off was a novelty – it was picked up by someone and played with. At the end of the day, that someone placed it back where it was left. This pattern continued for the rest of the week until I dropped off a new love rock. I later discovered that both love rocks had been played with and again returned to its initial spot. This brought me joy. It made me smile – it made me think that perhaps someone was taking the time to play with Jude. And isn’t that what every mom wants – a friend for their child to play with?