An Unfinished Life

All those golden autumn days the sky was full of wings. Wings beating low over the blue water of Silver Lake, wings beating high in the blue air far above it . . . bearing them all away to the green fields in the South.
- Laura Ingalls Wilder

When I allow myself to remember the glorious times I shared with my daughter, a switch is triggered…one that sees a flood of emotions that overcomes me, in an instant. 

In preparing Shayla’s Celebration of Life, the switch was never permitted to be set off. In doing this, I have learned a repeated pattern of holding back on the feelings, which should be able to come freely. 

Over time, I have met many bereaved parents who have enabled themselves to openly express their sorrow and there is absolutely no shame in doing so. However, in my younger years- having learned survival skills that no child should have to- created within me a timepiece; one in which I was the watchmaker. 

As I have pulled through yet another upheaval in my life, there were no plans for a Thanksgiving meal. Since the passing of my daughter, I no longer ‘celebrate’ any holidays. This is a choice for now that is acceptable, as every single holiday past for 21 years, revolved around Shayla. 

Years ago, in having my story, “Just Because,” published In Chicken Soup for The Soul- All in the Family Edition…I honoured my babygirl by sharing how I use to have a party for her- for no reason. There would be balloons, cake, crafts and streamers…simply because I wanted to bring happiness into her world. 

At the last minute, a turkey with all the trimmings for a feast, were bought and prepared. Planning this meal took some effort in dealing with my emotions. One of Shayla`s favourite dishes was called, `Carrot Crunch. ` I knew deep in my heart that I could not muster up the strength to prepare it or eat it either. Therefore, I stuck to the basics. As I prepared the table, the tears welled up…I have always honoured those who have passed on, by a tradition I carry. A place setting was made for Shayla, with two of my favourite photographs put in front of the empty chair. On one of the pictures of my daughter, I clipped a butterfly decoration over it. This symbolizes the transition that took place the day of December 12, 2011, when Shayla left this world. One pebble from her collection was placed on her bare plate- one that was engraved with LOVE. 

When I was searching for images to be posted on my blog, I found one that brought a smile to the corners of my fragile heart. This summer, my former husband Dave, sent me a picture he had taken. In Kelowna-where he resides- he had gone into a building…upon coming back out, he found one, single pebble placed upon his vehicle. It had a unique appearance to it, with a white halo encircling the complete stone. He had no idea who had placed it there and shared the striking image with me…a reminder that the universe is not to be taken for granted. For me, it instilled the beautiful notion that Shayla and her extraordinary love surrounds those who miss her.

I also found amongst the endless stream of snapshots taken over the years, a remarkable picture that Shayla had captured, long ago. At the time, we had a poster of John Lennon in our place. She stood beside it and took a photo that is striking in comparison. My daughter`s hope for a better, peaceful world- one without the misery of what society has created- was something she strived for. In wanting to help those in need, Shayla devoted numerous hours to her community. The amount of volunteering time she amassed is incredible, considering she was a University student and also worked. My daughter was rooted in contributing a peaceful way of life, one in which I can only dream of. 

During the Thanksgiving weekend, I also made the decision to go for a stroll along the Fraser River and fill my lungs with the crispness of an autumn day. The crunching of battered leaves beneath the soles of my feet; reminded me of the fragility of our lives. As I sauntered along my own pathway, there was a structure before me that struck a chord. It was an unfinished building…the weathered boards connected together; the rungs of a ladder remained intact, and where there should have been windows, gaping open spaces let in the filtered rays of sunshine. As my fingers slowly brushed against the construction, it reminded me of my own daughter`s unfinished life. The wood representing the cross upon which Jesus had given his own life for ours. The steps of the ladder-the ascension to Heaven and the windowless gaps- the means to which we leave this world, freely without encasement. 

Immediately, I thought of a song that is reminiscent of my grieving…the words expressing my sorrow when tears cannot. 

The Stellas: Video- In This House

http://youtu.be/3CEAOY3ZIKQ

By T.L. Alton