grief

I am what calls out for love . . .

Claire grief , , 2 Comments

This is PART TWO of a series. To start from the beginning, go here.

This is an excerpt from The Deep Water Leaf Society: Harnessing the Transformative Power of Grief (copyright 2008, Claire M. Perkins. All Rights Reserved.)

from chapter 13: Voices from the Big Wave

Between funeral arrangements and a steady stream of visitors, some weeks passed before I got around to dialoguing with The Big Wave collage images.

The process of journaling dialogue with images involves writing with both hands. My dominant hand, the one I normally write with, speaks for my conscious self and asks questions of the images. My non-dominant hand answers the questions, speaking for the image.

It is an amazing process that works because the non-dominant hand has direct access to the right hemisphere of the brain, where intuition, emotion and spiritual connection reside. It was an awkward process at first. Once I got used to it and allowed the non-dominant hand to just write, uncensored by the critical voice or the logic of the left brain, I found that amazing insights would arise.

I sat down to dialogue with the images in the Big Wave collage toward the end of May, several weeks after Cameron’s death. I was wiped out, emotionally and physically. I was searching for answers to that unanswerable question, “Why?” It took me two days, several days apart, to dialogue with each and every image in the collage. The messages they gave me were profound and brought me much needed peace and healing.

(I am highlighting one of these dialogues in each post of this series. The questions of the dominant hand are noted (DH) and the answers of the images, transcribed by my non-dominant hand, are noted (NDH).)

5/24/04 Dialogue with Baby in the Galvanized Tub

Me (DH): Hello little boy being bathed – who are you?

Baby (NDH): I am what calls out for love, for nurturing. I am content with simple things. I am well loved.

(DH): Do you have a name?

(NDH): My name is Earth Child.

(DH): Earth Child, how do you feel?

(NDH): I am sad for the mother who loves me so but thinks that she hasn’t enough to give.

(DH): Why do you feel this way?

(NDH): Because love is all I have ever needed. She cries for me but doesn’t see she’s given me the greatest gift of all.

(DH): But you live in poverty. She doesn’t know how she will feed you. Your life expectancy is so short. She bathes you in gutter water. The city is full of disease. She cries for the you that could have been – that should have been. She cries for not knowing how to heal you.

(NDH): She loves me. That is all. That is enough.

(DH): What can I do for you?

(NDH): Don’t become cold. Never give up on the power of love.

(DH): What gift or wisdom do you bring me?

(NDH): I show you the power of your heart.

The grieving and broken-hearted part of me was angry with the idea the love was enough. How could it be enough when my son’s life had been cut so short, when he had faced such difficulty despite my loving him? I argued with the photo in its own terms – gutter water and Third World poverty – but what my heart was really crying out was that in the midst of plenty, in the midst of middle-class white-bread suburbia, with every opportunity and all the love I could give, my son was still dead at the age of 26. How could love be enough? But the child in the photo insisted that it was and some part of me opened up to receive that message.
~~

to be continued . . .

As always, I welcome your comments here or by email (Claire@DeepWaterLeafSociety.com)

Visit my website: www.DeepWaterLeafSociety.com

Where the Wild Things Are

Claire grief , , 4 Comments

(spoiler alert – if you haven’t seen the movie yet, I do discuss the ending)

I’ve never read the book – not as a child, not to my own children. But ever since the previews for Where the Wild Things Are began playing on TV, I’ve been strangely drawn to the movie. I finally went to see it this past Friday and it has stayed with me in a way that few movies do.

First of all, there’s no denying that Max, the unruly, imaginative, emotional little boy in the film reminded me of my own little wild child, Cameron. It’s not that Cameron was just like that or that our family life had the same dynamic. It’s more that, for me, Max’s adventure played up the hurts of childhood as felt by a child and touched that emotional chord in me that still feels my own son’s pain even now, more than five years after his death.

Max’s mother is, most of the time, sweetly loving and displays extreme patience – a skill I never mastered to any degree. She listens to Max’s hurts and helps him clean up his messes. Even when she’s stressed by work, she takes the time to really listen to Max, to encourage his imaginative storytelling rather than brushing him off. She is the mother I wish I would or could have been. The only time we see her snap is when Max begins acting out in front of her new boyfriend. While she seems to love Max unconditionally when they are alone, she’s embarrassed by what her company will think. This is more like the mother I was. How many times I felt that sinking what-will-the-neighbors-think feeling when Cameron acted out in ways that were out of control. Max’s out-of-control behavior escalates into a rage and culminates with him biting his mother then running away. Cameron’s rage took him much farther away from me, into the self-destruction of addiction and a land of no return.

In Max’s running away fantasy, he goes to an island where the wild things are. He meets larger-than-life characters who mirror his outer circumstances and his inner responses. There’s one who smashes things in anger, just like Max; there’s another who feels unheard and wonders if anyone even knows he’s there, just like Max; there’s a mushy couple always wanting to kiss each other, just like Max’s mother and her boyfriend; there’s one who took off and abandoned the others to be with her new friends, just like Max’s big sister. This imaginative inner landscape is just like Max’s life – except that here, Max gets to be king. He sets out to create a place where only good things happen. He learns that it is a much more difficult job than he imagined.

Eventually he realizes he must say goodbye to his wild anger and sadness. He chooses to leave the land of the wild things and return to his imperfect home. The reunion scene with his mother is touching and heartbreaking all at the same time. It is a poignant, wordless mix of relief, forgiveness, acceptance and love – a true homecoming in every sense. Oh, that every little boy could feel such love.

To me, the film is a beautiful depiction of what we must learn if we are to grow up. And what we must learn if we are to heal our own grief. We all sometimes travel to where the wild things are. We live in a messy world where bad things happen. We get hurt and scared and angry. And we must learn not to squash or kill all those crazy things we’re feeling, but to befriend them and to rule them benevolently. Ultimately we must learn that however big and real and hairy those feelings are, love is always stronger and love is always waiting to welcome us home.


“It’s all yours. You’re the owner of this world,” wild thing Carol tells Max. May we each learn to rule it wisely. May we each choose to return to love.

As always, I welcome your coments here or by email (Claire@DeepWaterLeafSociety.com)

Visit my website: http://www.deepwaterleafsociety.com/