Karl Daniel

Full Circle – Day 1111

Posted on by Lisa Weikel 3 Comments
My Wild Son – Photo: unknown

Full Circle

I’ve been looking forward to reaching this moment and yet dreading it at the same time. We all know it’s been on my mind – it’s not as if I haven’t kept a running “T minus” count at the bottom of each post. So here it is. My Act of Power is complete. And the weirdest thing of all is how truly ‘full circle’ I’ve come. It’s more than you might think.

When I wrote my first post in the Act of Power I ended up dubbing my ‘1111 Devotion,’ all I knew was that the goal was set. I didn’t project into the future. In fact, I remember dividing 1111 by 365 just to see roughly how long my commitment would play out. And I distinctly remember wondering what day the project would end but making the conscious decision not to figure it out ‘with specificity.’ I didn’t want to consciously know the end date. In some way, I think I didn’t want to get ahead of myself. Who knew what might happen between then and now? In spite of my very best intentions, circumstances might have interrupted my efforts – so why put a date on it.

Over the past few months I began to get a sense of what the end date would be. (Yeah, I know. I’m weird.) And the fact that this effort on behalf of honoring Karl would end tonight seemed, oh, I don’t know. Too perfect.

Last Night

And so it was only last night that I finally permitted myself to pull out my journal from the time when Karl died and check some of the dates that were dancing around in my head. What I discovered may have contributed to my difficulty writing last night’s post. No. They absolutely did. My mind was going both a million miles a minute and simultaneously whirring, sort of stuck in neutral, in another time and place.

I was both rejoicing and thanking myself for keeping such detailed notes of thoughts, feelings, experiences, and messages – and also feeling a profound regret for not having kept even better records. Don’t get me wrong: I’m not saying that I was berating myself. It was more a feeling like when you’re watching a great movie or reading a book that’s totally engrossing and yet…you want more.

On some level, I knew I’d feel this way even as I was walking through our shock and grief. That’s why I did make an effort a couple of times to write out in copious detail some of the more amazing experiences we had. But there were many, many more mundane connections and contacts made between Karl and us in the days and weeks following his drowning. One thing that apparently happened frequently – so frequently that I clearly started taking it for granted – was a classic sign of the presence of spirit: a sudden and often fleeting feeling of a cold draft or pocket of air.

Funny. I totally forgot that that happened a lot in the two weeks or so immediately following his death. And yet even other people experienced it. Even people who called me to say they felt his presence in that moment and had a word or a message to convey.

Karl holding Spartacus (approx 4 weeks old) – Photo: L. Weikel

Tip of the Iceberg

And all of this is just a taste of what I re-discovered when I went back and started reading my entries from that time. As I said above, it sent me into a reverie that, honestly, I feel I’m still in.

Indeed, a part of me wanted to try to write this final post in my 1111 Devotion ahead of time. What?!? And break with tradition? I’m pretty sure you all know I’ve written each and every post spontaneously, every night, often jettisoning an idea that had been lurking at the edge of my mind in favor of a thought, inspiration, or outrage that was simply too compelling to quell.

So no. I couldn’t write this ahead of time. And now we’re sort of stuck with this polyglot of thoughts.

YCMTSU

But of course, I must conclude with the final YCMTSU (You Can’t Make This Stuff* Up) of this 1111 Devotion. Today is November 26th 2021. Our Gathering in honor of Karl was held – you guessed it – on the Saturday following Thanksgiving in 2011: November 26th. This post, because of the way I stay up late writing and have it set up so that the email version gets batch posted at 1:00 a.m., will actually be posted on Saturday.

So yeah. Through absolutely ZERO planning or intention on my part, this 3+ year endeavor, based solely on writing 1111 consecutive posts (in tribute to his death on 11/11/11 – at or about 11:11 p.m. Pacific Time) is ENDING on 11/26 (my Friday night), but technically Saturday – the literal day on which his Gathering took place ten years ago.**

There’s More

Reading my journal entries has reminded me of some experiences that I’m still digesting, in that I honestly believe they mean more to me now than they did when they occurred. It’s almost as if they’re messages that I wrote down then but were meant for me to read and recall now.

This is something that happens a lot with dreams and shamanic journeys. That’s because time is an illusion, and sometimes we receive messages or have dreams that we know or feel are profound, but don’t really make sense in the ‘now.’ It’s only when we go back and read them weeks, months, and sometimes even years (or decades) later do they click into place.

Ah yes. Good stuff.

But in the meantime? I thank you all for sharing this epic journey with me. Knowing at least one other person (besides Karl – he has to live with me, so he was kind of obligated to at least fake it) was reading my words meant the world to me. Instead? I was blessed with so many of you.

Thank you.

