I lost Him Twice..................................................by Kathleen Carter Steeves
I came away to work some three hundred miles away when he turned two.We had the "first" moments together....we laughed we cried....we learned.....we blessed.Then the "US" was gone.
I cried into my pillow at nights for three weeks.I went to work everyday.
Over the next ten years a riff of separation seemed to develop, who know how or why its not important...thats life for some.
I felt like a stranger in his little world.He did grow closer to his dad over those years and his uncles.We brought him along with us in the summer and he loved it! Being close to his dad was all he ever wanted.He grew up fast and hard on himself like so many of us.Not accepting that sometimes there are no reasons or answers life is just like that.He grew strong and lean.handsome like his dad before him.Sometimes he seemed to have a chip on his shoulder sometimes he seemed genuinely happy.He grrew to be kind to those who had less and not tolerant of those who had more, he knew how to share and did not suffer the fools who did not learn this art of sharing. He did not learn to live beyond his drinking buddy lifestyle.
he loved to work like his dad before him.He was what most men of his class would call a hard worker.
When his grandmother was dying in hospital he suffered her pain as well.He found healing and validation with the Native American Spirituality, he felt a closeness to the wolf.He went into the sweat lodges and prayer circles with the pipe-carriers. he moved to Oshawa, "The Crossing Place"
He fell in love with many false starts like his mother before him.Until this time we were not close.
Then I got a letter from him.He was in jail. We wrote for about six months.We began the road to US again.
We became friends.His Post Trama Stress disorder would flare up sometimes and not one word made sense, through the dark drug induced haze.Sometimes in the beginning I hung up then I learned to simply listen. Try the soft approach I thought, it worked for awhile.I only saw him cry once when his grandmother died.
I visited him once in Oshawa, when he was with his little family he helped raise.His woman and her two children.She lost the children when he went to jail one time.We had a great time Kentucky fried chicken on the lake park lawn.We laughed and he told stories that day he loved to tell stories like his mother before him and his grandfather.No woman could live up to the caring,kind saintly woman his grandmother had been.Who in reality was as four sided as we all are.
He would call me to brag or complain like his mother before him.
Sometimes I got a glimpse of a man who was carving out a life path for himself his own way, no top no bottom, no sides going no where in particular. Not flowing against nor for anything.he stayed his path by the suppressed values he had learned as a child from his grandparents, nature and his own powers of creation.
His letters were full of fun and games with the guards and other inmates. Mostly loss and gain stuff with those in authority.He hated anyone to lord a hold over him in any way.He walked his own way forward, a sweet soul,like his father before him.he loved to talk about how it was with his dad and me in the good ole days.We had many long talks about stuff I was amazed at remembering.
Then one day he called to say"Mom I'm dying, I have fourth stage liver cancer, the doctors give me a year to live".I was in shock for a month. Thank god for my support systems, music and writing.I went on a vision quest in Arizonia with the Sisterhood of The Sheilds for a week.
When he told me: all I could see was this scrawny little five pound baby boy laying there in my arms, fighting for his life.He was underweight and not growing as quickly as they would like.He had to have an operation on his sphincter muscle. he could not digest his food.The chances of having that were one in a thousand.Then the other side of me heard this strong mans voice saying something "dont worry mom I dont want you to worry, I can beat it, well for awhile anyway."
I know Nan is on the other side waiting to help me cross over.We laughed we fought we cried we came back together as we weathered the storm of fear of death together over the phone.Then on August 4th he was gone.
He got lucky he lived in that hell for only four months.He was gone as he slept in a deep comfortable peace in palliative care.
Over those months I learned to simply listen.
Then I got the call at 6am.After I hung up the phone I remembered the morning he was first placed in my arms again, and I remembered the prayer I silently spoke to the Creator.God help this little baby boy help me keep him safe.I need you to look over him because I dont have a clue how to do this"
I sat on the edge of my bed knowing I had to call the funeral home, but not able to move.I hung my head and just listened to the early morning silence."Be with us God" was all I could say,and before the avalanche of tears I heard God wisper "Nothing real can be threatened, everything real is eternal.""What is eternal is already at peace."
