mysteryoriley

I first wrote parts of this post on July 29, 2007, on a myspace site I set up soon after Owen’s death, in the hope of capturing his illustration of himself, while also trying to find some of his friends. This is an edited version, but still the truth, especially on a full moon night…something Owen loved each and every cycle. Tonight, we have a full moon, and nothing else matters.

“Life is precious, but not the ultimate “knowing” of preciousness. We cannot truly experience that knowing until we leave this life. At least, that’s what I believe now, now that Owen is gone. Gone, from this life, and into a new experience. I feel him here now and then, and know that he is close, no matter how far. He visits, and we are grateful.

Owen was a miracle in our lives. I truly cherish the times we had together, the collective life we made as a family, with Nat, Dave, Pop, Lea, Grandma, Nana, Auntie Lyn, Laura, Sara, Uncle Emmitt, Auntie Jackie, Casey, Carla, Helen, Gabe, Howard, Karma, Jordan, Jack, Joe, and so many other people who made up our lives together. I wish I could know who else made up Owen’s life, but, I am his mother, and therefore, not aware of everyone who mattered to him. I hope you know who you are.

Maybe everyone who loses a young loved one thinks these thoughts – that their loved one is unique and their story truly compelling. For some reason, I think Owen’s story has touched people who would not normally give his life a second thought. (I think this, because they write me, and tell me what he meant to them.)

Here’s why. Owen loved you. You might not have known he loved you. He may have only known you through our family’s stories – and there were plenty, you know? He may not have shared his feelings, because he was shy (and did not want you to know he way shy), and thought he would have time to tell you, himself.

Owen Riley was here to make impact. I hope he made an impact on your life, as he did on ours. We are forever in his debt for being that person who asked the questions we never thought to ask. Owen was bold enough to speak the truth when the truth was forbidden; to be the person who made us question ourselves; to be the person who made us think about the big questions long after we had acknowledged the simple answers of youth and social acceptance.

Owen made us laugh at life’s oddities, and then ask why. He forced us to ask ourselves why our “mundanities” motivated us to move forward. Why were we so interested in things we couldn’t change, while those same things made our lives difficult, as well?

I don’t know the answers to our continuing questions, but Owen often answered with barely a breath. He used metaphor to answers the questions…and humor. When we had nothing, Owen knew, or offered suggestions for the possibilities. We sometimes answered with astute replies like… “hmmm, that’s good.” We never knew if he was a true mystic, or just thought outside our contexts. But, he knew.

We miss our conversations with Owen. He always made us think, or rage, or accept. He made us question…even, our questions. What a mind he had.

Owen Riley, you were a man of many facets – a diamond, not in the rough, but in the magnifying glass. You made us look at the details, the reflections, and ultimately, the flaws. Were it not for your light, could we have seen the same?

I now seek the full moon, if only to see your light. Tonight, I see your light, and hear what I imagine was your last question: Why did others not see me, hear me, feel me?”

End of edited post.

I went back tonight, to see what I was feeling and thinking just a few weeks ago, for a specific reason. I talked with a gentleman this evening, who asked THE parent question: How do you go on? He was authentic in his concern, and it made me realize (again) that talking about Owen’s loss is important to others who fear the ultimate loss of a child, a brother, a nephew, a friend, and so many other intimate losses. Thank you, my friend. I needed to take a look back, at a time not so very long ago. I’m sure this will happen for the rest of my life…and it’s not only okay, but good.

Owen’s cousin, Laura, played tonight’s song at his memorial service. I never knew she played guitar, or could sing in such an amazing voice…of love…and despair. It was truly a gift. Thank you, again, Laura.

You might think the song for the night would be by “The Who”. It’s not. That’s for another post.

Owen never cared for games they play.

Song for the night: Nothing Else Matters, Metallica

http://youtube.com/watch?v=v2qIiJTsxp0

~ by Linda on September 27, 2007.

Posted in art, astrology, astronomy, 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, numerology, parenting, poetry, writing
Tags: diamonds, full moon, love, Metallica, metaphor, miracles, mystics, Nothing Else Matters, questions, social acceptance, The Who, truth, youth