Encounters
You’ve been coming to me during my meditations. I haven’t meditated since you died, unable to even contemplate such a thing. But this week, it felt right to try it again, and I dropped into that space.
I wish I had better words for what happened during the first meditation I did. It was - transcendent. I felt your presence as though you were channeling energy to me from the other side. I kept trying to recenter and focus on my breath, but I couldn’t deny that something outside of me was happening. I could feel you as you are now, in all of your expansiveness and love and oneness with all things. It was extraordinary and beautiful and powerful. I know it was your soul, connecting with mine. It was you, sending me your energy from the place you are now, bringing me peace and filling me with love.
And then a few days later, another meditation, and in this one we appeared together, snuggling against the ground next to each other, watching the northern lights appear and disappear against an inky black sky. We didn’t say a word; we didn’t need to. It was a moment of awe and togetherness as our gazes shifted between the sky and each other, dark trees towering above us. It was so real and so true that my tears could not stop falling.
I keep a journal where I write letters to you each day. The day after the meditation where we met under the sky, I told you that I knew it was you, that it was real. I promised you that I would keep watching for signs, and I asked you to keep connecting with me from the other side. I put away my journal and immediately got into the car to pick up my son from school.
I turned on the radio in the car, and what did I hear? Adele singing, “Hello from the other side. . .” Ha! My heart jumped. I gasped and laughed and cried. That was immediately followed by “End of the Road” by Boys II Men - a song that normally wouldn’t mean much to me except that I’d just been rereading text messages where we’d been jokingly talking about that song. More laughter. More tears.
I mean, honestly. That sort of cheeky thing is exactly the sort of thing you would do.
Sometimes the skeptical part of me comes in and says things like, “Seriously, Jenn? Are you sure?” But the answer feels clear to me: YES, I am sure. I know it like I know that the sun is warm. Some things are known only because they are felt, and that’s more than enough proof for me.
I feel things shifting. Even with all of its grief and sorrow, my heart feels bigger and softer somehow. I’m so much more present to the pain in the world. My fierce compassion has been reignited and expanded. I can feel its transformative power.
I think about your birthday in July, and I feel peace thinking about all the plans I have for continuing to make your love visible in this world. All the little acts of kindness we will do in your name. The trees and flowers that we will plant. The rescue animals we will help. The cake we will make to celebrate you. The tattoo I will get.
And then there are the other moments of peace, of grace: Like when I read through text messages we sent each other and realize how incredibly lucky we were. Some people don’t find a soulmate until later in life, if they are lucky enough to find one at all. I found one of mine when I was two years old. And you? You were never in this world without me, not for one single breath.
You gifted me so many things that bring me comfort now, as though you knew I would need them: the hot water bottle you gave me that I fill and snuggle with every night, the photo blanket covered in pictures of us together, the little felt hearts saying things like “I love you” and “You’ve got this,” the playlists full of comforting and life-giving music, the funny memes. The art you left behind, including the heart-melting sketch that you drew of us as babies. You copied it from a photograph that was taken the day you came home as a newborn; we’re lying next to each other on a blanket, bellies down, inches away from each other’s faces. Always enamored with each other.
In our last text exchange, we’d been talking about how fast my kids are growing. We had no idea that you were going to die just hours later. The last thing you said in that conversation, which was the very last text that you sent to me, was “Seester, enjoy what you can, while you can.” How did you know that those would be the words I keep needing to hear? Oh, all the beautiful ways that you continue to love me.
I wish I had better words for what happened during the first meditation I did. It was - transcendent. I felt your presence as though you were channeling energy to me from the other side. I kept trying to recenter and focus on my breath, but I couldn’t deny that something outside of me was happening. I could feel you as you are now, in all of your expansiveness and love and oneness with all things. It was extraordinary and beautiful and powerful. I know it was your soul, connecting with mine. It was you, sending me your energy from the place you are now, bringing me peace and filling me with love.
And then a few days later, another meditation, and in this one we appeared together, snuggling against the ground next to each other, watching the northern lights appear and disappear against an inky black sky. We didn’t say a word; we didn’t need to. It was a moment of awe and togetherness as our gazes shifted between the sky and each other, dark trees towering above us. It was so real and so true that my tears could not stop falling.
I keep a journal where I write letters to you each day. The day after the meditation where we met under the sky, I told you that I knew it was you, that it was real. I promised you that I would keep watching for signs, and I asked you to keep connecting with me from the other side. I put away my journal and immediately got into the car to pick up my son from school.
I turned on the radio in the car, and what did I hear? Adele singing, “Hello from the other side. . .” Ha! My heart jumped. I gasped and laughed and cried. That was immediately followed by “End of the Road” by Boys II Men - a song that normally wouldn’t mean much to me except that I’d just been rereading text messages where we’d been jokingly talking about that song. More laughter. More tears.
I mean, honestly. That sort of cheeky thing is exactly the sort of thing you would do.
Sometimes the skeptical part of me comes in and says things like, “Seriously, Jenn? Are you sure?” But the answer feels clear to me: YES, I am sure. I know it like I know that the sun is warm. Some things are known only because they are felt, and that’s more than enough proof for me.
I feel things shifting. Even with all of its grief and sorrow, my heart feels bigger and softer somehow. I’m so much more present to the pain in the world. My fierce compassion has been reignited and expanded. I can feel its transformative power.
I think about your birthday in July, and I feel peace thinking about all the plans I have for continuing to make your love visible in this world. All the little acts of kindness we will do in your name. The trees and flowers that we will plant. The rescue animals we will help. The cake we will make to celebrate you. The tattoo I will get.
And then there are the other moments of peace, of grace: Like when I read through text messages we sent each other and realize how incredibly lucky we were. Some people don’t find a soulmate until later in life, if they are lucky enough to find one at all. I found one of mine when I was two years old. And you? You were never in this world without me, not for one single breath.
You gifted me so many things that bring me comfort now, as though you knew I would need them: the hot water bottle you gave me that I fill and snuggle with every night, the photo blanket covered in pictures of us together, the little felt hearts saying things like “I love you” and “You’ve got this,” the playlists full of comforting and life-giving music, the funny memes. The art you left behind, including the heart-melting sketch that you drew of us as babies. You copied it from a photograph that was taken the day you came home as a newborn; we’re lying next to each other on a blanket, bellies down, inches away from each other’s faces. Always enamored with each other.
In our last text exchange, we’d been talking about how fast my kids are growing. We had no idea that you were going to die just hours later. The last thing you said in that conversation, which was the very last text that you sent to me, was “Seester, enjoy what you can, while you can.” How did you know that those would be the words I keep needing to hear? Oh, all the beautiful ways that you continue to love me.