mysteryoriley

So much could be said about this journey.  So much has been said.  So much has yet to be uttered.

Tonight, in doing my laundry, I lost one of my last tangible gifts from Owen – a butterfly pin he and Lea gave me on my 52nd birthday – the last birthday I spent with him.  I left the pin attached to a sweater I wore a few days ago, that I washed tonight in preparation for a business trip to New York this coming Saturday.  When retrieving the sweater from the dryer, I lifted one wing, then another out of the cylinder drum.  I searched the floor for the other two wings, and as grace would have it, found them.  I now have four pieces of metal, that used to signify, when in a single piece of art, my own transformation, predicted by my son, my family.  I was destroyed, at first.

I had to let go of my attachment to sacred “things” tonight.  This took some time, you understand.  Things do not make my life whole.  People do.  My relationship to the earth, and all that that entails makes my life whole.  I could get micro here…dirt, creepy crawlers, and the fishes that swim in the sea.  Not to mention the one-legged plants, the four-legged animals, and those entities I cannot see.

I was fortunate to spend time with Nat this evening.  Just seeing his face was enough.  But, in hugging him, I was reminded, yet again, that what makes my life whole is my relationships with my family and friends.  He is my family and my friend.  He is the beauty in any given day.

Sacred objects are just that – objects.  They signify memories, wants, desires, prayers, omens.  Yet, they are not the invisible convergence with souls, nor spirit.  They are reminders.  Reminders are fleeting, yet poignant.

The butterfly is my reminder of transformation, freedom, and courage.  What is the butterfly for you?

I had a beautiful night with classmates recently in the woods just south of my home.  I invited them to use their bodies as drums, to beat their hands on their legs, their arms, their chests, in communion with music.  I remember teaching Owen how to pat his hands on his legs, on the table, on the door handles of the car, to always be with the music.  I thought it would save us all.  It saves me still.  This was the music from a few nights ago…

Posted in animals, art, beauty, brothers, child loss, children, dance, death, family, friends, grief, missing persons, mothering, music, mystery, plants
Tags: David Tegnell, Emmitt Owen Riley, Lea Kelley, Linda Siniard, Nat Riley, Owen Riley

I wish I had a new River to address.   With so many on the Planet, where is my next connection to water flowing to the sea?  I don’t know, but I’m willing to search and find it – a river that does not find my son’s body floating dead in the murky waters.  Before Owen passed, I had always thought of rivers as symbols of my life path, and those of my loved ones – nothing sticks forever, but everything makes an impact in the moment.  One of Owen’s old friends, Jordan, is staying with us lately.  His username is River.  He is precious, kind, and generous.  Just like the rivers of my pre-Owen-died world.

Song for the night:  Joni Mitchell, River (Owen never asked me to change the channel when Joni was playing.  He knew how much her music meant to my path…and his.  Songs of “joy and peace”.)

Posted in beauty, brothers, child loss, children, dance, death, dreams, family, grief, holidays, learning, missing persons, mothering, music, mystery, parenting
Tags: child loss, death, Emmitt Owen Riley, grief, Joni Mitchell, Linda Siniard, music, Nat Riley, Owen Riley, River

Today is Halloween, a celebration filled with memories from my own childhood and those of my children.  Owen spelled this day HallOWEeN, and it was his favorite holiday.  I prepared a cleansing ceremony for today.

Our house was full of family and pumpkins last night, all of us gathering to carve our jack’o’lanterns for tonight – 14 of us - Nat, Anna, and Ruby, plus Dave’s girls, husbands, and kids  - wielding knives and scooping spoons, careful to keep the little ones entertained just outside our work spaces.  Jordan, an old friend of Owen, is staying with us for a while, and he joined in the fun, surprised that he could feel so comfortable in a room full of people he’s only met on occasion, some not at all.  As happens, the memories washed over me throughout the night.  I couldn’t help but miss the old days, noticing how much energy I expend creating new memories.

