Speak Their Names

Today is July 3, and it's Spencer's birthday - at least it was when he had a body. So, for me, it will always be his birthday - the day I gave birth to him. The day a most magnificent being emerged from my little body into this big world.

Spencer was born in a hospital in Torrance, California. I had been in labor for thirty-six extremely long hours when he finally made his debut appearance. I was more than ready to see my little guy; the little one that I had been carrying around with me, talking to, singing to, wondering about. Finally, the moment had come, the miracle had taken place, and he was here.

A nurse quickly brought him up and held him before me so that I could see him. She held him before me at eye level. When I looked into Spencer's eyes, I saw something I had never seen before. I saw my self.  I saw my soul. I saw someone looking at me from a place of knowing and wisdom, and it reflected back to me the fact that I didn't not have a clue who I was. I had just turned 21 years old, and my self-awareness in that moment, turned of age. It was the most profound moment of my entire life. And as time would go on, this little guy with the most amazing endless green eyes, would prove to me my spiritual teacher, my little dude, and my glorious son. 

One of the more difficult things that has happened in the wake of Spencer's death is the absence of his name. People don't speak his name. They don't bring up his name because they are afraid that it will make me sad. I'm already sad. I will be sad for the rest of my life. This sadness that I know within me is a form of love. It walks hand-in-hand with my happiness -- everywhere I go, every minute of my day and night. And, I am okay with that because it is what I have been given to live with. It is part of who I am now. It's not bad. It simply is. It is sacred; sacred sadness. It's quiet, and soft, and it lives in its own special place within my heart. When it is touched, tears form and fill my eyes. The tears are not bad. They are a form of love. Love has many forms, and we know them all because we are alive. It's our judgement that distorts our experiences.

It is ever so important to those who have lost a child, or a husband, wife, mom, dad, brother, sister, friend, or pet, to hear the names of their loved one spoken. When we stop talking about them, it's as if they never existed in the first place. So, my gift to all of us on my Spencer's birthday, is to remind us to continue to speak their names, because "...they are still here, there's nowhere to go..."