A colleague asked if I remembered what I was thinking the first day we received the news of Zane’s passing.   Everyone is different.  For me, it was vague.  I remember just snippets of that day.  I went back to the letters I wrote to Zane after the crash and found this one.

Dear Zane,

The day of the crash I kept repeating, quietly but out loud, three things.  “It’s ok, I know and, yes”.

Why these? In my deep and earth shattering shock of the unbearable news given to me, why would I quietly, calmly repeat these words over and over?

Was I talking to you?  You were here, even then, to let me know? Does that make sense? And what were you saying to me that had these answers?

I always say “it’s ok” to those in pain or dealing with change of no choice.  Was I telling you it’s ok?  That I know you are still here.  I know you are ok. I know that you are moving on to where you are supposed to be.  Yes, it’s ok that this is the plan?

No. I do not feel that way.  Now.  But I wonder, in that day that cut open, raw day, if I did know better? If some how you were there to say, this is what happened.  And I said, “It’s ok”. And you said, “I’m off to the next realm” and I said, “I know” and you said “ok?” and I said, “yes”.

And perhaps in my sheer grief that conversation happened but my brain can’t remember the details.  It was a conversation our souls had. And it’s why I was so calm, so quiet, so (temporarily) absent from pain. Or maybe so deep in pain.  Either way, I know it was a conversation we were having. An understanding that you gave me, to which, in my present pain, I must find and hang on to.

Over the last year, I am learning that I can still have a relationship with my son if I meet him halfway. Zane believed we are energy, souls having a human experience.  He would talk about how souls vibrate at a much higher level than humans; of how the mind uses such a small capacity of its’ potential. This belief has inspired me to place hope in the practice of raising my vibration level to receive more.

At first this sounded too sci-fi trippy for me but what do I have to lose? I mean, how happy are we when we dream of our children or see a sign that we believe they sent?  Why wouldn’t you want to have more of those, daily dosages of connection.  Albeit, a physical hug is what we will always wish for, since fate stole that from us, what could other possible ways to unite with our child be? 

I believe that my words uttered repeatedly that day, hours after we were told he was killed, was a conversation I did indeed have with my son.  It was the first of many to come.