Jordan finished his pumpkin this afternoon and Dave carved two more.  I was outside doing some yard work when I heard “Mad World” on the piano, the theme song from the movie, “Donnie Darko” – Owen’s favorite movie.  Jordan was picking through the tune like someone just learning a new piece.  I had a hard time staying in my body, thinking about the synchronicity while remembering.  I asked Jordan later, and he had never played the song before, just thought about it and decided to give it a try.

My senses were on overload today – in and out of tastes and smells of pumpkin bread, drawn in to the light of candles, and listening to music that makes my heart ache and my face smile.  My mind’s eye was full of pictures from the past, things we said and did, things I had wished would come to pass.

Last summer, I picked juniper and sage in a New Mexico forest where no tree stood taller than about ten feet.  We gave offerings to the trees and bushes before clipping small bunches for use in ceremony.  Our ceremonies, although reminiscent of many Native American rituals, became unique to our group.  Since then (this trip was the end of a weekly gathering that lasted for over two years), my ceremonies have taken on their own feel, rituals, and intentions. When I took my herb pouches out to begin my ceremony, my mind became still and I no longer felt overwhelmed.

I first sprinkled blue cornmeal in the pumpkins on the front porch.  I lit a fire in the living room, along with twenty candles.  I sat on the floor in front of the hearth, sniffed the sage and juniper, and sprinkled the dried plant pieces over the open flames of the fireplace.  My hands brought the smoke over me and through me, and my spirit lifted.  My intention was one of letting go of grief, while retaining the sweetness that was Owen in this life.  Once I felt myself truly feeling the ground beneath me and my connection to Mother Earth, I left my spot and went upstairs where a braid of sweetgrass sits on my dresser.  I lit the braid and smudged my bedroom where I have a few of my favorite photos of my boys.  I then walked across the hall to our office, where many of Owen’s possessions lie in rest – no sounds from the guitar strings, no pen scratching across the pages of his journals, no singing, no yawning, no footsteps on the stairs, no hair twisting between his fingers.  One of his mantras was “positive vibrations” and I sat with him in that room, lighting and relighting the sweetgrass with my shaking fingers, until my tears could no longer contain his wishes for us.

The trick-or-treaters have all come and gone – the princes and princesses, the ghouls and goblins, the astronauts and aliens, the bees and the butterflies.  It’s time now to light the twenty-first candle, the candle that signifies what is to become.  My house has been cleansed and my heart is full of positive vibrations.  Happy Halloween!

Posted in beauty, brothers, child loss, children, death, family, food, friends, grief, Halloween, holidays, learning, Life, missing persons, mothering, music, mystery
Tags: child loss, Emmitt Owen Riley, family, friends, grief, Halloween, holidays, Linda Siniard, missing persons, Nat Riley, Owen Riley, pumpkins

Nat and Anna got married recently – March 17, 2010, St. Patrick’s Day.  We had a glorious day, filled with sweet memories and new tomorrows.  Friends and family gathered together to celebrate love.  Can any of us serve a better intention?

NAT, ANNA, RUBY - THE DANCE BEGINS

Bittersweet, the word that kept coming up for me and others, is so very limited in its expression of how we put together our thoughts and feelings that day.  Yet, that word, that sentiment, truly fit the occasion.  Like dark chocolate, you know…it’s best served with Irish Breakfast tea and a spot of honey,  in my opinion.  The wedding was best served with love, laughter, embraces, dedication, tears of joy, and a pint or two.

Nat and Anna’s ceremony was narrated by the telling of their love story, a beautiful one, indeed.  From their childhood memories – together and apart, to mature longing for lasting kinship, to Owen’s passing and beyond, their story is all of our stories. Love abounds, children are born, games are played, mysteries unfold, loss becomes part of life, and love carries on.

