I went to the mountains over the weekend.
I could write about all the "adventure" part; the creek crossing being uncrossable, smoking the clutch backing up the hill, guns being shot off in the middle of the wilderness, rental cars and crazy tow truck drivers. But that is all really distraction to what the whole trip was about, and it took me until today, three days after arriving home, to slow down enough to process it.
I went to the mountains to get back something that is exclusively mine.
Let me tell you the whole story.
In 2001, my ex-husband and I "lost" a baby. I have always hated that term, "lost", as if a child could be misplaced like keys or a jacket or a cell phone. No, my son died. He was a stillbirth. He was my heart. His name is Seth.
The summer after Seth died, my husband's best friend made a "marker" out of a beautiful piece of honey-colored oak, at my request. On it, engraved in the wood, are my son's name, "Seth Trinity", the words "..off to play with the wind and the moon...", and the date "8 February 2001". Earlier the same year, we had taken Seth's ashes (there was only about a tablespoon of them, he was very small) and mixed it with 2lbs 3oz of Carmel Beach sand (he weighed 2lbs 3oz) and were going to scatter the sand-ashes various places of our choosing, as we saw fit. One of the places was near a spring located on some family property. We decided to locate the carved-oak marker there.
If you know anything about wood in outdoor settings, you know that all things weather, and age, and crack, and stain, and need maintenance in order to be preserved. The same is true for Seth's marker. It had started to crack, dry out, turn a whitish gray color, had hosted a few bugs, and been gnawed on by a few larger critters. It needed some help. I knew that from the photos, since I had not been to the property since 2008, but my ex had. I asked to have the marker brought home so I could repair it, tend to it, seal it, whatever was needed to make it last in the mountains again. My request was at first ignored, and then outright denied. I was not to touch the marker, or see it, repair it, or move it in any way.
Then came this February. The decade point. And the email. I have already written about the cruel words used by my ex to deny me a request for remembrance of our son. Actually, the whole denial basically eliminated Seth as a person at all in my ex's eyes. It left me struggling and afraid and sad. Out of that though, came my overwhelming need to have everything back that is mine. That included Seth's marker, located on the property that used to be ours.
I went to the mountains this weekend, and I brought the marker home.
I learned a lot in the tears and sobs I had as I pulled the stake (that I did not attach, but my ex must have at some point in the last couple years) out of the rocks, and cleaned the marker of weeds and tree debris all around it. I learned a lot as I carried the marker (and the stake, attached in a way I could not remove) back to the car. I learned a lot as I let a friend help me.
In the tears I found that letting go is not a bad thing. I learned that I am stronger than I thought because I still have the ability to cry, and then walk away. I found that I could share a burden, and it does not make me any weaker for having accepted help. I found that I could be in a space that I used to love with all my heart, and still love it, while knowing that there are lots of other places and spaces to love, because I take the love with me. I own it. It is mine. I choose.
I went to the mountains this weekend.
I thought I would find an old piece of wood that needed a little love. What I found was my heart. Worn a bit, in need of some care, but intact. I can say thank you to Seth for having brought me this far. I can see him, letting my love embrace him even as walk down the road, smiling and saying "Go for it, Mom. Love you! You can do this. You don't need me any more. Give my love to Haysten and Mariah!" "I will son, thank you!".
I will make a decision about the marker soon. I think I might throw a party. On Carmel Beach. With a bonfire. I will invite you.
