Kisses For a Son 5/29/16

         Some friends and I visited this morning.

        We stood in a circle outside, surrounded by trees.  The cool breeze wafting around, a won-derful respite from yes-terday's hot weather.

        Someone new to me walked by, then dropped in, joining us.  Everyone knew each other.  The odd man out, you know who.

      That's okay.  The unknown woman heard about me.  She checked me out.

        No.  Not that way.

      Her pain robbed
any joy she could know.  Depression oozed from her.   A glaze filled her eyes as she stood across from me.  I feared I would pick up her emotional disease if I got closer.

        Her shoulders slumped.  Quiet, lethargic words escaped from her lips when she spoke. Her roots harkened from Cherry Hill, New Jersey. 

        Then the news.  Eighteen months ago, the sad woman's son died in his early thirties.  That's why she looked as she did.

         Defeated, tired, and worn.

         Our uncertainty about how the be-reaved will respond makes it easier avoid-ing discussions about the death of their loved one. Those grieving want to talk about their departed loved ones. Those relating to grief-stricken people often feel awkward.  Lean-ing into the subject, I asked his age when he died.

       She opened up.  This begins the steps towards healing from loss.  We open up about our feelings.  We experience them.  We do not stuff the hurtful, troubling emotions.

       Otherwise, the body will certainly cry the tears the eyes refuse to shed. 

        We want to feel our feelings, say what we feel.  This begins our healing and the basis of authenticity, the foundation for every fulfil-ling relationship. 

      Our conversation moved to the blouse she wore.  Different.   A black T-shirt plas-tered with a lip print design.  A moment later, my eyes brim-med with tears when she explained why she wore it.

      "These lip markings reveal kisses I have for my son."

       Feeling the tears in the back of my eyes, I said, "Your answer makes me cry,"   Another woman in the circle said, "Me too."

       Being present involves being alive in the mo-ment.  It requires not yielding to our fearful or cautious mental chatter.  It occurs when we feel our feelings and wants, allowing them to nurture us.  The wings of our spirit unfurl when we do.

       I ventured into a delicate and sensitive subject with the woman I met today.  We truly get to know a person when we become aware of their softer sides, especially the darker shades most people overlook or avoid.  This richer discovery of others happens when we know more about them than their name and what they do.

      When present, we remain true to our values.  We ack-nowledge them.  We stand in our power.  Not the case for the faint of heart, who fear ex-pressing what they feel and want.

      Whatever fears we have about what others think of our authentic selves can be over-come.  This happens with the boldness being present offers: declaring what we feel bubbling alive within us, being genuine and transparent.  We feel our emotions and express them.

       In the process, we become our happier, more authentic selves.  And life unfolds riches we would never have known, like being in touch with a mother who wears kisses for her lost son.