Owen’s words were included as part of the testimony, “This kind of love only comes around once in a lifetime, Nat.  Fly your freak flag high.”  He was referring to Nat’s concerns about being in love with a girl they’d both known since childhood, and the close family relationships they all shared.  Nat remembered this conversation as the turning point in his contemplations about pursuing the woman of his dreams, with all the known and unknown hardships, all the known and unknown joys.  Nat has certainly, flown his freak flag high.  He won the girl, became the father of the child, and lives to honor the hardships, the joys, and every moment in between.  He is the boy who became the man, and I’m proud to be his mother.  I’m proud to know my sons supported each other’s dreams.  I’m proud to be the mother of these two brothers.  I’m privileged to be a part of Anna’s and Ruby’s family.

Ruby danced in a world of change that Wednesday afternoon, and thankfully, was held in the arms of a loving family and the coming Spring.  Her face was full of wonder, her eyes set on her parents’ hearts, and her hopes cast to the new dawn.

Song for the night:  Carry On, Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young (“…rejoice, rejoice, we have no choice, but to carry on…”)

Posted in beauty, brothers, child loss, children, dance, death, dreams, family, friends, grief, learning, Life, missing persons, mothering, music, mystery, parenting
Tags: beauty, brothers, child loss, children, Emmitt Owen Riley, family, friends, grief, hope, Lea Kelley, Linda Siniard, love, memories, Michael Nathan Riley, missing persons, music, mysterious deaths, mystery, Nat Riley, Owen Riley, weddings

These are the harvest days here in North America.  The vineyards are turning colors, and I drive more slowly on my way to work as I observe the changing landscape.  We live in Sonoma County, California, and vineyards are plentiful.  My drive to work, to the local grocery store, to run errands, to drive for the sake of driving, is a time of contemplation.  I am thankful on these wanderings through the geography that is so familiar to me, to my family.

Yesterday was Halloween here in the U.S.  I ate little, went to work on a Saturday (because I needed to finish up some things of a timely nature), and thought of Nat and Owen throughout the day.  I thought of them in their younger years, I thought of Nat in the present (he spent his day painting the halls of the building in which I work), and I thought of Owen in memories, recognizing that there is a part of him that will always be Here with us.  I didn’t cry until I talked with Lea, and said, “Happy Halloween”.  Those words alone will take me to the place I miss Owen on Halloween, relegate me to the loss, diminish my resolve.  Too, those words, will make me smile and remember the frantic hours of costumes and excitement before the evening comes on October 31.  Near day’s end, I ate candy.  Harvest, of a personal kind.

I also thought of nature.  Just that.  What of the trees, the grasses, the insects, the birds, the small critters that lay wasted in the road –  victims to the overwhelming girth of oncoming vehicles, what of the rocks and dirt, what of the sky, the clouds, the sun, the moon, the stars?  I acknowledge them all.  I talk with them as though they know me, can hear my fare-thee-wells on my long and short drives through the countryside, my thank you’s for remaining visible, the urban mundanities of my days and nights.  To know them is to love them in their own experience of this particular physical reality.  Or, so I think when I’m alone, but not so all-alone, as I am among them. 

Sometimes I read about the historical events from different cultures surrounding this time of year, the holidays and celebrations that honor harvest, that honor the dead.  I find it uniquely odd that many cultures both honor sustainability and death in the same season.  Maybe that makes the most sense, the two extremes.  I’m not a very good student of history, it simply wouldn’t support my idea that time as we think of it, is more unknowable than real.  But, I do honor the harvest.  I do honor the dead.  I do acknowledge joy in times of abundance.  I do acknowledge a conscious realm outside of this physical one.

Ruby portrayed the “Queen of All Bad Witches” last night for her Halloween costume.  I was so happy that she could feel the hugeness of being a queen, and that she chose to be the queen of something that does not cause her fear – a witch.  She’s 6, so I’m not likely to delve into her choice of costumes as an investigation of whys and wherefores.  She has an imagination that takes her to places only she can know.  She’s an innocent, and she cackled like an old woman within a child’s sense of mystery throughout the event.  She took to the streets, parents in tow, and trick-or-treated as only a child can.  Complete abandon – joy in time and space – the mask of adventure, of imagination, on her face, in her heart, and in her soul.

