thrive and awaken
By Monya GR.
Forrest Gump is one of my favorite movies. The heartwarming story follows the unpredictable journey of the main character, Forrest, and his unlikely adventures. It’s incredulous how Forrest rises to each occasion in spite of his physical and academic misfortunes. The film pulls significant historical sequences and weaves those themes into Forrest’s own life story. The thought-provoking ah-ha moments are peppered with a background rich in American culture, charming the viewer to imagine their own life intertwined with historical fiction.
Just beyond the dynamic cinematography is a hidden message (my favorite part of the film). Despite all the physical and intellectual challenges Forrest experiences, his ability to live life carefree is his greatest gift. This is eloquently symbolized by a white feather that floats away on a breeze at the beginning and the end of the movie.
Like Forrest, I usually have an uncanny ability to go with the flow of life’s peaks and valleys. It’s an innate quality I am proud of. If I hit a “life” speed bump, typically I can brush myself off and work to find a better way of contemplating this new dilemma presented to me.
However, on July 3rd, 2023, my lighthearted nature was torn apart right down to the core of my being. My 33-year-old son died – my first-born, my only son – died in the hospital where he was born. It was a little over 30 days since I last saw him. That was Mother’s Day.
One day we were texting jokes in a group text with his sisters and I, and the next day he was gone.
How does a mother come back from this?
Like most people experiencing life altering grief, the next few weeks after my son’s death was an emotional fog that was eclipsed with shattering guilt and remorse. How had I not seen that my son, Taylor, was beginning to unravel. How? How did I not intuit that he needed me? How could I not sense that my son’s beautiful new-found 24-month sobriety was on the verge of imploding?
The beginning of this new reality for me and my family was fragile. There was a life-celebration for Taylor that was cathartic. Over one-hundred friends and family attended. Heartwarming stories were told by many of the guests, and despite our grief, there was laughter shared. I gave the Eulogy. This was the first in many of my metaphoric floating feathers. Like Forrest, I found myself in an unknown terrain. Fighting against the grain of the unfamiliar made trying to accept the situation unbearable. So, I too gave into the floating, like the feather. I allowed the breeze of my new normal carry me to where I needed to be.
Somehow, my muddled thoughts rose to the surface of my mind, and I realized I had a choice. In all the ways I was helpless to change the current reality, I was startled by an understanding I could choose how I responded to each new challenge. That newfound knowledge gave me strength and courage to press on; another feather.
I chose to rise up for my daughters. I chose to live for Taylor in the way he could not. I chose (and am still choosing) to grab life by the collar and shake her awake and tell her, “You will not beat me.”
In choosing, I had some questions to answer for myself. How can I lovingly and purposefully mother my daughters? How do I keep from falling apart? How do I go back to work? How do I have a normal get together with my girlfriends? How do I move forward?
My most important first step was to set up a small support group of trusted family and friends; the kind of support that did not dictate an appropriate time to call or visit. These were the type of friends and loved ones that did not balk at my need to talk or cry endlessly.
The next step was to grieve which I quickly learned is an ongoing process. I lost my son whom I loved dearly. We were extraordinarily close. We had been through a lot together, and I was thoroughly looking forward to this next chapter, a relationship with a sober adult son. I felt ripped off. Yet, somehow, I knew I had to focus on what I had been given and not what I had lost. If this had to be the outcome, that he was going to lose his battle of sobriety, I had to change the way I was viewing the events. I took the binoculars down and looked at the entire picture of my son’s life.
Taylor gave us the best, last two years of his life. He attended every holiday and family occasion. Despite the distance in our cities where we each resided, we spoke frequently and got together as often as we could. I needed to remain steadfast in what he was able to give not how he left this planet. More feathers.
Thankfully, my daughters and I took some time to recommit our love for one another and how we wanted to move forward as a family. Supporting one another each week, month and years to come. I knew, with my daughters love, I could find a way to continue to be a valuable mother filled with compassion and joy.
I then had to concentrate on my own health and how I wanted to live out the rest of my days. As a nurse, this naturally made me think of my patients. I get the opportunity to meet hundreds of people I wouldn’t normally encounter. Over the years, I have heard dozens of heartbreak stories and listened as my patient’s explain that these moments were the beginning of a health demise. I wondered what my own health would look like in the years to come if I was not dedicated to living with vigor. In my search for healthy lifestyles I soon recognized that mental well-being was just as important as physical health.
I found an anonymous quote I am willing to practice:
“To try and maintain a constant state of joy brings one closer to their dreams coming to fruition.”
I began to find tiny pieces of joy, like bits of sunlight streaming through a windowpane; even more feathers.
A mere two months after Taylor’s passing, as I was walking to my car, a pristine white and black feather lay delicately in my path. I knew immediately this was Taylor saying hi. Taylor wore feathers in his hat, and as earrings. It appears the more joy I tried to experience, the more feathers I would find. Like Forrest, practicing living carefree in the midst of difficulty is the triumph.
As the months have passed, dozens and dozens of feathers have graced my path which brings more joy. These feathers make me feel that Taylor is with me on this journey of recovery and learning to thrive despite my sorrow. It is as if Taylor is saying, “You got this mom.” And that’s enough for me.
Monya Grace Robert
Mind Growth Reset Life Coach
Change your mind, Grow from the experience, Reset your life
Author of: Penny for Your Thoughts – – Love Letters to My Children
https://www.instagram.com/monyagracerobert
https://www.monyagracerobert.com
monyagracerobert@gmail.com
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