Acceptance comes in stages, and my journey through grief has been a winding path, filled with unexpected moments of joy and sorrow.
When my son Cory passed away, I found myself thrust into the depths of despair.
Yet, in the midst of this profound trauma, I discovered the gift of acceptance—though it was only the beginning.
One pivotal experience on this journey was centered around Cory’s beloved hammock.
During his last year with us, Cory had invested in a camping hammock, a vibrant piece of fabric that became his sanctuary—a place to relax, unwind, and connect with nature.
I remember vividly the day he called me while lounging in it, suspended beneath a bridge, twenty feet above the shimmering water.
The sound of laughter danced in his voice as he shared his adventurous spirit with me.
But that laughter was abruptly interrupted by the distant blare of a foghorn.
“I’ve got to call you back,” he said, his tone shifting.
Moments later, I learned that the police had spotted him and were warning him about the dangers of his precarious perch.
Later that week, he stumbled upon a sign announcing the prohibition of hammocks along the bridge.
Curious, he approached a nearby officer and inquired about it.
“There was this crazy guy hanging under the bridge last week. We can’t have people doing that. It’s dangerous,” the officer replied, shaking his head.
With a twinkle in his eye, Cory simply smiled and said, “That crazy guy was me!”
Beyond his escapades, Cory cherished that hammock for its comforting embrace while camping in the Greenbelt of Austin.
After he transitioned, I felt an overwhelming urge to reclaim a piece of him.
I hung the hammock in my backyard, eager to feel his spirit enveloping me, a part of my healing process.
As time passed, we built a swing from one of the trees where the hammock rested.
In our enthusiasm, we took down one end of the hammock to make room for the swing, leaving it to languish on the ground for several months.
One day, I decided to rehang it, only to find it riddled with holes, devoured by bugs.
My heart sank; the sight of the once-vibrant fabric now tattered, filled me with disappointment.
Coincidentally, a dear friend visiting from out of town offered to help.
She suggested sewing patches over the holes, using fabric from a polyester bodysuit that Cory had cherished.
As she took the hammock with her, she carried not just the fabric but also stories of Cory, sharing anecdotes with everyone she encountered while meticulously stitching patches.
A few weeks later, a package arrived at my doorstep.
Inside was the beautifully repaired hammock, accompanied by a poignant poem entitled “Patching Holes in a Universe.”
“Patching Holes in a Universe.”
By Jitana Alba
Where a seemingly quaint little mend project
Illustrates the concepts of worlds
Weave from a single thread
Needle in hand
I’ve spent lifetimes as
a heart surgeon
a deep sea diver
a modest handyman
a conductor of a symphony
Playing the stories of varied
wondrous souls
Manifest as ever morphing
Collections of matter air fire
Common conclusions have drawn
Times deciding within a human
set of constructions
Patching the Universe
impassive improbable
just plain silly
Yet, who would I be to deem the worth
Of any great mysterious task
present to this awareness
Which may indeed involve
aspects of this self yet undiscovered
Intricately woven into the wrinkles
Of a time I have yet to know
with a logical linear mind
I dare not constrain
the exquisiteness
Opportunity to play and dance
as Divinity with all things
To hear a perfect picture
as a partial part
of pure presence
Work is progress
done and undone
in every moment
Invite to imagine
imagination as iteration
Of innumerable realities
inclined to inspire fruition
Patching holes in a universe
energy ignites in passion
for pure poetic purpose
in perfect placement
¡Voila!
My heart swelled with gratitude as I visualized the love and effort woven into each patch.
That evening, I headed to a nearby lake, excitement bubbling within me as I prepared to hang the hammock at sunset.
As I wrapped the cord around the tree trunks, anticipation coursed through my veins.
Finally, I plopped down into the hammock—only to hear a resounding “kerplunk!” as I fell straight to the ground!
I hadn’t realized that it wasn’t just the holes that had caused the issue; the entire hammock was dry-rotted!
In that moment of unexpected hilarity, I found solace.
The laughter mingled with my tears, reminding me that acceptance doesn’t mean letting go of the past; it means finding joy in the memories, even when they come wrapped in absurdity.
The hammock may have been beyond repair, but the love it symbolized remained intact.
It became a comical reminder of my journey through grief—a journey that, though painful, had moments of lightness and connection, leading me closer to acceptance of Cory's absence and the beautiful memories we shared.
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In addition, I’ve developed a comprehensive support document filled with valuable information to assist you as you navigate this healing process. You can access Healing Hearts Support Document HERE.
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Today, ten years after Cory’s passing, I want to offer others what I wished had been available to me. I have developed a one-on-one support offering to assist bereaved parents in their healing journey and to help them connect with their departed child.
If this resonates with you, let’s have a chat to explore whether this is the right fit for you.
Learn more and connect with me HERE.
I am here to serve you with compassion and understanding.
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