In Memory Of...
On Friday, August 1, 2014 at about 5:35 p.m. my youngest former foster son lost his life by drowning in the Willamette River just under the Sellwood Bridge in Portland, OR. According to reports, friends tried to help him but could not. He went underwater never to come back up again. He was not a strong swimmer and he wasn't wearing a life jacket.
That Friday was another hot day, above 90 degrees, in what has been a long series of hot days. I can picture my son and his friends deciding to take a dip in the water to cool off. They may have planned to do so or it may have been completely spontaneous. What is obvious is that they were not fully prepared to be in the river. No life jackets, no life preserver or some flotation device to throw out in case of an emergency. Just young male bravado and a sense of being invincible. After all, when you are young you really do believe you will live forever and that nothing will happen to you.
When I first read a post about this on Facebook I got a sinking, terrified feeling of dread. I message the young man whose post I saw hoping, as he did, that nothing had gone awry in the world. His reply stopped time for a few seconds but, simultaneously, a lifetime. I Googled my son's name with the words "drowning portland, or" after it. There it was confirmed in a list of several links all telling me exactly what I did not want to confirm. I woke my partner from the nap he was taking to tell him the news I had woken up to from my nap. His Google search was the same as mine. So much for hoping that somehow, someway, my devices were lying to me.
Next came the phone calls to my former secretary (who'd been my back up foster placement) and to my older former foster son to check on him. That call broke my heart and was the first to set off the tears. There were other calls, texts and Facebook messages that would break me down on Saturday but I spent most of the day in a numbed haze.
I wondered if we hadn't changed the foster placement if the outcome would have been different. I remembered Ms. Felicia's advice that all youngsters should learn to swim because there are so many opportunities to be in water in Portland. I admonished myself for not pressing the boys to take lessons. I tried not to give into the guilt of my self perceived failure to honor the promise I made their biological mother to take care of them because I did as much as I could and asmuch as they would let me.
Then I got angry. Angry at him for his carelessness and self-centered selfishness. Angry because when he so stupidly got into the river knowing that he was not strong enough to swim those waters without a life jacket, he wasn't thinking of those now hurting. He wasn't thinking about the deep pain his brother feels after already having lost a father and being separated from his mother and younger brother by circumstance, which is also a loss. He wasn't thinking about the heavy loss other family members and friends feel from this loss. He was thinking he was young and invincible and going to live forever.
My Christopher always tells me not to dwell on the negative, to focus on the good instead. He especially emphasized this when he asked if I was okay and what I was thinking. He got an "ok" and that I was hoping that the Portland Fire & Rescue would not recover the body because it would be bloated and perhaps damaged by river creatures and I didn't want my other son to have to identify it. I don't think he was expecting THAT. Truth is, I was thinking about that a lot. I went back and forth between that and dreading having the Willamette River be my boy's final resting place and hoping that it was a quick, painless death rather than prolonged. Conflicting reports state the body has not been recovered while others state it has. My other son hasn't let me know which is true. My mind was a dark place Saturday (and now) so I had to stay numb or lose my mind.
I did take Chris's advice and decided to focus on the positive before going to bed. I know he had an amazing high school experience and a great senior year. He got to have the American dream his mother immigrated here for. At one point he wanted to be an FBI or CIA operative and I have no doubt he would have been an amazing one. He was set to start his next chapter as he was already enrolled in college and had a job lined up. He was in a very positive place.
I've been reading books by psychic medium Echo Bodine about the death process which have really helped with this particular event. Echo talks about why the soul is here on earth and what happens when its time is up. She calls death "graduation" because at the time of death the soul has completed the time it needed to learn the lessons it had to learn in this incarnation. She also advices that if we are open, the souls of our departed will visit us in our sleep. I had such a visitation last night.
It started with whatever dream I was actively in when my son made his visitation. I keep thinking he was dream bombing, just like photo bombing. I was conscious of being pulled away from the dream by the awareness of a presence. I can't even remember what I was dreaming but I remember the awareness and the pull of a presence. I also remember knowing that it was to my left and I wonder if the side of the body has any significance. I turned my head first to see him standing there wearing the same clothes and in the same stance as in the picture everyone is using for their memorials. I felt the same aloofness he shows in the picture. That sense of "whatever" and self absorption he always had. I remember smiling and calling him to ask him to come over. There was no response but I got a sense of knowing that he is ok and that he is fine with both his death and the manner in which he died. I turned my whole body with the intention of walking to him but that's when my toy Malti-poo, Zoe, jumped off the bed and I was jolted awake knowing that means she won't go potty outside if not accompanied. Between Zoe and my son they knew that what I got would be enough and that, perhaps, he just isn't ready to give me more. After letting Zoe potty and going back to bed, I did invite him to come back again. I let him know that is something I am both open to and I would welcome it.
I also wondered what lesson there is here for those of us touched by his death. Everyone will take a different lesson but I think mine goes right back to preparing children for the adversities of life. It's in the reality that this group of young adults went to the river ill prepared for the realities of swimming in such a body of water. They didn't think about the depth of the river, didn't consider the current and didn't bring the tools they needed to adequately play in the river. They forgot to honor that Mother Nature is much, much mightier and that we are but lowly mortals operating within a much mightier universe. They brought youth, carefree attitudes and a belief that they would live forever. Yet all of their lives are irreversibly altered because of this event.
