mysteryoriley

Favorite songs, there are so many.  Favorite words, that list is so long, I’ll have to post them over years.  Perhaps, by the end of this post, I’ll share some of Owen’s favorite words. 

I never know when my fingers first touch the keys, what words, what songs, will appear in the final communication.  These are raw thoughts, and therefore, unedited, for the most part.  Sometimes, my sleep is so disturbed, that I log on first thing in the morning, and find out why.  Usually, it turns out, I’ve written something that is not for the general public, nor even our close circle at this early stage of our new lives.  With the change of a word or two, I can commit to the day.  Editing, in short form.

For tonight, though, I’m thinking of Blackbird by the Beatles.  Several reasons.  First, because Owen loved the song.  Second, because it has always been a favorite of Emmitt’s (my brother, Nat and Owen’s uncle), and mine.  And, third, because just a few moments ago, when I sat down to write, I brought up our collective playlists, and clicked on one I thought would help me get through this post.  Not so strangely, as we’re beginning to accept, the playlist I clicked on, did not begin to play.  The one that starts with Blackbird did.  One of Owen’s playlists.  Oh-When, I’m wiggin’ out here a bit.    

I’m no novice to technology, though I really don’t care to know how all of it works, just that it does.  But, when I click on a certain thing, I actually expect THAT thing to do its job.  So often, since Owen died, my expectations take a turn into something I could not have predicted.  And, so here we have it.  A different post, than I had planned.

Why are these words so important to me tonight: blackbird, broken wings, learning to fly?  Let’s see if I can diagram this for myself…and you.

I believe some people come into this life too sensitive to deal with the cruelties, the absurdities, the indifferences of human life on Earth.  (Rereading, I’m wondering if I think human life exists elsewhere, as well.  Move on, Linda.)  

I believe we gave birth to one such individual, Emmitt Owen Riley.  He was gloriously different from the beginning.  In the first few years, when he spent most of his time with us, the family, we didn’t worry about his gentle nature, as we expected most children to be gentle, and untouched by cultural or familial limitations.  We adored his admiration for Nat, his older brother, and his clinging-to-our-knees behavior.  He watched us all, learned what he needed to learn, and shared little of a verbal nature in those early years.  He shared by way of his actions and his tactile acuity.  He touched everything and all of us, without caution.  But, were we to bring a stranger into the picture, he clung to us like moss to a tree.

How does one learn to fly with broken wings?  I’m skipping around here, as my thoughts tonight are disjointed (again), and moving through an open sky of feelings.  And, an ocean of despair.   

Owen broke several bones in his short life, and learned to continue on his journey, despite the physical pain, or the unrelenting questions as to how and why he had come to each event that culminated in broken body parts.  The body parts healed, but I’m fairly certain the events that preceded those broken wings, remained scarred and altered.

I’m having trouble bringing this back around, so let me just say this:  Owen lived with broken wings, waited for the physical healing, and learned to fly in spite of them.  He sang in the dead of night…often and sometimes off-key a bit, not because he couldn’t hear the key, but because he was off-center, and honored it.  His sunken eyes did learn to see…and he was only waiting for that moment to be free. 

Owen saw the “light of the dark black night” and flew toward it.  We cannot know why.  He tells us over and over, though.  Owen, Oh-When, Oh-Wind.  Fly…”you were only waiting for the moment to arise.”

Some of Owen’s favorite words:  godboredumb (his word, we believe), Irish, sleep, rain, girls, love, word, hope, coffee, time, Carla, Helen, Lauren, Tori, Nat, Flea (only you will know), and HallOWEeN.

See: http://music.yahoo.com/The-Beatles/Blackbird/lyrics/2078595 

~ by Linda on September 9, 2007.

Posted in art, child loss, grief, friends, Nat Riley, Owen Riley, Michael Douglas Riley, Linda Siniard, loss, love, children, death, family, friends, grief, learning, Life, mothering, music, mystery, parenting, poetry, writing
Tags: Beatles, Blackbird, child loss, grief, friends, Nat Riley, Owen Riley, Michael Douglas Riley, Linda Siniard, loss, love, David Tegnell, Emmitt Owen Riley, flying, grief, Linda Siniard, missing persons, music, mysterious death, Nat Riley, Owen Riley