feeling lucky

"Hey, how many dead people have you seen?"  

he asks and quickens his pace to catch my hand in his as we walked toward the bus stop.  

We are in the middle of our homemade summer camp {just the two of us} and had, only moments before, polished off a discussion on the coping function of alcohol.

"Not like ghosts or anything but real people?  I mean, what is that like - to watch someone die?"

My step falters ever so slightly as I embrace his inquiry and receive his hand.  

It doesn't take me long to recall how I felt as I stood beside a family just days before as they entwined hands across their loved one's chest to confirm the last breath.  Even now, as I write, I am merely hours removed from such an experience. 

My brow perspires as I struggle with how to quantify my experiences. 

I am holding my breath and misunderstanding his question. 

He shifts his hand in mine and I exhale, finding relief in acknowledging the heart of his question is actually about the experience itself - of being in the presence of death.

This {I think to myself} this is why I love my time with you so much.  

In the middle of a bustling city, after we have spent part of our day trying to see who can burp the longest, you ask me about the soft underbellies of life.  You grab my hand and ask questions that catch me off guard.  

I love that you have to clarify that you are not asking me about ghosts.  

I love how you can appear aloof and distracted and sassy and then initiate sharp, poignant conversations that demonstrate how adept you are at taking in and processing what happens around you. 

I know I have said this a million times and it is your job to poke holes in my sincerity but that doesn't take away from the reality that I spend so many moments in a day watching you, admiring you, and thinking:  

I love you and I feel so lucky to be your mom.

seven bottles

"Here, shuffle these," they said, handing me a stack of giant cards. 

A gold emblem on the black back of each.

We were crouched in our seats, trying to set up for a reading.

My first.

It was dark outside - save the occasional spotlight from the headlights of a passing car or a flash of lightening.  Jonathan Bernstein was on the radio, trying to be heard above the steady rain - the competition unable to rouse the kids who were sleeping in their seats.

"Try to clear your mind and think of a question you have or something you'd like guidance on."

Clearing my mind was a tall order this time of night but I tried.

I closed my eyes and took deep breaths, concentrating only on the feeling of my lungs:

Inflating. Deflating. Inflating...

I absentmindedly shuffled the deck in my hands and handed them back.

 

They took the cards from me, straightened them in their hands, and then splayed the cards across the fabric.

It took a number of tries but the cards finally did what they wanted and remained splayed long enough for me to select four.

They set those four aside and gathered the remainder together, removing them from the reading space.

They placed 3 cards {face down and vertical} side-by-side.

The 4th card was placed {horizontally} in the space above the trio.

"These three," they said, "represent the past, present, and future."

"And this one," placing a finger on the top card, "represents the overall theme of your life."

I suppressed a giggle.

Readings and horoscopes and planets and rising suns are not my thing.  

It is, however, my sibling's thing and they were crouched here in the car, with me {the skeptic}, getting ready to speak into my life with the wisdom they know.

Inflating. Deflating. Inflating...

The past

Full of words, broad themes and vague descriptions that seemed to barely fit or resonate.  

The present

A bit more resonate.  I shifted my body closer, wanting to make sure I didn't miss anything.

The future

Spoke right to the question I had formulated while shuffling the cards.  I got goosebumps.  

And then, this:

An overall theme of feeling overwhelmed by options - under water and suffocated by an octopus on your face.  Unable to see that, while all the bottles seem like they represent something different, they actually are the same.  Blind to the fact that if you would just take the octopus off your face, you might be able to see and attend to the bottle of your heart {cheesy, I know}.  

The description of feeling and thought process was so right on.   

Tears sprang to my eyes and the reading stuck with me for a while.  

In fact, I started this post a day later but abandoned it as I got swallowed back underwater.

But last week I had to make decisions. 

Big decisions. 

Ones that required me to really attend to my goals and convictions and beliefs.  

Last week I feel like I was forced to rip the octopus off my face.  

And that which felt overwhelming and obscured and suffocating has shifted. 

Into something that feels overwhelming {it is change, after all} and exciting & content & right.