The art program I work with had the great opportunity to move to a new building, so my class had to do some restructuring. The building was shared, (healing therapy program upstairs, art program downstairs)... but with the art program vacating the building, we had to find a new place to hold our art class. Not surprisingly, one of the other businesses that takes place up stairs let us use one of their offices to hold our class til we find a permanent solution.
So, two weeks ago, I had my art class. I got to the building early. An hour and 15 minutes early actually. I always got to the building early, because there was stuff to help out with for the art program, or I would go get dinner, or just relax outside, take pictures of outside, whatever. I went into the offices for the healing therapy program before I decided what I would do to spend the time though, and as soon as I opened the doors I felt strong energy in there. It was nice, and I wondered why I hadn't visited the offices before. The way the program works, is while the art class is going on, parents and teens who were also affected by the loss have a chance to stay in the offices I was in and work with therapist and in a healing group.
I looked around. There were books on shelves, available for checkout, there was a nice group of chairs in the middle for a comfortable group to talk. There were candles around to be lit, there was even a bundle of sage. I reached over and smelled the sage, the candles... and just felt calm. This was a very welcoming place.
I went to look at my art supplies I had requested, and a man showed up at the doors of the empty building. I spoke with him, hoping I could help him with what he needed. The program's founder's daughter was killed when she was traveling abroad. She was on a bus. This man who came in, his daughter was also traveling abroad. There apparently were two buses. The man who came to the building this night, his daughter was on the same bus as the founder's daughter, then switched the the bus that didn't crash before the tragic accident. So he just decided to come in this night to see if he could essentially touch base, talk to the man whose daughter was lost, and pay his respects. He let me know they had went to the funeral and he just was sharing his thoughts.
Life is short and we never know what will happen tomorrow. Looking into this man's eyes as he spoke to me, I felt he was so grateful to have his daughter.
I had a heavy heart after he left, but it wasn't heavy with sadness, it was heavy with... reality maybe. With life.
I walked around. I sat on the floor in front of one of the bookshelves and started flipping through some pages. I sat there for about 10 minutes and then got up. I went to the back of the room and realized there were photographs on a table. And on a table next to it there were more. And I looked at the faces and saw there were names written on them. And I saw there were programs on the table. From funerals. Looking at the names, I realized I knew some of these faces. They were the brothers, sisters, cousins, friends, family, loved ones... all of the kids from my art class. I was grateful to be able to share so many intimate moments with them as we created art projects, I heard them speak of these loved ones, I was now actually putting a face to those names. I picked up the frames, very carefully. Looking at them all. I read the programs. I had tears running down my face before I could even realize my vision was blurred. The emotions in the room were strong as soon as I walked in and now it was overwhelming. But it was overwhelming in a way that is hard to explain. Hard to really put in words. I know it was positive. It was overwhelming, and it was heavy, but I would not take back that feeling. I felt so connected to myself, to life, to the kids I work with, to nothing, and to everything.
I sat down again, in front of another bookshelf. And I was drawn to a book, it was called something like "Remember me. Love, Dee." My Aunt Debbie killed herself when I was a teenager. But she went by Dee. So, I picked up this book. I flipped through it. It was about a woman named Dee who led a fantastic life and her parents put this book together, like a scrapbook of her life. It was really nice, it made me smile and appreciate little things, as I think was its message. I put it back and when I did my hand was drawn down once shelf to "Life's Little Instruction Book." I remember this book from when I was little. Someone had it. My Grandma maybe. Maybe my Aunt Dee had it. But I was drawn to it, in such a strong way I couldn't deny it. There were two copies. I knew I needed to grab the one on the left. I opened it and tears flowed down my cheeks as I saw what was written in it. There was an inscription from the founder's daughter in it. She had given this book to her friend. She wrote something along the lines of "I love you and miss you so much! Sorry I kept your dress for so long! I hope you enjoy this book as much as I do!" And she signed her name. I was in awe. I felt like my evening had come full circle in my traveling full circle around the room.
It was my first time in the offices of the program, and I felt like I was welcomed with open arms.
That night in our art class, we made up our own superheroes and drew them. I may as well have just held mirrors up to the kid's faces, though. They save my life every time I see them.
P.S.
So this song came on my iTunes on shuffle when I was typing this. I don't always know what I believe, but I do believe that there are things out there higher than us, but what they are? I have no idea. But, I think that we are put places where we need to be, when we need to be there. We get people placed into our life for reasons. Sometimes we may not know it, we may not be aware of it. But when we are aware of it, it can be quite magical. It was magical the day I went in to sign up to volunteer with the art program, and the day I was connected with the healing therapy program, almost a year later, was quite magical too. So, I think it was appropriate this song was playing as I was typing out this blog.
