What Lies Beyond?

In July of 2018, we lost one of our children as we knew her to a runaway mind, to brain synapses gone haywire. In hindsight, it had been a slow process. She left us a note saying she loved us, and she was leaving. She also texted us - Good-bye. 

Next to her uniquely penned handwritten note with creative scratches, etches and carefully crafted font, she left us a gift of gorgeous teak coasters from Thailand. Today, they sit stacked on the coffee table as reminders of the emotions of that morning - confusion, fear, panic, incredulousness, anger, terror, sadness.

My husband and I had bought our then twenty-five-year-old a car for work. Our child sold it somewhere and took off on a bus to Oregon and eventually Vancouver, Alaska, California, Cleveland, New York, Chicago, and now back to California. Cross-country trips, loops, and detours on buses and in cars are all mysteries to us along with where this child may have slept, on the streets, in doorways, parks, shelters, vehicles, and who-knows-where. We don’t. And we never will.  

This child drifts in and out of our lives, coming and going, connecting and disconnecting, loving and accusing, remembering and discombobulating, asking for help and rejecting it, sometimes agreeable, sometimes obstinate, sometimes courteous, sometimes furious, often demanding. We never really know. And we never will. 

We’ve consulted with experts, asked for help, prayed for guidance, and sought answers. There are none. I’ve developed a repertoire of self-regulating tools that usually work, sometimes not. I’ve learned to ride the waves of worry, shock, and loss. Many professionals, consultants, therapists have offered advice. This summer, a therapist recommended that we deliberately orchestrate a setting of agitation with police strategically placed nearby for a pick up. A set-up. A sojourn to an institution that would probably last three days and end in increased estrangement.   

No thanks.  

Five years ago, a grief specialist said I must accept this situation. She missed the boat. She missed the lake of tears, too. My grief is the loss of connection with my child, the bright light in the crystal clear blue eyes, the open-mouthed laugh, the statuesque dance moves, the brilliant riffs on philosophy.  

The therapist emphasized acceptance. Hell no. I was all about resistance. I wanted resolution, reconciliation, . . . fixing. . . healing. I wanted my child back. I prayed and prayed for the return to our family.  

Acceptance feels like settling, like toleration, like the bare minimum. I wanted more.  

What lies beyond mere acceptance? There has to be something more than “these are the cards we’ve been dealt, and we gotta just play ‘em.”

How do I move beyond thinking, “This is our life. Ho hum. Keep calm and carry on, I guess?”  

What lies beyond? I’ll tell you what. Another human being! Another person with hopes, dreams, struggles and celebrations, no matter how different or out-of-sync with mine. A person worthy of dignity and respect, a uniquely gifted individual traveling this Earth, like all of us, with a seemingly inconceivable journey. 

What lies beyond acceptance? There’s a place beyond the confines of my own judgment, my own sense of right and wrong and how to be. There’s a place of recognition, embracing the human condition, a place of unconditional positive regard for life and the desire to live it wholly and holy. 

What lies beyond acceptance? Energy, vibrancy, vitality and the courage to face what is and to make the best contribution possible in the moment, knowing it varies and that no response is perfect. Leave perfection for God.  

What lies beyond? For me, what lies beyond is sacred space beyond Rumi’s open field, a place where we are free and safe to discern and contribute to all that is good, even when life feels raw, unjust, incomprehensible. . . sad. 

What lies beyond? Deep wisdom, infinite love. 

What lies beyond is always accessible when we let go of our fears, what others think, … when we release the constraints we place upon ourselves and of others, when we stop building walls to block out what is scary. 

What lies beyond is the incredible beauty of this world. It is always there and takes courage to extend beyond the roadblocks we create in our own minds and between us.  

What lies beyond is the ultimate reconciliation with reality through love. 

As Richard Rohr says, it begins with contemplation and leads to action. I used to think that action meant I had to do something concrete, some Mother Teresa-type activity, ladle out soup on a street corner. I now know that action is being present, listening, sharing in moments of awe and wonder and confusion, connecting through meaningful conversations, holding others in my heart. 

When I was young, I always knew someone had died when I saw my mom making lasagna. That was her way of dipping her toe into the beyond of grief. We all have our own ways. 

“Let there be peace on Earth, and let it begin with me.” 

I have work to do to help cultivate the beyond, to live it, to love it, and to quit clinging to the self-doubt that holds me back in disillusionment. I’m trying. 

“Always do your best” is Toltec Wisdom’s Fourth Agreement. That’s all any of us can ask for.