mysteryoriley

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. )

~ by Linda on November 1, 2009.

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Tags: celebrations, child loss, grief, friends, Nat Riley, Owen Riley, Michael Douglas Riley, Linda Siniard, loss, love, David Tegnell, death, Emmitt Owen Riley, family, friends, grief, Halloween, harvest, Linda Siniard, Nat Riley, Owen Riley