Today is Easter. The kids woke, excited to find out what Mom stuffed in their baskets. I wanted to sleep, but Genevieve wasn't having it. I quickly gave in, we all rummaged our baskets (yes, I made myself one too), I made breakfast, then we were off to church. After worship, the kids participated in the annual egg hunt then I forced them to take pictures. Oh the horror of taking a picture!
Although still a little cool, temps in the upper 50s to low 60s feels pretty warm after being in the 30s and 40s. While I made a cake for dessert then prepped a ham for dinner, did my best kitchen karaoke (which may be getting better than car karaoke, but not as good as treadmill lip syncing), and cleaned up, the kids played outside. They wanted me to come play, and once I made it outside, I decided to take a walk, and they joined me.
Before I go any further, it was during kitchen karaoke that I knew I'd end up writing today. At the middle of the walk, I knew what it would be about. But after dinner, as the words started taking shape in my head, I realized I'd have to give a little backstory for any of this to make sense.
On December 7, 2017, the kids (and this includes the biggest, Eric) and I spread the majority of Ghon's cremains on our hill. On the hill, there is a chair that Ghon's Dad would sit in to hunt. Ghon had told me there were times after his father died, that he would just sit there and talk to his Dad. His place to get some quiet family time. He'd often leave a shotgun shell there in honor of his Dad. Not far behind this chair, was one of Ghon's tree stands. The last bow deer season, he'd left his bow in the tree, and it stays there now. I decided, with Eric's agreement, that this was the place Ghon should be. On his birthday, we climbed the hill and I carried Ghon up. I carried Ghon up the hill that he often joking called the widow maker because it was so steep. The widow maker. Hmmph.
I won't go into a ton of details, but for a scattering, it went OK. The four of us took turns, the kids climbed the tree stand and we watched the sun start to set. In typical Ghon fashion though, he was stubborn til the end. Perhaps there was a moisture issue, perhaps it's because we held onto the scattering tube for nearly 18 months, but Ghon got a little stuck. Yep, stuck in the tube. Eric and I kinda looked at each other and had to employ a few methods to get him unstuck. Last resort - I actually had to beat the tube against a tree. Yep, nothing like a somber occasion of spreading cremains to bring you back to the reality of the deceased's dogged determination and sense of humor like banging him against a tree. Once things broke loose, we headed back down the hill for what the kids have decided will be the traditional December 7th dinner, fried chicken.
Back to today. I hadn't really intended on going for a walk up the hill, but that's where I found myself. Kids in tow, we climbed the hill, finding fallen trees from our recent wind storms. I tried to quiet the kids down so they could hear the woodpecker that I heard. As we climbed Genevieve started asking where Daddy's tree was. Although we spread Ghon around the tree, the chair is the marker, and this they knew to look for. As we crest the first part of the hill and walked along, they spotted the chair and ran ahead.
Now we've had a little snow and a lot of rain in the last four months. I myself was wondering if we would actually see anything - knowing that in at least one spot, there was a considerable amount of cremains left. Sure enough, it was Genevieve that exclaimed - "there's Daddy!" and pointed down. Of course, she was right.
We investigated the tree and the holes that I assume had been bore by woodpeckers. One was considerably large, almost big enough that Genevieve could get her head into it. Fascination wore off quickly, and they ran off to argue about taking turns in the tree stand.
Earlier in the day, while they were playing and I was doing my thing in the kitchen, I had a wave of sorrow wash over me. Here it was, Easter, and it was just me and the kids. Another holiday, just the three of us. This time, it wasn't just that it was the three of us without Ghon, I started to think about how little family we have and how little we see those we have. I thought about how I knew they were going to gripe and complain about dinner and I wasn't sure why I was even bothering. I love to cook, but hate making a "decent" meal to have them complain and have a million leftovers that they won't eat. I thought briefly about my family traditions for Easter and how the kids won't have the same memories, or even similar. It's not to say they will have bad memories, they just won't have family memories. I felt my eyes welling up with tears, and stopped myself. No. We'd had a great day, even if it was just the three of us. A good weekend even, even if it was me fussing around the house and them playing, we were all here together and just being relaxed before baseball season kicks in and we get super busy again. No, I was not going to cry, because my memories were mine and while I'd love for the kids to have something similar, they are not living my life. They will have good memories, just not like mine.
I climbed that hill in shorts too short for me to be 100% comfortable in public, and an old hoodie that was Ghon's and often stole from him because it was big and comfy and I didn't mind if it got dirty, unlike MY hoodies. In other words, I climbed the hill in inappropriate clothing. I stood there and stared at what's left of Ghon. I squatted down, and stared. I almost dared myself - took a knee, and picked up a piece of what I'm pretty damn sure is Ghon, held it, and cried. I cried for the kids not having their Dad. I cried knowing this is the only way I was going to touch him again and wondering if I would ever experience love again. I cried as I thought again about how little family we had and how many of our friends were spending the day with their families; extended families. I thought about the book I am reading and the idea of a spirit tree, and it made me cry. I cried knowing that Ghon came here to seek counsel with his deceased father, and here I was, seeking some unknown counsel with him. I cried, because I've shed a few tears here and there for other reasons, but it had been a while since I'd cried related to Ghon and my family.