I felt physically ill most of yesterday, recognizing that my own interpretation of reality, my own idea of consciousness, felt bereft.  I ate dinner with Dave late in the evening, and my sense of loss was relieved for a while.  I did not sleep well, I rarely do.  When I finally drifted off, I slept like a rock, and upon waking, knew that rocks want for rest, too.  

Some of us honor saints, known and unknown.  Some of us honor souls, here in our presence and outside of our knowing.  Some of us honor those things that we believe can sustain us in the here and now.  And, some of us honor…the unknowable.  I honor them all.  I honor you in your beliefs.

Owen loved cartoons.  He loved fantasy.  He loved those of us who do not fear our futures, our lives, our deaths.

Song for the night:  This is Halloween, Nightmare Before Christmas (I can’t watch this movie without smiling, laughing, at the old days…Owen loved this movie, this fantasy.  Ruby watches this movie now, heir to Nat’s and Owen’s love of fantasy.  Thank you, Anna, for recognizing Ruby’s love for the fantastical. )

Posted in animals, art, beauty, brothers, cars, child loss, children, death, dreams, family, food, forgiveness, friends, grief, Halloween, holidays, learning, Life, missing persons, mothering, music, mystery, parenting, plants, sleep, work, writing
Tags: celebrations, child loss, David Tegnell, death, Emmitt Owen Riley, family, friends, grief, Halloween, harvest, Linda Siniard, Nat Riley, Owen Riley

Tough days, nights, and moments in between.  Friends and family are considering their options in the world of unemployment – too educated to work the carts at the local grocery story, too old to build houses, too sensitive to traverse the politics of corporate America – but they probably would, if prospective employers would give their resumes a second glance.  Oh, and too smart, too confident, too healthy to give up.  Ah, well, what would it cost to give up?

I’m employed, have a “good job”, and a fairly solid lifestyle – for the moment, anyway.  I don’t rely on today’s circumstances to help me feel confident about tomorrow’s unpredictabilities.  I’m not good at planning anymore.  Planning didn’t allow me to “allow’ for the unexpected, so I’m forever given over to surprises – good or bad.  I’m thankful that I know what I know, and constantly aware that I simply can’t know what I don’t know.  Helps me through the night sometimes.  

I hope my loved ones can stay the course, come out the other side, and say only this:  Whew, time after time, I hope for the best, and when I’m uncertain, I can take a WALK outside.  Neither nature, nor my memories will fail me.

Song for the night:  Walking in Memphis, Bruce Springstein  (Memphis may not be your town (nor is it mine), but walking down your streets might be a good idea – memory lane, vision quests of the urban kind, whatever, WALK, ya know?  Owen was neither a Springstein fan, nor a resident of Memphis, but he was…a walking man.)

Posted in beauty, brothers, child loss, children, death, family, friends, grief, learning, Life, missing persons, mothering, music, mystery, parenting, sleep, work, writing
Tags: child loss, David Tegnell, Emmitt Owen Riley, Lea Kelley, Linda Siniard, missing persons, Nat Riley, Owen Riley, Springstein, walking

So, I had this plan about maintaining this blog in the months/years to come.  It was simple and routine.  Ha!  What was I thinking?  Nothing about our lives with Owen was simple or routine.

I had planned on posting only on those important days – Owen’s birthday, Halloween, Thanksgiving (maybe), Christmas (maybe), New Year’s Day (maybe), and in the months of May and June, anytime his spirit moved me.  Here it is, October 6, and I can’t hold back.  Just a note to say this…

It’s the autumn wind that makes me smile today.  In years gone by, this was the time of year when our family made plans for Halloween and the coming months of winter festivities and less light, except for the light we created in our home, and there was plenty, you know?  

Today, as I walked from one of the buildings to the next at my job, I noticed the air – the feel, the smell, the low, autumn light.  I walked outside in the comfort of my senses (they rarely fail me), and I was grateful.  I did what I do when I’m grateful – I smiled…a big, teeth-filled smile, and wondered if, indeed, I looked like a Jack-O-Lantern of days gone by.  I was certain I did, and it made me smile bigger, made me chuckle to myself.  I thought my lips might stick to my gums if I didn’t consciously close my mouth and start over.  So, I did.  I talked with Owen on my short walk, remembering what it was like to prepare for costumes and trick-or-treating.  I remembered when Nat and he would change their minds over and over about what character they might portray on Halloween.  Sweet times.