So, while countless adolescents will continue to roll their eyes at me and some will tell me to "fuck off" or call me a "bitch", I am doing what I have been called to do. My soul's charge in this incarnation is to help young men and women acquire the tools they need to "swim" in the mighty river of life.
That Friday was another hot day, above 90 degrees, in what has been a long series of hot days. I can picture my son and his friends deciding to take a dip in the water to cool off. They may have planned to do so or it may have been completely spontaneous. What is obvious is that they were not fully prepared to be in the river. No life jackets, no life preserver or some flotation device to throw out in case of an emergency. Just young male bravado and a sense of being invincible. After all, when you are young you really do believe you will live forever and that nothing will happen to you.
When I first read a post about this on Facebook I got a sinking, terrified feeling of dread. I message the young man whose post I saw hoping, as he did, that nothing had gone awry in the world. His reply stopped time for a few seconds but, simultaneously, a lifetime. I Googled my son's name with the words "drowning portland, or" after it. There it was confirmed in a list of several links all telling me exactly what I did not want to confirm. I woke my partner from the nap he was taking to tell him the news I had woken up to from my nap. His Google search was the same as mine. So much for hoping that somehow, someway, my devices were lying to me.
Next came the phone calls to my former secretary (who'd been my back up foster placement) and to my older former foster son to check on him. That call broke my heart and was the first to set off the tears. There were other calls, texts and Facebook messages that would break me down on Saturday but I spent most of the day in a numbed haze.
I wondered if we hadn't changed the foster placement if the outcome would have been different. I remembered Ms. Felicia's advice that all youngsters should learn to swim because there are so many opportunities to be in water in Portland. I admonished myself for not pressing the boys to take lessons. I tried not to give into the guilt of my self perceived failure to honor the promise I made their biological mother to take care of them because I did as much as I could and asmuch as they would let me.
Then I got angry. Angry at him for his carelessness and self-centered selfishness. Angry because when he so stupidly got into the river knowing that he was not strong enough to swim those waters without a life jacket, he wasn't thinking of those now hurting. He wasn't thinking about the deep pain his brother feels after already having lost a father and being separated from his mother and younger brother by circumstance, which is also a loss. He wasn't thinking about the heavy loss other family members and friends feel from this loss. He was thinking he was young and invincible and going to live forever.
My Christopher always tells me not to dwell on the negative, to focus on the good instead. He especially emphasized this when he asked if I was okay and what I was thinking. He got an "ok" and that I was hoping that the Portland Fire & Rescue would not recover the body because it would be bloated and perhaps damaged by river creatures and I didn't want my other son to have to identify it. I don't think he was expecting THAT. Truth is, I was thinking about that a lot. I went back and forth between that and dreading having the Willamette River be my boy's final resting place and hoping that it was a quick, painless death rather than prolonged. Conflicting reports state the body has not been recovered while others state it has. My other son hasn't let me know which is true. My mind was a dark place Saturday (and now) so I had to stay numb or lose my mind.
I did take Chris's advice and decided to focus on the positive before going to bed. I know he had an amazing high school experience and a great senior year. He got to have the American dream his mother immigrated here for. At one point he wanted to be an FBI or CIA operative and I have no doubt he would have been an amazing one. He was set to start his next chapter as he was already enrolled in college and had a job lined up. He was in a very positive place.
I've been reading books by psychic medium Echo Bodine about the death process which have really helped with this particular event. Echo talks about why the soul is here on earth and what happens when its time is up. She calls death "graduation" because at the time of death the soul has completed the time it needed to learn the lessons it had to learn in this incarnation. She also advices that if we are open, the souls of our departed will visit us in our sleep. I had such a visitation last night.
It started with whatever dream I was actively in when my son made his visitation. I keep thinking he was dream bombing, just like photo bombing. I was conscious of being pulled away from the dream by the awareness of a presence. I can't even remember what I was dreaming but I remember the awareness and the pull of a presence. I also remember knowing that it was to my left and I wonder if the side of the body has any significance. I turned my head first to see him standing there wearing the same clothes and in the same stance as in the picture everyone is using for their memorials. I felt the same aloofness he shows in the picture. That sense of "whatever" and self absorption he always had. I remember smiling and calling him to ask him to come over. There was no response but I got a sense of knowing that he is ok and that he is fine with both his death and the manner in which he died. I turned my whole body with the intention of walking to him but that's when my toy Malti-poo, Zoe, jumped off the bed and I was jolted awake knowing that means she won't go potty outside if not accompanied. Between Zoe and my son they knew that what I got would be enough and that, perhaps, he just isn't ready to give me more. After letting Zoe potty and going back to bed, I did invite him to come back again. I let him know that is something I am both open to and I would welcome it.
I also wondered what lesson there is here for those of us touched by his death. Everyone will take a different lesson but I think mine goes right back to preparing children for the adversities of life. It's in the reality that this group of young adults went to the river ill prepared for the realities of swimming in such a body of water. They didn't think about the depth of the river, didn't consider the current and didn't bring the tools they needed to adequately play in the river. They forgot to honor that Mother Nature is much, much mightier and that we are but lowly mortals operating within a much mightier universe. They brought youth, carefree attitudes and a belief that they would live forever. Yet all of their lives are irreversibly altered because of this event.
So, while countless adolescents will continue to roll their eyes at me and some will tell me to "fuck off" or call me a "bitch", I am doing what I have been called to do. My soul's charge in this incarnation is to help young men and women acquire the tools they need to "swim" in the mighty river of life.