Karl and I opening Sacred Space at Karl’s Gathering 10 years ago today – Photo: Ellen Naughton

*you know what I really say
**As usual whenever I mention 1111 Devotion, I added the link to the very first entry I wrote (the ‘Devotion’ post), above. For the first time in a very long time (ever?), I re-read it just now in its entirety and I see that – apparently – I DID calculate that this would end on November 26th. What I realize is that it obviously didn’t even CLICK that this would be the exact 10 year anniversary of his Gathering; and as a corollary to that, I don’t think I was counting eggs, much less any chickens, at that point. I can confidently say I never assumed I’d reach this goal without missing a day. I still can’t believe it.

(T-0)

Contemplating – Day 1107

Posted on by Lisa Weikel 4 Comments
On My Walk Today – Photo: L. Weikel

Contemplating

I’ll admit it: I’m contemplating shamelessly exploiting more of my pets to avoid sitting with and exploring the unsettled feelings that are coming up for me. And that’s kind of a weird thing. Not shamelessly exploiting my pets, of course. If you’ve been reading my posts for any length of time, you know I do that with abandon. Indeed, whenever I’m at a loss for something to write about, I look to my four legged friends to bail me out.

No, what’s weird is the fact that I seem to be avoiding altogether the task of excavating and reflecting upon my feelings as I approach the completion of my 1111 Devotion. So I’m left with this creeping sense of dread that if I don’t look for the meaning, it will have meant nothing at all.

But even that feels disingenuous. I committed to this Act of Power to find some small way to honor the life and creativity of my son. I did it as an act of devotion to the relationship I lost when he died. I did it because I wanted to acknowledge the hole he left in my heart – in my life – and those of his father and brothers as well. And I know there are others out there who loved him – and miss him – as well.

Taken today, too – Photo: L. Weikel

Regret

There are days when I regret my failure to create something truly meaningful and enduring to remember Karl by. He was passionate about feeding people and caring for the un-housed. He had that uncommon generosity of sharing what little he had with those who had less. I’m keenly aware that I barely even wrote about these societal challenges, much less did anything to alleviate them.

Many families that lose a child seem to turn their tragedy into an instrument of good. Their efforts range from establishing foundations to counter the gun lobby, or raising money to research SIDS, or creating better systems to feed the food insecure or to bring tiny homes to communities.

I stand in awe of mothers who create legacies of this kind.

So, no. I don’t put a lot of stock in the fact that I stayed up late 1111 nights in a row to write about stuff. From what I saw on my walks in nature that day to my reactions to the slow-moving coup we call our daily lives (in the U.S. and world-wide, sadly), my missives covered some pretty mundane, albeit occasionally fanciful subjects. And what I’m realizing in this moment is that they were, for the most part, a pretty far cry from creative. So much for honoring Karl’s prodigious creativity and irreverence.

Don’t Get Me Wrong

Lest I leave you with the sense that I regret this effort, please, let me assure you, that’s not the case. I think I can safely say my skills at iPhone photography alone have benefited significantly. So right there is an artistic and creative aspect to this project that I didn’t foresee.

And beyond a shadow of a doubt, the most amazing aspect to this 1111 Devotion was the dedication displayed by so many of you. By making a point to read my posts each day (and sometimes having to go to Facebook to find the daily missive or search directly on my website), each of you engaged in an Act of Power yourselves.

I can’t thank you enough for being such steadfast companions on this journey.

(Hmmm. Well, this was a surprise. I guess I’ll exploit my pets tomorrow night instead. I still have three more posts to write!)

The sky was quite expressive – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-4)

Birthday – Day 641

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Blueberry-lemon birthday cake – Photo: L. Weikel

Birthday

Some of you may have caught on to the deeper meaning when I wished you a “Happy 13th of August” last night. In spite of the foundation upon which all of my posts are founded (my 1111 Devotion), I try not to be too maudlin about the life (and death) of my eldest son, Karl Daniel. But whether I mention it or not, August 13th will always be the anniversary of his birthday.

Every year is a little bit different. And it doesn’t progress in a linear fashion, believe me. If it did, I’d be breathing a sigh of relief, knowing that every single year would bring me just that little bit less sadness, just a slightly diminished tendency to wonder what his life would be like now, who he’d be, what he’d be doing in the world right now.

But life isn’t like that. Death isn’t like that. When it first hits you, especially as a parent enduring that freaking nightmare of losing a child (regardless of whether they’re 3 months, 3 years, or 30 years when they die) most of us feel we might very well lose our minds before ever coming to terms with the reality of losing our baby forever.

For most of us, though, the searing pain at first loss that we feel will never ease, never diminish (indeed, that we vow we’ll never let go of – for to lose that edge will somehow, we feel, lessen the importance of their life to both us and to the world) inexplicably does. And honestly, at least for me, it was involuntary. I did not want to lose that edge.

