I’ve spent a lot of my time in the past many years looking back and wondering what if? As much as my ‘now’ has been a joyous ride, there is a lingering sadness that still surfaces when I remember the laughter of our son, Ryan. Then I hear is booming voice holler “Hey Mom” and my heart swims in all the possibilities that will never be.
I am listening to a book on tape by B.B. Griffith called The Vanished Series. I am in book two and without going into the whole book’s story, suffice it to say that it originated on the Navajo Reservation and has moved out into the rest of the world. Ben has passed from this earthly plane and is now The Walker, the one who sees the souls through the veil. It has been quite eerie in places.
Some of the comments that are made about “the other side” fall right in line with what Ryan has shared with me in these past many years. The especially poignant comment was about how different it was there (on the other side) and how the one who has crossed over can be in many places, well, with many loved ones at once, not exclusive. Time is not the same there as time is here, which allows for that. That was a big one for me as I would often feel guilty, wanting him “around” me when I knew so many others were missing him just as much as I was.
I am writing this story a bit ahead of my usual timing as Danny and I are off to AZ to celebrate our annual anniversary stay at our little piece of heaven there. Tonight, it is nearly midnight June 30th. I am awake late as I have been restless all day and the night hasn’t settled down for me yet. I thought it was the heat and turned the AC down, but it isn’t.
You see, seventeen years ago tonight, my daughter and I were struggling to find a place to overnight the horses we were hauling home from Colorado as we each dealt with the unfathomable news of Ryan’s passing. It was just about this same time that we were crawling into beds to try to sleep.
I watched ‘Mystic’ this evening, a new series on Hallmark about a mystical white horse that comes in visions to a teenager in New Zealand. It was a white horse that came to me that night seventeen years ago, when I could finally lay my head on a pillow, in a seedy little motel room. My daughter had driven us as far as she could go and sheer exhaustion was taking over.
When I closed my eyes, there he was, a mystical white horse, moving away from me into the night, looking back at me over his shoulder, a pair of hawk feathers tied in his mane. A vision of this pure white, absolutely, mystical horse.
Tonight, I want to hear from Ryan, but we haven’t had a conversation in a while. I love that he teases his dad off and on with photos that fall off shelves and rodeo buckles on specialty bottles of whiskey. Stories for another time.
Tonight, I wish there was a horse here at our place, one that I could go out and sit next to, hold on to, and breathe with. Tonight, I wish I could wrap my arms around that white horse and fly for a while. Perhaps when I can finally close my eyes tonight, he will come again.
I think it may be time to pull out the pages of his story, started many years ago. Maybe it is getting close to the right time to write out our conversations and share the messages he has gifted me. What I do know for sure, is that in the absence of a horse here at home, I hold on to his feathers, the gifts he has left me and I sit with the presence of him in gratitude. I need to be with his picture in the silence of his absence and listen for him to holler, “Hey Mom, sun’s out here. Have you seen the rainbow today?”
In my remembering of all the beautiful things, he tells me that I can’t stay focused on the rearview mirror or the road ahead will be missed. “Keep it between the lines, Mom,” I hear as I feel the night creeping into my heart and sleep begin to take hold of my mind.
Tonight, I am remembering his first smile in 1975 and his last words on the phone spoken in 2005 as he laughed, “Herb’s here with the dirt Mom, I gotta go.”
What I have come to know, and am so blessed by, is that I can share these stories with his father now. It wasn’t always like that, not until that first picture took an unexpected leap off the bookshelf. What I know for sure is that he transcends time, space, and physical absence as he still teases, leaves gifts of laughter and joy, and gifts me with powerful messages to pass along one day.
Loving and remembering with joy.
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Vicki Dobbs is a bold and adventurous warrior walking a path of heart to manifest spirituality in everyday lives. She opens existential gateways for individuals to face their challenges and embrace these tests as the great teachers that they are.
Her goal is to see everyone walk in beauty and balance every day of their lives empowered by the voice of their own authentic truth.
Through Wisdom Evolution and Sacred Wisdom Workshops, Vicki creates opportunities for others to make deep personal changes through experiential classes, ceremony, sacred art and story. She endeavors to inspire others to create their lives intentionally. Vicki is an Inspirator of everyday awareness, an Instigator of spontaneous stories and a Connoisseur of Creativity. Gratitude and grace sprinkled with humility and humor are the medicine she brings to the world.
As an Elder, Teacher and Entrepreneur, Spiritual Coach, Ordained Minister and Crafter of Sacred Art and Tools, Vicki perceives life’s journey as an ever-upward spiraling ascension of the human spirit leading her to wisdom, wholeness and authenticity.
Her experience includes being trained in the Harner Method of Shamanic Counseling and the Pachakuti Mesa Tradition of Cross Cultural Shamanism. She is a Graduate Teacher and Mentor with the Lynn Andrews Center For Sacred Arts and Training and has been the Administrator and Writers Guide for Writing Spirit, the School.
Vicki is also an Artist of the Spirit Certified Spiritual and Energetic Life Coach, a Graduate Mentor in the AoS program and a founding member of HeatherAsh Amara’s Warrior Goddess Leadership Team and Facilitator of the Warrior Heart Practice.
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