Hey Corey, I am headed out for Kauai tomorrow, and I will feel you so much as I fly over California and out over the wild Pacific, over whales and dolphins and hammerhead sharks and mermaids and seahorses. Out into the mystic, honey.
I felt you so strongly in May 2013 when I revisited Kauai, and we were going to see each other just in a few weeks.
You and I came especially close when I lived on Kauai for 15 months; you liked that you could call me when you were getting off work and it was still early in Hawaii, so we had so many good, long talks.
You called me right after that scary incident of hitting a deer with your car...and later that year when I was collecting your things, I saw that you had written in your journal something I said to you when we talked and I lived there. I had told you about the huge spiderweb I had, finally, gently swept down after letting it be there for about a month, because I just had to...and how the very next morning I saw that she had built her web back. I was deeply moved at her patience and fortitude, her keeping-on, keeping-on, her precision, her construction.
Then, you dreamed about that spider. Just one of many times that your connection with me, my connection with you, overflows between this world and that, between the material and the cosmic.
I love you, honey. I still cry when the force of missing you spikes up instantly, but I am increasingly comforted by the sense of your love, of your presence, even when and especially when the tears erupt. I look forward to the time on island again, where I know we will commune while my "to-do" list falls away and there is no interference between me and the great cosmic, oceanic love that holds you, holds me, holds us all.
Love, Mom
I felt you so strongly in May 2013 when I revisited Kauai, and we were going to see each other just in a few weeks.
You and I came especially close when I lived on Kauai for 15 months; you liked that you could call me when you were getting off work and it was still early in Hawaii, so we had so many good, long talks.
You called me right after that scary incident of hitting a deer with your car...and later that year when I was collecting your things, I saw that you had written in your journal something I said to you when we talked and I lived there. I had told you about the huge spiderweb I had, finally, gently swept down after letting it be there for about a month, because I just had to...and how the very next morning I saw that she had built her web back. I was deeply moved at her patience and fortitude, her keeping-on, keeping-on, her precision, her construction.
Then, you dreamed about that spider. Just one of many times that your connection with me, my connection with you, overflows between this world and that, between the material and the cosmic.
I love you, honey. I still cry when the force of missing you spikes up instantly, but I am increasingly comforted by the sense of your love, of your presence, even when and especially when the tears erupt. I look forward to the time on island again, where I know we will commune while my "to-do" list falls away and there is no interference between me and the great cosmic, oceanic love that holds you, holds me, holds us all.
Love, Mom
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