Jonathan could see me, still on one knee in front of the tree, from his vantage point in the tree stand. He yelled at me "What are ya doing Mom? Praying or something?" Yes, praying or something is right. Something between the two or both. My crying was not a big messy, wailing from the top of the mountain. It was just enough to make my vision a little blurry and make me act like a total lady and wipe my running nose on the sleeve of my hoodie because I don't care if it gets dirty. And as I sit here, still wearing the hoodie and feeling the emotions again, wipe my nose again because I have to get the words out and don't want to go find and a tissue. Judge me. Call me gross. I don't care, I've been called worse. I have a washing machine.
As I knelt there, seeking guidance, I dropped Ghon from my hand and looked at the tree. This is now the family tree. Ghon came here to be with his Dad. I came to be with Ghon for a moment and the kids - they know the spot and suspect will do the same. We have a big family in some ways; yet so small in others. We'll seek refuge in a tree - and a tree stand.
Eventually I stand, knowing the timer is probably going off in the house and it's time to finish making a dinner the kids won't want to eat. We head down the hill, and Genevieve takes off ahead of Jonathan and I. As we are walking, I happen to look down and see the most beautiful feather I've ever seen here. Even Jonathan was impressed. I told him that sometimes, people believe that feathers are placed in our path as a gift or sign from a loved one that has died to let us know they are with us. He says like Daddy? Of course! He continues, and mentions his grandfather and grandmother. From there, he starts a conversation about how he only has one grandfather, and he's never known any other grandparents, and never had a grandmother.
How does this work? Is this not in someway exactly what I was fretting about earlier today? That my kids are growing up with out that family history? My Dad lives five minutes away and we don't see him much. Ghon's father and stepmom died while I was pregnant with Genevieve and Jonathan was 18months old. My kids do not know what it's like to be spoiled by a grandma, or two sets of grandparents. I grew up with just one grandmother, so I know it's not a horrible thing, but I too wondered what it would be like to have more grandparents. Of course they would too.
I don't say anything to Jonathan about it, but part of me immediately thought, well, maybe if Mom gets married again one day, you'll have a grandma. My mind jumped straight to what it would be like to be part of a big family. Wait, a big mostly happy family. But these are not promises I can make to my kids, nor to myself. I don't know what the future holds in that respect. But wouldn't it be nice to be part of a family again, instead of just a family tree in the woods?
I spoke briefly to a friend about this after dinner. Ya know, the dinner I was right about, where the kids, mainly Jonathan gagged over the idea of eating. Family is family no matter what. Some, I'd rather not interact with on the regular. Some, I wish I could see more of. And it's not that I'm far from home that keeps me from family. My immediate family is small. My extended family by marriage - the kids' family - is spread far and wide. It's not like going "home" will bring me closer to family. Home, my family, is here. Three we be, except when the Viking and his wife are able to come by (love you guys). We have friends that are more family that family and for them, I am grateful.
But back to that feather for a moment. I carry it back to the house, and per Jonathan's suggestion, try looking it up in one of our bird books we keep by the kitchen window. I have no clue what it is, so I send pics to our friend Laurie, because I know she will know, and she does. Go figure. It's a woodpecker. Now I can't say it's the one I heard, or the one that's been drilling in that family tree, but how coincidental? I decide to walk the hill. I walk up the hill to the sound of a woodpecker. We see the evidence of a woodpecker going to town on that tree. I find a feather on my way down - which is the same way we went up - from a woodpecker that I've never seen before on the property.
Feathers apparently have a few meanings, and once again, I'm thankful for Laurie sharing a link with me that had a few symbolic meanings such as: freedom, inspiration, giving thanks and appreciation, and fertility.
The same page offers the following:
Possible Meanings Of Finding Feathers
- Get Grateful. Feathers are a reminder to count our blessings and be thankful for the good stuff going on in our lives.
- Get High. No, not like that. Feathers are a symbol of levity. When seen, they remind us ease up on all the seriousness. Take a breath, relax, enjoy.
- Get Listening. If feathers really are a communication tool to and from the gods, then their appearance is a reminder to listen to the bigger voice - as in a higher power.
- Get Love. Feathers often show up when there is someone or something that wants to reach out to us. Sometimes this might be a loved one who has passed into non-physical. A feather is a reminder you are loved by infinite people (both here on earth and otherwise).
Oh, I'm grateful alright. I start each morning with thanks and gratitude.
Oh, I try to relax. Like this weekend. Or those pics with the kids. Forget asking them to smile. Just act goofy with them - that gets the best and most real pictures.
Listening - I've been asking a lot of questions lately. I'm trying; I'm trying real hard to listen.
Love - yea. I've been reminded a lot recently of how many people love me, love me and the kids. I continue to remind the kids how important it is to love and how I love them. I've joked recently how I love me some me - someone has to! And a few of the 'lot of questions' might be related to love. Maybe I should go back to listening.
It's late. I still haven't wrote anything for my paper. But because I love me and know I have to relax, I'll be going to bed soon and will reflect not on the moments of tears today, but on all the good things today. The things that went well. The happiness in my kids eyes, the laughter in their voice, their ability to argue and make up. The freaking sugar high they had. That we woke up, we rejoiced in the resurrection of our Lord, and spent time together. That we shared, that we loved, and that we will continue to give out the love we have to give. That we can visit the tree, and that it doesn't have to always bring sorrow, for we can be grateful for what we've had, hopeful for what's to come, and for the beauty of a feather - even if it's just a feather.
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