Doodling

By Sherrie Ann Cassel

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I’ve been staring at his handwriting for an hour now. He had a book of lists, you know, to do lists.

I found some of his journals in storage, and I pore through them every so often. I take my finger and trace the shape of his letters, caress the loops, linger tenderly on his punctuation, and stare deeply into the intent of his doodles.

My precious boy.

If I were a medium I would say that his Spirit was in the room, that he was trying to communicate with me from the “other side.”

I would try to comfort the grieving Momma through the mercies of little white lies…

And maybe that’s what I’m doing for myself right now, comforting my grieving heart with little white lies.

But I cannot shake my sense of him in this book of lists, this book in which he made plans for the day, for the week…

I’m a realist generally, with an overarching need to believe, but I won’t seek out proof. It’s enough to “feel” his Presence…in that part of me that can suspend my disbelief, and transcend a world that believes only in things that can be measured.

As you all know, when you lose a child, your entire worldview is shattered. Nothing makes sense anymore, and you wonder if it ever will again.

There is a benefit to being lost though; there are then infinitely many paths to being found. It will be 28 months next Tuesday for me and my boy. And the road is wide open before me. Reluctantly I go.

As I hugged his journal to my chest, I thought of the Akashic Records, and I let Rikki be my guide to possibilities, and he said, “Momma, what kind of relationship do YOU want to have with me now, one of pain, or one of peace?”

I will sleep on this tonight with his journal under my pillow. Perhaps he’ll come to me in a dream, or whisper “I love you” while I sleep.

Previously published in GRIEF DIGEST, 2017.