by Lynda Harrison Hatcher
At 2:37pm on a Friday in February, an unknown number lit my mobile screen. “Are you kidding? I’m not answering that,” I said melodically, as I weeded through a storage bin stuffed with an assortment of photos, many of them stuck together from years of moisture. Most would be hurled into the dumpster I’d reserved for the next three days. Early spring cleaning.
Seconds later, a text from the same area code – “That’s weird,” I said, then scanned the words: “Lynda, it’s Lissie. Sam’s friend. Could you please give me a call?”
“Do not create this story,” I said, siphoning my mentor Pat’s wisdom. But an acute, cultivated intuition was arming me for the truth. A round of cleansing breaths, and I initiated the call that would substantiate a reality I’d shamefully rehearsed more times than I care to admit. Within seconds, my mother’s heart would implode and I would suffer a delayed sense of distraction and disconnection, losing myself in a vortex of grief.
But at that very moment, Lissie’s hysteria launched me into management mode, enveloping me with the maternal protective gear I would wear for several months until the surreal became more real and I slowly began to process what had happened to our family.
Sam had slipped away during the night. I refused to visualize my barrage of questions. An imprint would have triggered another ill-timed and unfortunate panic attack. Did he know what was happening? Had he even considered the cause and effect? Was he in pain before he crossed over? Where was he at this moment? Was he lost in space?
These questions remain unanswered. Sam’s work on this Earth was done, his tour of duty complete in this life. His form had dissolved, and his essence was flowing back through the universe to rebalance its energy.
Often people enter our lives as both a blessing and an instructor. A child might pick their parents because the partnership is destined to enlighten. They have something to teach each other. Once specific lessons are learned in this go-around, the universe may steer the person away to continue to work on their soul.
The blessings with Sam have been undeniable and immeasurable, far too many to count. The lessons have left some scar tissue. No one else could steward Sam’s soul in the physical realm but Sam. Without him, I am attempting to cut chords of worry and anxiety, but I’ll never cut the chords of motherhood as long as I have breath. Gary Zukav reminds me in The Seat of the Soul that it’s never too late to excise some of the scar tissue and continue to grow my relationship with him.
Laura Lynne Jackson explains in her book, Signs, that after we cast off our earthly body, our consciousness perseveres. We are an integral part of a universal light force – described as God energy, pictured as a higher angelic realm, or personal spirit guides, maybe as familiar loved ones who have crossed over.
Parents who have lost a child meet each day with confusion and conflict. They must deal with excruciating and unpredictable grief, while simultaneously try to live as fully as possible. Holding grief in one hand while balancing living life after loss in the other is one tough act. I find Sam’s spirit stabilizing me as I teeter and try to heal from within.
My work is to find a new way to connect with Sam every day. To embrace our chain of light and interconnection. To continue to honor him by surviving – to the best of my ability – and to model this for our family, friends, and for those who have or might one day walk in my shoes. I owe this to Sam. Beautiful, immeasurable Sam.
30 thoughts on “Sam’s Soul Journey. A mother’s grief”
I am so moved by this. We’ve talked about the Soul Journey and now it’s connecting you with your son from a different place. I grieve for him and your loss. We start the journey at birth and know not where it takes us. As you share this path, so many are helped ! That’s love and I know he sees it daily.
We go back a long way, endless hours of conversation about our children’s journeys. Thank you for posting. xx
I’m amazed how you can put your feelings into words so eloquently especially at a time of the most profound grief. I can relate to all what comes from your heart. I understand that through Sam’s journey that he has given you so much more spiritually through his lessons than you could of give. Him. I believe that our children were our teachers and yes they choose us to teach. And yes connection with your child after his transition is what keeps us sane. I love the way you honor your child.
Thank you, Cheryl, for this thoughtful post. While each day brings a new emotion to the surface, I’m determined to stay connected with Sam. Every hour. Every day. xx
So appreciate your transparency and open-heartedness. Holding you in my heart.
Thank you for always reaching out. I’m grateful to have you as a cheerleader. xx
Lynda, thank you for continuing to share your story. Your strength inspires me.
Your support encourages me to continue to share. Thank you!
Lynda, your writing is awesome. I still recommend your book and give it as gifts to some of the graduates parents. Very inspiring and the words ae very much needed.
I love that you’re using the book in the field. The message goes beyond the parent/child push and pull when dealing with addiction and co-dependent issues. The relationship tools found within the story are universal.
Lynda, there are no words. I truly believe we are all here for a reason, to teach, to learn and to grow as a soul. His work may be done on this plane but his soul lives on- sending love to you. ❤️
Thank you Susan. Beautifully said and much appreciated.
Lynda, I am sending this to my husband and his former wife who also lost a son who had travelled many paths like Sam. Beautifully written. Thank you.
I look forward to speaking sometime in SC in the near future. Ready to get back in that saddle. Thank you, Leigh.
Lynda, Thank you for again teaching us to live albeit with these tragic happenings. You not only teach, you inspire us with words designed to be real and honest. I pray your connection to Sam continues to blossom. Much love my friend, Suzie
Thank you Suzie, one of my discerning readers!
Continued thoughts and prayers for your loss…your words are an insight into the grief of a parent who has lost a child. It is so beautifully written and I love your thoughts on connecting with him in this universe every day. Sharing in the hopes that it helps others…
Thank you, Gaye, for taking a moment to post this. It means a lot!
Sometimes I wonder if immense pain is balanced out by immense joy, or intensity of love. How else could one go on after such loss? I will never understand the logic behind the puzzle, but I think, as I age and experience love and loss, that it is all good, even with its heart-wrenching pain. Pain that takes your breath away. Pain that makes you aware of how great your capacity for love is.
Incredibly well said Andy – I DO believe the extremes are what keep us fueled, preparing us for the pendulum to swing –
because it will.
This is beautiful Lynda. I know you are grieving beyond words and I pray your writing helps to heal the wounds. Love you dear friend,
Thank you Sara – Love you back.
A beautiful piece Lynda and so helpful to many. God’s peace to you.
Feedback like this encourages me to get back to the keyboard. Thank you, Ellen.
This is such a touching, heart felt piece. I really am sad for her loss. As I say often this just makes my heart hurt.
You’re a warrior. And always supportive.
So beautifully written. I love the idea of trying to connect with your loved one each day, keeping him/ her alive in your heart and letting their spirit guide you. A friend lost her daughter 20 years ago in a car accident, and I’m sending this to her. Her pain has dulled, but never ends.
Thank you for sharing. We never know what small take-away will keep someone hanging on to healing.
You are a wordsmith and I am glad your friend encouraged you to write. Thank you for sharing. Deep heartfelt love to you Lynda and the family. ❤️ Anne Martin Cochran
I aspire to be a wordsmith – maybe some day. Thank you for your comment! Gives me writing energy.