Lea and I took a short trip to New Mexico this summer (one of three trips during the summer months for me).  This photo was taken on a windy evening at sunset, a few miles south of Santa Fe.  I smiled then, too.  The wind in my face…Owen was with me, and it made me smile.

I probably posted this song at some time in the past, but the lyrics say what I need to say tonight.  I feel Owen in the wind.  Owen.  Oh-When.  Oh-Wind.  (“don’t hang on, nothing lasts forever but the Earth and Sky” and this slide:  peace, love & respect…WORD – I hear you, Buddy…and your message lives on.)  When I’m the most anxious, feeling the most grief, I long for the wind, and it greets me like a newborn.  Sweet times.

Dust in the Wind, Kansas

Posted in child loss
Tags: brothers, child loss, David Tegnell, Dust in the Wind, Emmitt Owen Riley, grieving, Halloween, holidays, Kansas, Linda Siniard, missing persons, music, Nat Riley, Owen Riley, parenting, wind

Today is Owen’s birthday.  He would have been 23.  Now, he is timeless.

Owen as art, 2005

Photo by Carla, thank you, my sweet friend.  This is one of my favorite photos of him, from a period in his late teens when he painted his face, his canvas.

I talked with Carla today as I was looking for a rose bush in a local nursery.  Owen and I used to go to King’s Nursery when he was a kid.  He always liked shopping for plants, playing in the dirt, picking out the spots for his plants, and watching them grow.  Tonight, when Dave got off work, he planted the white rose plant named “Honor” in our backyard. 

On Owen’s 14th birthday, I took him to a driving range (golf) in San Diego, where we were living at the time.  While he hit a bucket of balls into the distance, I sat watching him from the car.  I wrote in my journal about who he was at the time.  That journal is in one of my boxes of binders, having never been committed to the computer, so I can’t quote any of it now.  What I recall is this.  I was trying to describe him as living somewhere between reality and art, and in that invisible space where the two meet.

I spent most of today alone, up early watching the Food Network, dozing in and out of reality, and hoping to find something beautiful in my day – in the way of a survivor, the lucky ones, anyway.  A little over a month ago, Nat hung different paintings in our dining room.  They are Lea’s paintings, and we had just shipped those that were previously hanging there to Lea for an exhibit that began in May.  I found something beautiful today, the rose bush, and tonight when I walked from the living room to the kitchen, I paused in the dining room to say, “Hey, Beautiful” to the painting titled, “88 Days on Mercury”.  I was blessed twice.  This painting has special meaning to my family, as it is the piece Lea painted after a conversation between Karma, Lea, and myself – seemingly so long ago now.  In all of this, I realized, I was not alone.

88 Days on Mercury

It’s late, and I still have the makings of nachos waiting for me on the kitchen counter.  My birthday ritual for Owen is a dinner of nachos, a Coke, planting something in Owen’s honor, and my ever-present search for beauty.  Thank you, Lea, for your gift of this painting.

Nat, Anna, and Ruby are camping this weekend on the coast.  I missed them today, and I’m so happy they’re getting on with life.  I heard from Laura, Nat and Owen’s cousin, the one that reminds me so much of Owen – the commonalities, their faces, the way they move through the world – music, art, walking, writing, an attentiveness to things none of the rest of us see the same way.  Thanks, Lo, for emailing me.  Lea called me this afternoon when she was sitting outside Woods Coffee, doing the crossword, camera on the table but no energy to take photos.  She said all she wanted to say was, “Happy Birthday, Owen.”  Thanks, Lea.  It’s what I wanted to say, too.

Today, I heard from family and friends, I found a plant, I found art, I found beauty, I found music, I found nachos – and in those things…I found Owen again.

