Counted Years ~ Not One day

I never knew how much love my heart could hold, until I was called momma ~ R.G.

I look through each scrapbook- time capsules exploded unto the pages- every sheet of paper, once a blank canvas…now releases the memories I spent with my daughter. 

Breaking through the grief, are recollections of times we shared on Mother’s Day. A weekend away to a Lavender Bed & Breakfast in the United States, a brunch and tea at a heritage home, overlooking an ocean and more simpler times of rock hounding along the beaches. 

The gifts I retain are coloured pictures, handmade cards, crafted beaded bracelets and an array of Willow Tree ornaments, assembled with the others I have received, over the years. 

This is my fourth Mother’s Day, without my daughter’s hugs and kisses; a day where I cannot physically grasp onto her hand or see the sparkle of her calcite eyes. 

 The following conveys my emotions…

 It has taken a great deal for me to understand that my daughter’s life encompassed 21 years and should not be defined by one, tragic day. Changes made in my life, do not mean a separation between us, rather she is carried in the beats of my heart…the very same one, her and I shared for nine months. 

 “I know that we live in the lives of those we touch. I have felt in me the living presence of many I have loved and who have loved me. I experience my daughter’s presence, with me daily. I know that this is not limited to those we know in the flesh, for many guests of my life shared neither time nor space with me.” ~ Elizabeth Watson

This weekend, as I honour the bonds of motherhood, I welcome the communion of our Souls that still remain, knowing my grief will be carried away, on the wings of time. 

 By TL. Alton 

I wanted to share what happened right after I posted this tribute to my daughter. Shortly before Shayla passed away,she texted me a song by Rodney Atkins, as I was experiencing difficult circumstances in my life she wanted her momma to know, she was there for me. Since losing her, it has come on the radio many times, at the right moment. Just as I had completed this post, I walked into the kitchen when the following song started to play...
Rodney Atkins:  "If You're Going through Hell." This is the last song Shayla ever texted me...
https://youtu.be/sBKybUusyP8
 

The Exposed Roots Untouched by Frost

It never ceases to bring a sense of wonder when I am sent a photograph of a pebble.  I find myself imagining the travels of this stone; once it falls upon the source of water…I envision its journey. For me, this symbolic gesture of mixing the two elements makes me feel whole. The trauma of losing my daughter, the sole person who knew me and every corner of my mind has been like lying on a feather cloud; little by little I am slipping through. Try as I might to clutch at something- anything, my fingers lose grasp. Yet with The Heart Pebble Movement, it is a tangible thing that I can hold on to. It allows me to feel the smoothness of the pebble or the jagged slivers on a stone. Closing my eyes, the sound of the splash into the water revolves around and I inhale the simplicity it brings; awakening my fractured soul.

A pebble, once imprisoned is freed at last by the flash of a camera that leaves behind in its circle of life ripples, a story to be shared. For once the drop is in motion; set into whatever liquid was chosen for its release, then and only then can the pebble begin to live its adventures.

I marvel as this paradox as I am held in the clutches of one single, tragic day and strive to find grace amongst the sorrow. My grief at times has been dismissed; the inflammation of loss cannot be described when a child dies. I know…because I have desperately tried.

Some find comfort in my movement, because it allows the person who is participating, to also release any hurt. As if the mere collision of both water and pebble is a projection of all they want to liberate themselves from.

The snapshots I post are from those who feel a connection to my daughter; they wanted to awaken in them something that expresses the golden heart that Shayla encompassed. Her eyes were the doorways into the sheer joy distributed to those who came in contact with her. My daughter’s laugh came from her belly; a roaring noise, mixed with a chime full of giggles, announced her presence in any room. In the short time on this earth, she loved to leave more than footprints. By sharing her harmony and telling stories that made a difference, it gave this young 21 year old a purpose.

One of the other passions in Shayla’s life was volunteering. She did not see it as doing a good deed, rather a way to penetrate the darkness with kindness. The essence of her inner beauty saw her connect to the young and old, those needful, in pain and frail souls. The people in society who had been lost in the cracks and were being pulled down by the weeds. Although Shayla wanted to dance as a profession and had taken years of lessons, her destiny would remain with those who felt the most rejected. As her mother, the influence I had on my daughter’s life would see her to a path that now I wish had been sidetracked.  However, just as a rock is a solid mass, so were Shayla’s dreams rock-hard and nothing could change the outcome.

Meanwhile, the one unyielding thing that remains for me is her collection of pebbles, stones, gems and crystals. She has a heart shaped box, sprayed gold and containing some of her cherished pieces.  I plan on sharing other unique places where my daughter’s pebbles are or have been found. It is my hope that others will see the glimmers of light in a cause close to my own heart.

The girls in the photographs that I have names for are Lexi and Jesse. Whenever possible, I will give credit and acknowledgement to those who submit a picture and a brief story of where a pebble was placed. 

 “The least Movement is of importance to all nature. The entire ocean is affected by a pebble.”   ~ Blaise Pascal