Session TEN.

I spoke last week of the sudden passing of my dear friend; Jason.  I have had a bit more time to process his death since I last wrote, and was able to fly home to attend his memorial service which brought with it the opportunity for closure, as well as some new and -to me- very profound ideas about life that had not previously been on my mind or in my heart. ​

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​My friend Jason and I had a million incredible adventures together.  One of the most epic, being when we were in our early twenties.  We were both in serious relationships at the time (as serious as a relationship can be at twenty and twenty-two respectively), but neither of our significant others were available, so we decided to travel together -just the two of us- to Houston, TX to audition for American Idol.
The drive was long…and a total blast.
Houston was a million degrees, and rainy.  For one humid and smelly night, we slept in line on the sidewalk, eager to take our place among the reality stars of the early 2000’s. 
The morning of the audition, Jason held my compact mirror up in front of my face as I plugged my curling iron into the only outlet I could find -it was attached to one of the large wooden planters that decorated the outdoor plaza in which we had spent the last 24 hours- and as I attempted to make myself look presentable, Jason acted as my stylist; ensuring that I didn’t miss any hairs that needed tending to on the back of my head, and making sure I didn’t have lipstick on my teeth.  As we did our best to warm up our voices in the Houston swamp, Jason cheered me on; knowing that while we were BOTH there to audition, singing was a forte of mine, and a life long dream to share with the world.
I don’t remember much about the actual audition, but I DO remember the two of us together the entire weekend, eating our weight in pistachios, listening to Tim McGraw, laughing at ourselves for taking on such a ridiculous adventure, and loving it because we were together.
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​“…a heart don’t forget somethin’ like that.”
-Tim McGraw

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In my session nine post,
​I talked a lot about plans…
​mostly how they rarely pan out as expected.

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Not long after the shock of Jason’s death wore off, I found myself on the phone with another dear friend (who happens to be well versed in trauma work).  She offered her deepest sympathies and listened while I hyperventilated through my tears, and ultimately asked me if I had enough money to get home for the funeral.

“I do” I said, still weeping into the phone, “but that money is set aside to help pay off my credit card.  Spending it on a plane ticket home was not the plan!”

“Neither was him dying, honey.”

Woof.

Neither was him dying.

Jason’s death was never a part of any plan that I could or would have ever even contemplated making…ever.  Never ever ever ever EVER.  

Up until his death, my life was based on the (previously unacknowledged) assumption that the foundation of my life; the people and the love that supports all of my crazy shenanigans, is bulletproof. 
Was bulletproof.
That it was impenetrable.  
And, in the rare case that something would come along with the ability to rattle that foundation -even a little bit- I would find it and squash it out faster than a cockroach in a New York City kitchen.  

But you have to see it coming to try and stop it.
And I did not see this coming.
And that really pissed me off.
And then I spent a lot of money to fly home for his funeral…which also pissed me off.
What's more, feeling the remorse of losing him was absolutely not what I had scheduled for last week or this week or the days, weeks, and months to come.  And that pisses me off the most.

Jason’s funeral announcement came out the Saturday after his death.  After receiving a phone call from a friend to inform me of the details, I spent five minutes contemplating what to do (in shock), called my father, and bought a ticket home.  Two hours later, I was on an airplane.

I spent the money, and I flew home for the funeral, where I cried harder than I ever have.  I hugged his family, and I lit a candle in his honor, and I cursed him for not being able to attend his own funeral; an event in his honor and so filled with love and laughter that it seemed absolutely ludicrous for him not to be there.

Maybe he was.

I spent the following day with my family, and headed back to NY the day after; the day before my tenth session with Rachael.

When we spoke the following afternoon, I wept.  As she asked me about my friend, I wept.  When she told me that she could feel him communicating with me, I wept the hardest; both with relief, and ultimately, the acknowledgement that he was gone.  
Rachael gently encouraged me to open my heart to what I already knew to be true; that while my friend Jason had died and his human life was over, our relationship was not, nor will it ever be.  

Ever. 