Susannah, mother of her recently deceased son, Jim, sent me this song today.  He was 22, a creative, sensitive young man with eyes that looked out onto eternity.  She found us here in May.  Thank you, Susannah.  I’ll think of Jim tonight when I light a candle for Owen.

Song for the night:  Keep Me in Your Heart, Warren Zevon (You’ll always be in my heart and in my head, Owen Riley)

watch?v=ECa_tzoUeIQ&feature=related

Posted in art, beauty, bicycles, blogging, brothers, cars, child loss, children, dance, death, dreams, family, forgiveness, friends, grief, learning, Life, literature, mothering, music, mystery, parenting, pets, plants, work, writing
Tags: birthdays, child loss, David Tegnell, Emmitt Owen Riley, grief, June 13, Keep Me in Your Heart, Lea Kelley, Linda Siniard, missing persons, Nat Riley, Owen Riley, Warren Zevon

Two years ago tonight, Owen had what he called “the best night of my adult life”.  I wonder, how could he spend the best night of his life with friends in our home, and go missing within 48 hours?  Simple.  Because nothing is certain in this life.  The best of times, the worst of times…I hold onto the times in between.  But, for tonight, I’m committed to the past, and ultimately, to the future…

Dave and I are on vacation from work as of today at 5:30 p.m.  It doesn’t feel much like a vacation to me.  What I feel tonight is so far from “vacation” it’s almost an adventure into the forever-unknown…again.  That’s how I feel about life in general…all of it is unknown until it’s been experienced.  And, oh, there’s that part about “if you live it and no one knows, did it really happen?” (if a tree falls in the woods…).  One thing IS certain, Owen experienced his last days, people know, they were there, and they are still not sharing.  I won’t be able to live these memories without wondering how different things might be if those individuals did that thing they still cannot do – tell us what happened.  So I, we, live in the forever-unknown.  But, someday, someone will crack…someone will realize they have an obligation to LIFE, to share What Happened to Owen Riley.

Of course, almost every song on the radio tonight is a reminder that Owen’s life was something precious, something we hold onto, something we can’t imagine living without (but do), something we take into the future.  Pink Floyd (Consciously Numb), Lynard Skynard (Sweet Home Alabama), ELO, Paul Simon, Jimi Hendrix, The Doors, Poison, Rolling Stones, Nirvana, Marcy Playground, Creedence Clearwater Revival, The Beatles (Revolution – we all want to change the world!…freakin’yeah! – ha!), REO (it’s the end of the world as we know it)…I can’t recall everything we’ve heard tonight because Nat, Dave, and I are here on the patio, talking, remembering, crying, remembering, crying…on and on….

The night is young, but I am not.  I’m waiting to see the 4th star of the Big Dipper, then I’m off to bed.  My eyes have to work hard to see that dim star in the sky, the one that holds the ladle to the handle, the 4th star, the glue, Owen’s star, the dim, but integral star.  Oh, hey, the next song is:  ”You Really Got Me” by the Kinks.  And, by the way, I’m okay with that.  LIFE, ya really got me!

I’ve made it my life’s mission to live, love, and laugh, since you left us, Owen.  Really?  Weren’t you just here with me, saying, “Goodnight, Mumma, I love you.”  Two years ago, a lifetime.  So many have left us, so many are in our hearts.  I love you, Bubba.  Nat is here with me.   He keeps saying, “I know.  I know.”   He loves you still, always will, ya know?

Song for the night:

Song after THE SONG:

If you’ve actually scrolled down here, you might want to look at: Eye in the Sky, Alan Parsons Project (I can read your mind…looking at you, I can read your mind…):

Posted in astronomy, beauty, brothers, child loss, children, death, family, friends, grief, learning, Life, missing persons, mothering, music, mystery, parenting, sleep, writing
Tags: Alan Parsons Project, Big Dipper, child loss, David Tegnell, death, Emmitt Owen Riley, grief, Linda Siniard, missing children, missing persons, music, Nat Riley, The Kinks