I won’t let them fade.

I don’t even like purple. It’s not my color. My blog is purple. Like a neutral purple maybe? Hmm. I’ll overthink that one later.

I think a human experience we all share, is that we don’t want our (good) memories to fade. It’s all we have left of places, people, things sometimes. It’s a reoccurring thought during grief. As I’m writing this, I looked over and saw a backpack that Beck used to take to school. I pulled it out for Madds to use for overnights. But it’s tangible. I am looking at it. It is here. I’ve seen that backpack hundreds of times. Sitting next to my front door, queued up for school. I’ve shuffled through papers in it at various times. I’ve found drawings and notes in it. But the memory of watching him walk to the bus stop with his little brother, with that backpack on his back, I get to relive in my head whenever I want. That memory smells like morning air. I never want to lose that. Sometimes I’d go full paparazzi on them and walk back in the house after I waved bye and blew air kisses, and then quietly pop back out to get pictures of them talking as they walk up the street. In fact- I’ll find one of those and post it above.

One of my favorite ketamine sessions involved Beck going through our memories. I’ll pretty much tell anyone that will listen that they should get with their therapist about therapist assisted ketamine treatment. I know I’ve said before that it’s life changing, but it is.

Since his birthday was on the 24th, I thought I’d share the last session he appeared. As always, incredible. While I was drifting and making my way into my head, during my ketamine journey I kept reminding myself that I’m here to do some hard work. No matter how much it hurts, I’m open to the process and will always search for the learning moments. I go in with an intention but am always open to other possibilities.

This time, Beck immediately appeared. He was in the form of a cloud and then slowly turned into how he looked on earth. “Hi mum”, in his unmistakable voice. He knows how much I love to hear his voice. We slowly walked toward each other as I inspected every single feature I have memorized. His eyes, nose, shoulders, hands. It was him. Before I could tell him that I loved him and missed him, he said he knew.

I felt immeasurable joy. Joy.

I started to reach toward him and my subconscious made me stop and ask if it was okay to touch his hair. Again, before I could finish my sentence he smirked and said, “of course”. I ruffled his curls and knew it was him. Of. Course.

Really, I wasn’t sure where to go from there. He knew I loved and missed him. Beyond having him on this earth still, what more could I need? I needed to know, that he knew, he was the center of my world and while not perfect, I really tried my hardest. I also needed to express the overwhelming guilt that accompanies being a step-mom. Not just the guilt, but that I never intended to replace his birth mother (I shared all of this with her recently, so I feel okay sharing here. And for those that are curious, we are friends and share our love for that boy with each other regularly. I’m grateful for that). He made it very clear that he knew I tried my best and that the plan was always for both of us to mother him, in our own ways. What a weight that lifted. After that, we dropped into a very sad memory. One that I had forgotten. As we watched it like it was a movie scene, he hugged me from the side. And then I decided, no… this is not what the journey is going to be. I already know that he understands the failures and missteps we make as parents. So, I turned to him and asked if we could start from the beginning. It seemed like the most logical place.

Sidebar- The best way I can describe these sessions, would be to call them dream like. Dream like, but layered with a very intense, very real physical emotion while journeying.

We held hands and walked side by side and stepped into the day I met him. September 2010. He was 2. Curly hair. Raspy voice. Full of energy. I cried tears of happiness while watching this memory. To relive that moment, felt like magic. We both smiled as we watched him bounce around the room exchanging introductory questions and answers with me. It was perfect. I loved him from that day.

Other memories began to appear, some small, some big. All amazing. He was so proud to be walking me through these moments in time. He said he wanted me to see a memory that showed how he knew I love him. We were in our kitchen. He was about 4. There were crayons and pencils all over the counter. I had taped the corners of his coloring sheet to the counter, so it didn’t move around while he filled it in with his favorite colors. He pointed to it. It was something I had done a hundred times when he was little. I taped the corners and his little heart loved that I did that for him. It was small. But he wanted to show me that little acts of love like that add up. They all matter. For as long as I can remember, the phrase “love is in the details” has always circulated in my thoughts. This feels full circle. It was so validating. So lovely to feel certain that he knew how much I loved him.

Grief is a weird thing. We often are left wondering if we would have done things differently or said something else. The fact is… we can’t change our memories. We cannot go back and make different decisions. But I wholeheartedly believe that our loved ones who have passed receive clarity on the other side and their souls understand their experiences and their people and they are left with love and light. I have to believe that.

After that ketamine session, I came out of it with an intense sense of gratitude. Our human experience, is just that… for humans. Our souls carry on with the lessons. What a powerful thought. I wouldn’t wish complex grief on anyone, but I refuse not to examine it and pull from it what I need. The work is worth it to me.

Never in a million years would I have thought that I’d be sitting here typing these types of experiences out for you. Or thought that I’d be making bigger plans because of this. Around this. Life is hard. Complicated. Frustrating. But. It almost feels like it’s not fair for me to keep these lessons I’ve learned to myself. Not everyone wants to sit in therapy every week. Not everyone has the means to take part in alternative medicine. Not everyone is self aware enough to see that they could spend time reflecting. At least, not until you realize it’s there, or that there are options. The power of a deep breath, is sometimes immeasurable. I didn’t know that 3 years ago. Maybe you didn’t either. But it’s gold and it’s a tool we can all use. A starting point.

Why am I writing any of this. My toolbox keeps growing. I’ve said before, these menty health tools aren’t one size fits all. I was lucky to be given tiny tools as a kid. Not everyone gets those. The important part is to start building your toolbox. Start with breathing. It’s simple, but you can actually make it multifaceted (google breathwork techniques).

In for 4

Hold for 4

Out for 4

That’s where the healing began for me.

My other favorite is…

In for 4 (when your lungs feel fully inflated, stretch yourself to get in 1 more sip of air)(thank you Dennie for the “sip of air” term during yoga)

Hold for 6

Out for 8

Maybe that sounds silly to you. That’s okay. However, there is science behind it. That second method I swear by when I need a little dopamine release haha

Anywho… Today I’m feeling good. Better. Capable.

Love you, say it back