This morning after Jack talked about how we each find a way to steady ourselves in the middle of life's storms with breath, the body, and loving awareness, he asked for comments and a woman stood up to tell how thankful she was to her meditation practice for how it carried her through the last five years after her son died of an overdose.
Our son Thomas died of congestive heart failure just as he was about to schedule surgery a little over two years ago now. I cry about it whenever the tears arise, often at unexpected times. I sat there this morning in the meditation hall with Michal in the next chair and tears fell from a cavernous place as Jack said to the woman who spoke, "There's no way to hold that grief--it's like a fire. It's not given to you to determine how long your children live. They have a certain karma and you can't prevent that... When you speak to your child who's gone, and I'm sure that you speak to him, hear him say back, 'I want you to carry my spirit and live. Let your life burn brighter because of it.'"
Michal and I looked at each other, our eyes full of tears, and leaned into each other and listened as our teacher went on awhile, and read a poem, and when the next laugh rose up from the group, we laughed hard, along with everyone, our tears still wet on our faces. The sun was on the curtains, the shadows were there too in the folds. Just a few days ago, we started saying, "Oh, that's Thomas in us." And next, the walking meditation took us out to be with him in the soft brightness as the treetops bud.