In less than three weeks Don and I will be boarding a plane for The Netherlands, the first in a series of three month stints in locales far away. We’ll be gone for a year – the gift of a 12 month sabbatical from my work place. I will work on a research project and Don will blow where the wind pleases along side me on an unpaid leave of absence from teaching.
We have rented our house to a family from Paris. Three young children and their parents will be moving and calling this place home. Today, I asked Don to give me time alone in the house to pack what remains of Heiko’s physical presence from the four and half years he lived here with us. I want to spend the day with Heiko, and Don, bless him, understands.
Yesterday in an email to a friend I wrote: “I will have to pack up Heiko’s toys and clothes very soon. A small selection are in the closet of his room. We can’t leave them in the house for the year. I have an antique chest that I will lovingly fill to store at my mother’s- but it will be a hard day. I will treat it as a special day and make sure to take good care of myself. I know I will feel very close to him which is what I long for but is also what causes enormous pain and suffering. I choose my moments to feel the enormity of the loss very carefully – with lots of room to feel everything and then to slowly and deliberately set it aside to continue the work of living.”
Now in the aftermath of the day I feel like I have just run a marathon, climbed Mt. Everest, pushed through my greatest fear.
I started by assembling the trunk, opening the closet (a feat unto itself), pulling out his drawings and his lock of hair. Then I gathered the tissue paper, the special boxes and cloth bags that I might put things in.
After this I light the candles and put rose oil, the heart healer, in the aromatherapy dispenser. I sat and in a way that is now familiar, I stopped the thoughts, listened keenly and leaned into the void. If I am patient enough, disciplined enough, loose enough, I can always find comfort there and today was no different.
Then when the time was right I got up and began the work of choosing what to keep and what to give away. With every stuffed animal, toy car and playmobil set that I touched my heart burst open. Tears, tears and more tears. So many tears.
I prepared most of his toys for giving away. But I kept his bunny suit, the moulds of his hands made shortly after he died, some clothes (his pjs!), his shoes, his baby slippers, his drawings, and the other treasures of his life with us. I chose objects and toys that were evocative of who he was and what he went through. I kept his leg casts that allowed him to walk again. I kept the toy crown that he wore – our own prince of peace.
I feel like by packing Heiko’s things with such love I have braved a new frontier of leaving the scene of his death, the mound of his grave, to dare to walk forward with his soul. And when I think of the trunk I will remember the beauty there and the love with which I chose the pieces to keep.
Now I am exhausted. It was a threshold experience.
Somehow I feel like I have exhaled and have released something large and heavy from inside me.
Drop by drop the healing continues….
My heart is full of GRATITUDE for the love of Heiko and for the infinite mystery that holds all of us so close.
Gabrielle
p.s. If anyone reading this knows a good place for Heiko’s toys (so many beautiful stuffed animals, high quality dinosaurs and other plastic animals, costumes, books, etc.) and wouldn’t mind coming to get them. I would be deeply appreciative. Of course, if anyone wants something for themselves or their child(ren) they are more than welcome to take something. It would feel good to know others have a piece of his memory.
Sweet Impossible Blossom 