What I Knew
Losing him has been nothing like I thought it would be.
What a strange thing for a mother to say.
That she’d thought about loosing him.
Yes, actively for the last three years.
Though I tried not to know what I knew.
An ephemeral jolt of seeing.
And an immediate snap back. “No. Not that again”.
Followed by abject terror.
When I get super in touch with my own gnosis, and can summon the bravery to say it aloud, I can honestly convey that there has always been, “something”.
From the moment we met, it was there.
Something fleeting.
Of all of my kids, he was the one.
Born sensitive. Born awake. Aware.
And in that, he was so loved.
Something so special.
He never failed to win anyone over.
So utterly magnetic.
He had that quiet, gentle, almost brooding quality about him.
It drew people to him like bees on honey.
When he flashed his smile, it felt like winning a prize.
Shot straight to the heart.
I had a huge community when he was young.
He was the darling of the group.
Everyone, and I mean everyone’s, honorary nephew.
There was constant discussion among them about who was his favorite.
The thing is, despite all of the genuine care he was surrounded with, I suspected that he couldn’t quite take the love all the way in.
In between moments of laughter and connection, he stood on the edges.
Off to the side. Rarely in the center.
In his early years, I became an acrobat, bending, twisting, and changing shapes, to get him settled. To fill him with the quiet comfort that stable love offers children.
I tried everything.
But to no avail.
I eventually came to believe that his soul just didn’t feel at home in the incarnate world.
There was something elusive, something I couldn’t pin down.
Something almost heartbreaking to witness.
Some wanted to name that thing bi-polar.
My sense was that it was something deeper, and more mystical than that.
And perhaps it was both.
I searched high and low for the thing that would help him stay.
So yes, somewhere inside me, I knew.
I thought about the level of emptiness I would feel without him.
How much I’d miss the satisfaction of winning his smile.
The way it instantly made my heart swell with joy.
And that’s the part I got wrong.
At least right now.
I am so full.
Bursting with the loss of him.
Full with the love of him.
Overflowing with longing for him.
It’s hard.
No, fucking it’s agony.
Some days it’s as if every cell, every part of me is going explode if I don’t expand or find some extra space inside.
That’s why I write.
To empty out just enough.
For him to have his place in the center.
An eternal spot on the altar of my heart.
Tanner
