family

A Cold Luminary

/ Lisa / 3 Comments

Last night was the annual gathering in the little town I used to live in. I’ve written about this event before, but here’s a bit of background first, for those who are new.

Back in 2018, a young man by the name of Sam Grafton died. If you would like to see a small glimpse of who he was, go to YouTube and watch a video called ‘Tumwater Solitude’. Obviously it was a horrible time for family, but something wonderful happened that is a testament to a tiny town and the people who live there.

The first anniversary, people gathered and lit luminaries, setting the candles all along the bridge and streets and around his memorial bench. There was no set program, just an evening of walking among the candlelight and friends.

Since then, it’s become a regular gathering, but it has grown. It’s a gathering to remember all those we have lost over the previous year, to remember those we’ve loved, those we miss, and those we grieve for.

Yet at the same time, it’s a time to laugh and catch up, to visit with people we may not have seen in too long, to enjoy the sound of the whitewater river, the view of mountains and forest, and to simply wander around the town. It’s a community gathering, and yes, there is sadness in our memories and our loss, there is also a lot of laughter and hugs. There may, or may not, be a story floating around involving a golf car with a dying battery doing extremely slow donuts in an intersection one year being loudly cheered on by locals.

This year, it was thirty degrees (F). Cold. Really cold. Frosty and clear and a sickle moon so stars were out. I think my new hearing aids froze because they sure didn’t want to come out when I got home. Everyone was bundled up, and the evening probably didn’t go on as long as normal. I know I lasted an hour and didn’t ride in any golf carts.

Not to sound corny or anything, but my soul was warm when I left. Isn’t this what community should be? I’m not saying this little town is perfect. There are always conflicts and drama. But when people come together it brings home to me what is lacking in so many places.

After too many news stories, too much exposure to all the awful things in the world, I needed to go out into a chilly night, breathe in fresh air, hug friends, rest by the candlelight, laugh with those I love, and remember.

Thank you, Sam.

Harmony

/ Lisa / 2 Comments

I only knew a small part of Harmony. I didn’t know him as a child when he answered to a different name and hadn’t found his true one yet. I didn’t know him as a teenager or young man or before he lost his short-term memory.

I only knew him as the person who came into my sister’s life and never left.

He was the one who apologized when I first met him, telling me he wouldn’t remember me the next time we met. But that eventually, when I had been in his life long enough, I would enter his long-term memory. That was a wonderful day. It felt like becoming family.

I didn’t know Harmony as a father, and have only recently met his sons. But I knew him as the music in my sister’s life.

She and I would be visiting, non-stop sister words and laughter and stories. Harmony would pull out a guitar or dulcimer and there would be soft music flowing behind our stories.

I knew Harmony as a person of giving. But like his music, softly, unobtrusive, in the background. When a visit was over and I’d go to the car, there would be a little paper bag of homemade soap tucked between the seats. Once there was a box of apricots. And of course there was the repurposed cardboard orange juice container with soil and worms for my fledgling compost bin, inspired by his.

I knew Harmony as a reader, a storyteller, a person who could talk about experiences hitchhiking across the United States (twice), about world religions, about music, about books, about peace, and of course, about harmony and balance.

I only saw him angry once. And that was towards the end of the story – or maybe the beginning – when he was mad at himself and blaming himself for what my sister was going to face in the weeks and months ahead as his transition began.

The same thing those of us who knew him face today. The loss of music. The loss of stories. And most of all, the loss of Harmony. I hope one day we’ll meet again out there somewhere and hear his music. And I hope he’ll remember me. It will feel like family.

Hypnopompic Hallucinations

/ Lisa / Leave a comment

I dreamt that my son, who just turned 28, was still a toddler. It was a simple dream – he had climbed up in my lap and fallen asleep with his head on my shoulder. For those of you with kids, do you remember how the little one fit you so well? How they just molded and melted into you? That hot little body sleeping so heavily against you? It was a sweet dream.

But then I clearly heard him, in his adult voice, say loudly and firmly, ‘mom!’ and it woke me up.

This happens often to me, either in the middle of the night or right before waking. I’ll hear my husband clearly say my name. Or sometimes it’s one of my sisters, including the one sister who has passed away.

I then have a hard time getting back to sleep because my imagination kicks in. Was my son just in an accident and called out to me? I have to turn the volume up on my phone just in case. Is my husband having a medical emergency? I hate it when I hear his voice and he’s not in the bed next to me. I have to go look for him. Is something wrong with a sister? One sister stays up late most nights so I can text her and make sure she’s okay. That one, in particular, makes me nervous when I hear her because she and I have shared dreams in the past.

This time I decided to go to the internet.

Hypnopompic hallucinations happen as a person is waking up, between the stages of sleep and fully awake. It happens in about 12% of people.

Hypnagogic hallucinations happen as a person is falling asleep, and happen in about 37% of people.

In both things, people will hear, see, or feel things that are not actually there. It can happen alone, or with sleep paralysis. It differs from mental illnesses because the person is aware that it isn’t real. It differs from nightmares which occur during REM sleep because it’s typically vivid, short, and straightforward, and has no storyline. Of course, if this happens along with other symptoms, such as when fully awake, or with narcolepsy, then obviously you should see a doctor.

While it’s not uncommon, has a medical name, and is straightforward, still, no one knows exactly what causes it.

The name doesn’t make it any less unsettling though, when you hear your son call you in the middle of the night, clearly and vividly, and as if he’s standing right next to you.

One time I even heard our old dog Arwen, singing her happy song that she reserved for when her favorite people came to visit. I reached out for her as I woke, fully expecting her to be next to me on the bed.

Caught in the act – stealing and eating radishes

Will having a scientific name for this along with a description make a difference the next time it happens? Definitely not. I’m still going to text my sister. I’m still going to get up to see where my husband is. Because after all, they still don’t know what causes it.

Why take the chance?