With her words, Rachael reminded me that it is ok to simultaneously grieve the loss of his life AND be grateful for the deepened connection that is left in his absence, and, that while it is customary (and almost expected) in our culture to express nothing but grief when losing a loved one, the truth of the matter is that grief and sadness are not the only acceptable ways to feel.  In fact, when it comes to feelings, all of them are acceptable, so long as we process them in ways that do not hurt ourselves or others.

For instance, while my human heart is sad at the loss of my friend, and my guts feel like they have been run over by a mack truck, I also feel a deep sense of peace on his behalf, and -at the risk of sounding uncouth- a sense of joy and excitement at the prospect of carrying him with me forever wherever I go. 
I feel closer to Jason now than I ever have.
Now that he is not constrained by a body that consistently asked too much of him, and now that he is free to be the purest and freest essence of himself…I feel him engrained in the sands of my existence in ways which I have never before experienced in my thirty-three years of life on this planet.
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It is an odd feeling to be incredibly angry with someone while simultaneously feeling grateful to them for opening your heart so deeply.

​Rachael and I discussed this further;
“Embrace the reality that your grieving can take as long as feels right to you, even if it turns out to be much quicker than you would have imagined.  Honor the part of you that is human and needs to mourn as such, but also give yourself permission to honor the spiritual part of you; the part that already knows that this is just a transition, and that your relationship is still alive and well.”

As Rachael spoke, the part of me that felt as though my sadness was the only thing keeping Jason's memory alive gave way to the part of me that knew it was unnecessary.  That he was not and is not past tense, but rather, he and our relationship have simply changed forms.

And with that, suddenly, I could see him; my Jason.    

And not in a ‘sixth-sense’/ ‘I-see-dead-people’ sort of way, but in my mind’s eye, and the unwavering truth of my heart.  As I sat there on my bed, eyes closed, Rachael spoke of his energy all around me.  I saw the dark room I had been alone in, suddenly crack open, revealing a bright and golden sunny sky…and there he was; arms extended, big beautiful blue eyes shining bright through tears of joy.  I walked towards him, and with huge sighs of relief, we both embraced just as we had so many times before.  I got the sense that he had been waiting there for ages, knowing that we would only see each other again if I could learn to see him in a different way.  We hugged for a long time, and as we did, his smile beamed and I could feel tears of joy and sorrow running down his cheeks.  He told me that he was so sorry that he had to leave, but that he was not able to carry out his soul’s mission so long as he was on Earth.  He told me that now, he is able to be all places at once, and can offer support to those in need with far greater abundance than ever before.  He asked for me to remember him as he was in the beginning of our time together, in the smiles and laughter of my life, and the lives of so many others. He asked that I carry on in his honor, and do the work that was so important to both of us (to assist in the healing of others).  Most of all, he reminded me that while I may not be able to see him with my human eyes any longer, I can absolutely see him with my heart.

As I shifted my awareness back to the room, Rachael and I spoke about what she had received as the conduit between myself and Jason.  She told me that he wanted me to know that every time I think I can feel him, that it really is him.  That he truly is with me, beside me and all around me, and that he did indeed ask me to remember him as he was when we first became friends some seventeen years ago.  

I told Rachael that Jason’s death made me realize that while I can’t change my entire life because someone has died, I can certainly change my priorities.  I can truly choose love and joy as the guiding forces in my life, just as she has been encouraging me to do over the past several months, and just as Jason and I did every time we set out to do something new.  I can lean into my relationships with vulnerability -an idea which she went on to confirm was coming directly from my heart- just as Jason did every time he told the people in his life how important they were to him, no matter what. 

​I can choose what feels good, just because it feels good.
Jason taught me that.
And if he was here, he would tell you the same thing.

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With Jason gone, there is a hole in the fabric of my life that can never be repaired or replaced.  
In session ten, Rachael helped me to stitch a hem around its newly frayed edges, honoring what was, and holding space for what’s to be.  
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​I will never forget you, my sweet pistachio.
Thank you for sharing your love and your light, and for the honor of being  your friend.
Keep an eye out for those leprechauns.

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