misplaced mama

"Mama, why are you crying"

I take her naked body in close and whiff a bit of her stinky head of hair, matted and wild.

"Remember the twins I told you about?  The babies that came out of their mama’s belly very early? Well, Liam,"  I point to his picture on what seems to be this totally impersonal screen but in reality turns out to be an energetic network of support and love and friendship and knowledge in this big small world of ours.   "Liam, right here, this sweet little baby boy went back to the Source this morning.  He was not ready to live on Mama Earth just yet."

"He died."

"Yes, baby he died.  But I am not crying for him.  He is happy.  So happy and at peace and living in light.  I am crying for his mama and dada, because I know they will miss him so.  It’s not sad to die, it’s sad for the people who love and will miss him."

"Okay, mama."

Later that day I pull up the screen of a mother’s words who just lost her son so I can them to read to my husband.   Every other day he asks about the twins and how they are doing. As Bill reads, Mia crawls back on my lap and looks me in the eyes.

"Baby Liam is happy now because he does not have to have those wires on his mouth, mama. He didn’t like those. He lives with the sky and father sun.  He is laughing.  But his mama misses him.  Yeah, he’s happy."  She climbs down and practiced skipping down the hallway singing, "He’s happy, happy, happy.  He’s happy."

And like birth, death is the exhale at the end of the inhale and the inhale at the end of the exhale and the space where we just float in between.  

Little Liam Stewart I am assuming that you know all this because now you are all-knowing, but let me say that you have taught me so much in your just- over- a -month time here on Earth.  I have never met you, but you spoke through your mother, in ways more poetic then the ocean or the peaks of the most impressive mounts.  You spoke through your mother like a voice withing a wise cocoon, and you shared with me how to let go and metemorphose, crawl out of my scared skin and face the fears that loom at the heart of every mother, parent: loss.   Your mother’s courage and wisdoms and peace and eloquence stiched every inch of my life every day that she wrote of your journey, and I through it I found a bit of hope in the center of moments that passed by me with difficulty and pain.  I am a better person because you were born, too early for this Earth perhaps, but your soul is old, magic and wise like an owl,  and your presence is evermore. Your presence is evermore.  Always.

Fly high, Liam.  Shine on us all.  We love and need your guidance here. 

Peace.

Peace.

Peace.