Life Goes On

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I wanted to wear that loss on my vest and claim it as a defining, debilitating, characteristic of my life. The exact opposite, as a matter of fact. I wanted the gaping hole in my heart that belongs to my eldest son to spur me on to helping others cope with their grief when faced with similar loss.

So as we’re told in lyrics and poems, life goes on. We rail against it, when the loss is fresh. We secretly damn the people who tell us ‘time heals all wounds’ – most of the ones who say that have never felt the sense of having a phantom limb haunting us that losing one of our children creates. They think losing a parent is the same thing.

It’s not.

They think losing a sibling is the same thing.

It’s not.

Forgiveness

But ultimately, we have to extend to the people around us the most exquisite (and sometimes hardest to come by) gift: forgiveness. Most are doing the best they can to comfort us at a time when we’re experiencing something that simply blows their minds. And at the same time, it’s incumbent upon us to extend that same olive branch of forgiveness to our very own selves.

Yes, eventually – even if we try really hard to keep it at the forefront and make our lives center around it – the nearly unbearable pain of losing our child will eventually withdraw into the background of our lives. It’s at once surprising, unsettling, sad, and a relief. And a little guilt-inducing as well.

If we really loved them, would we ever allow ourselves to lose that edge? It’s a question that has a hollow and unsatisfactory answer.

My Point

The point I started to make when I began this post was that you just never know when the grief is going to sneak up behind you and clobber you over the head.

Upon waking this morning I felt a genuine heaviness around my heart. I’d sensed Karl ‘around’ a couple days earlier, but didn’t particularly feel him today. When I did notice him a few days ago, it made me realize that his ‘visits,’ if you can even call them that, are much more infrequent nowadays. And while I can appreciate that this happens, and why, it nevertheless makes me sad.

So I decided to bake a cake. What the heck. For 30 years I’d made a point of baking (or procuring) two cakes within the span of one week, since his father’s birthday is only four days before my son’s.

Only this time I decided to make something totally different. A vanilla cake. (I’ve never made one of those before. Not even once!) And it would have blueberries and lemon going on to make it special and festive. I rationalized that this would be the type of cake I’d buy at my favorite bakery, Crossroads, and almost certainly did for not a few birthdays over the years.

So here it is. The fruit of my reminiscing about my son and celebrating what should have been his 39th birthday today.

Never assume that just because it’s been a bunch of years since the loss of a child that their memory and how much they are missed has diminished.

Looks sloppy, but tastes yummy – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-470)

Weird Emotions – Day 503

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Photo: L. Weikel

Weird Emotions

I’m finding the enormity of what we’re seeing unfold around us sneaks up and catches me at the oddest times. I’ll be motoring along, minding my business, when suddenly DT will say or do something that shakes my faith in humanity. And then I find myself juggling a panoply of weird emotions bubbling up at the oddest moments.

While I try to keep my intake of the latest news in balance with the rest of my life, I’ll be the first to admit that on those days that I can’t get outside to take a walk, I’m a little fried by the end of the day.

It poured rain all day today. And I’m not keen on walking in wet weather, to be honest. At least not when the temperature’s hovering around 44 degrees. Yet walking plays such a huge role in keeping my emotions in balance; I find it necessary for my survival. It’s extremely rare for me to begin a walk in a pissy, disagreeable mood and arrive home in the same or worse condition. Not to say it’s not impossible; just less likely.

Star Trek

Karl and I watched the final episode of Picard tonight. It was a worthy season finale. But what surprised me most was when the familiar Star Trek music started playing at the end, my eyes welled up and a couple tears rolled down my cheeks! I found myself suddenly thinking about Karl, in whose honor I write these nightly posts as part of my 1111 devotion, and my other sons as well.

All of a sudden I felt this clench in my heart, recognizing the thread that Star Trek has woven throughout my own life: from when I was a kid myself and the first season of Star Trek aired on Philadelphia’s UHF channel 48 (the same channel that carried roller derbies) to right now, when we would gather – pre-Covid-19, mind you – with T and M to watch Picard together.

And all those years in between. Indeed, as we’ve watched Picard, Karl and I have realized that some of the spin-offs and other Star Trek series over the years were actually background noise as we were busy raising the boys. The guys might be watching, but we were either still getting home from work or making dinner or otherwise engaged in being consumed with young family-hood.

So now, mid-Covid-19, we’re going to watch all the shows. At least that’s on the agenda for now.

Mortality Is In the Air

Perhaps it’s the sense that anything could happen at any moment that’s causing my tears to be slightly on a hair trigger. I don’t know. While I can’t say I’m weepy by any stretch of the imagination, I do think I am tapping into something larger. Our shared despair at a lot of the cruelty we’re seeing, perhaps.

I think it was the hope for humanity that was ‘pinged’ in my heart when I heard the Star Trek theme tonight. I want to believe in our better nature. I want to believe that we will rise to the occasion.

(T-608)