I wept!
I came away to work some three hundred miles away when he turned two.We had the "first" moments together....we laughed we cried....we learned.....we blessed.Then the "US" was gone.
I cried into my pillow at nights for three weeks.I went to work everyday.
Over the next ten years a riff of separation seemed to develop, who know how or why its not important...thats life for some.
I felt like a stranger in his little world.He did grow closer to his dad over those years and his uncles.We brought him along with us in the summer and he loved it! Being close to his dad was all he ever wanted.He grew up fast and hard on himself like so many of us.Not accepting that sometimes there are no reasons or answers life is just like that.He grew strong and lean.handsome like his dad before him.Sometimes he seemed to have a chip on his shoulder sometimes he seemed genuinely happy.He grrew to be kind to those who had less and not tolerant of those who had more, he knew how to share and did not suffer the fools who did not learn this art of sharing. He did not learn to live beyond his drinking buddy lifestyle.
he loved to work like his dad before him.He was what most men of his class would call a hard worker.
When his grandmother was dying in hospital he suffered her pain as well.He found healing and validation with the Native American Spirituality, he felt a closeness to the wolf.He went into the sweat lodges and prayer circles with the pipe-carriers. he moved to Oshawa, "The Crossing Place"
He fell in love with many false starts like his mother before him.Until this time we were not close.
Then I got a letter from him.He was in jail. We wrote for about six months.We began the road to US again.
We became friends.His Post Trama Stress disorder would flare up sometimes and not one word made sense, through the dark drug induced haze.Sometimes in the beginning I hung up then I learned to simply listen. Try the soft approach I thought, it worked for awhile.I only saw him cry once when his grandmother died.
I visited him once in Oshawa, when he was with his little family he helped raise.His woman and her two children.She lost the children when he went to jail one time.We had a great time Kentucky fried chicken on the lake park lawn.We laughed and he told stories that day he loved to tell stories like his mother before him and his grandfather.No woman could live up to the caring,kind saintly woman his grandmother had been.Who in reality was as four sided as we all are.
He would call me to brag or complain like his mother before him.
Sometimes I got a glimpse of a man who was carving out a life path for himself his own way, no top no bottom, no sides going no where in particular. Not flowing against nor for anything.he stayed his path by the suppressed values he had learned as a child from his grandparents, nature and his own powers of creation.
His letters were full of fun and games with the guards and other inmates. Mostly loss and gain stuff with those in authority.He hated anyone to lord a hold over him in any way.He walked his own way forward, a sweet soul,like his father before him.he loved to talk about how it was with his dad and me in the good ole days.We had many long talks about stuff I was amazed at remembering.
Then one day he called to say"Mom I'm dying, I have fourth stage liver cancer, the doctors give me a year to live".I was in shock for a month. Thank god for my support systems, music and writing.I went on a vision quest in Arizonia with the Sisterhood of The Sheilds for a week.
When he told me: all I could see was this scrawny little five pound baby boy laying there in my arms, fighting for his life.He was underweight and not growing as quickly as they would like.He had to have an operation on his sphincter muscle. he could not digest his food.The chances of having that were one in a thousand.Then the other side of me heard this strong mans voice saying something "dont worry mom I dont want you to worry, I can beat it, well for awhile anyway."
I know Nan is on the other side waiting to help me cross over.We laughed we fought we cried we came back together as we weathered the storm of fear of death together over the phone.Then on August 4th he was gone.
He got lucky he lived in that hell for only four months.He was gone as he slept in a deep comfortable peace in palliative care.
Over those months I learned to simply listen.
Then I got the call at 6am.After I hung up the phone I remembered the morning he was first placed in my arms again, and I remembered the prayer I silently spoke to the Creator.God help this little baby boy help me keep him safe.I need you to look over him because I dont have a clue how to do this"
I sat on the edge of my bed knowing I had to call the funeral home, but not able to move.I hung my head and just listened to the early morning silence."Be with us God" was all I could say,and before the avalanche of tears I heard God wisper "Nothing real can be threatened, everything real is eternal.""What is eternal is already at peace."
I wept!
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