This blog is about the spiritual journey

Posts tagged “loss

In Remembrance

Today is Chris’s birthday. He would have been 38. Our love remains, a golden thread spanning the ages.

Chris journeys through the sheer glow of Heaven. A rock climber in life, he now climbs unbound.

Happy birthday, dear son. I feel your humble spirit and the holy heights that beckon. May you drink from streams of milk and honey and be garlanded with stardust. You have my heart, today and always.


Presence of a Son, January 17

Today, my son, Chris, would have turned thirty-seven.

In the morning, I bought flowers and put them in a vase that Chris had given. Later, I stepped out for a walk, a glorious January day—windswept and brilliant.

On the walk I talked with Chris, feeling sublimely his presence. I told him that I was on the cusp of change, ready for a new life that would last until the end.

The breeze whispered, it’s time to let go of plans, ambition, and predictability to embrace life’s boundlessness. Time to step boldly into the unknown and be present for when guidance comes—to lay aside grievances and predilections, responding to what is given.  

I thought about Chris in life: his courage, the gentleness and bigness of his love, the setting aside of “should” and shouldn’t” to pursue his dream.

I considered what I’ve always wanted. When may anticipation or expectation disappear, leaving behind life’s essence?

Surrounded by a January beauty I couldn’t contain, I heard: It’s yours for the taking, with only this moment as ground.

Happy birthday, Chris. Though you live beyond reach, your presence abounds.


Chris died in a rock climbing accident in Yosemite National Park in 2003. The following is an excerpt from my book, Freedom to Fall.

“I am going to live the free life,” Chris told friends on his last trip. He was an outdoorsman. He recognized his passion and pursued it. He knew he had what it takes. He lived simply, without fanfare. He revered nature. He was keenly observant.

Chris also meant that he was going to live life without a scheme. His life was going to be open-ended. He would go wherever life took him and partake fully in the offerings.

When Chris came to me on the second day after his death, he showed me that there are no divisions—not between life and death, being and doing, old and young. He showed me his truth. He showed me he was One.

I am going to live the free life. He meant he was going to live life without walls, in the fullness of light. He was at home in himself and at peace with the world.

In Celebration

Eleven years ago, my son, Chris, died on a mountainside, pursuing his passion. On this anniversary day, I reflect on the blessing of his presence—God’s precious miracle.

God may take a life but never the love, which is the gist of relationship. What brings joy in another is invisible, eternal.

The light of Chris has known my grief and helped me heal. To become whole again avows our bond, while granting God’s calling.

Chris encourages me to live in essence, staying true to my vision. His voice has the tenor of life; he is a child of my heart.

I feel Chris close on his day of rebirth—in an aura of sacredness, in a spirit of celebration.

Reflections of a Son

On May 31, 2003, my son died in a rock climbing accident in Yosemite National Park. He was twenty-five.

After Chris died, I created a manuscript about his life, which included many poems. Later, the manuscript was culled into a book without poems. In remembrance, for the 11th anniversary of Chris’s fall, I am sharing a few of the poems.

Love’s Angel expresses the sense of Chris’s freedom following death. Growing Up and Reverie cast light on his character and love of life. The final unnamed poem reflects on my experience of loss as a whole.


Love’s Angel

Chris is Love’s angel,

such wealth untold;

I feel his sparkling Presence—

stardust turned to gold.


Love is not earth’s servant—

rather rapture on the wing.

Love flames mortal hearts,

then soars to hear seraphs sing.


Angels flit among us

like shining shafts of light—

Some linger but a moment,

then spiral into flight.


Away, away—

to Love’s sweet home.

I’ll know you by the ash

you hail from heaven’s dome.


Growing Up

Chris grew up and up,

an unwieldy clatter of bones

ahead of himself.

He was the tallest kid in class.


While playmates tilted

to tease or taunt,

he tied knots in their shoes,

and learned to laugh at himself.


At six foot five the kid settled in—

a slick, swift, lanky

gem of a guy,

though they say he couldn’t dance!

When others cracked up,

he’d jazz it up,

bobbing above the crowd.


Goofy or graceful, it was all the same.

Chris rolled with the rhythm of life.



Chris danced the elfin jig

under a crescent moon.

He leaped to touch the arc

of a rainbowed afternoon.


Live your life, forget the strife,

Whirl and twirl; be free!

The wind is heckling clouds,  

and the sun glitters glee.


Chris juggled feathers

strewn by wayward flocks.

He gazed on nature’s splendor,

whistling on the rocks.


Laugh and play your nimble days,

tread lightly on the earth.

Rain is clapping; trees are sapping—

My love is full of mirth.



Loss is loss of pleasure—

the pleasure of a tantalizing smile.

But what is loss compared to love,

when love is all the good worthwhile?


Through faith, miracles work

to rouse the tender twinge to wing.

Through loss I probe that deeper well

to tap the silent mystic spring.


When Chris was 14, he discovered rock climbing. His brave journey as a rock climber and my climb from despair after he died come to life in the book Freedom to Fall. To order a copy, click on the appropriate link above.

Costa Rican Connection


In the winter of 2005, a friend was vacationing on the Pacific coast of Costa Rica. He implored me to come, saying that I would be enchanted.

It was a life-changing week. Under the sway of sea breeze and tropical light, deep feelings surfaced and a marvelous healing. My son had died less than two years before. I want to live here, I thought, and vowed to come back.

That spring I returned to look for land. Another friend suggested the Central Valley, where it is cooler, mountainous and lush. He knew of a cabdriver who would take me around.

Each morning Mamo, the cabdriver, picked me up and away we would go, driving the back roads of the Central Valley, looking for property, knocking on doors. I bought farmland in the agricultural belt above the sweet highland town of Atenas.

The soil, planted in peanuts, breathed a rich reddish hue and sloped gently down toward tree-dotted fields disappearing into velvety green mountains—wide open country. Standing on the land, my heart opened up. I returned that summer to begin building a house.

In those early years of loss, while the field was being cultivated into a garden, I could feel Chris’s presence in an almost tangible way, as if he had led me there. The heavenly light of the tropics and a profound sense of peace pervaded my home. I sought a local sculptor to carve an angel in Chris’s likeness.

Seven years have passed since first stepping foot on land that promised a home. Today I was feeling a little sad, seeing how the garden, though glorious, has grown up, the treetops partly concealing the mountain vista, the peanut plants long gone. And there is development—street lights along the rustic road…. I thought, How in the world can you complain? But I sensed there was something else going on, as in, All of life is in flux, constantly changing.

The early years of loss was a magnificent time, in a way. There were years in healing; there is no description for a mother’s broken heart. But so dear and precious, so divinely inspired, as if God was right there with me. In the depth of my grief, I found Costa Rica. And suddenly, looking around at the garden, I was faced with remembrance, realizing life had moved on. An era had ended, the new one not yet defined. The feeling of peace still pervades, yet something has changed. Was I grieving the loss of those magical, albeit painful years, when an invisible thread connected me to Heaven?

I wonder where the new life leads. I have a precious daughter, the light of my world. There are cherished friends. Beyond that, it seems more to do with a mystical path. I dream of a golden life for the golden years.

This morning, before the sun peaked above the mountains, in the cool, fragrant air, I was having an animated discussion with my gardener, when I began listening to the pure music of his voice and native tongue. For a moment, I stood, utterly spellbound. Therein lies the path, I thought later.

Often I hear my son speaking to me, in the way he spoke in life, simple observations accompanied by that little chuckle. Mom, it’s easier than you think. It’s just little things that make up a good life. You don’t have to figure things out or even have a plan. You just have to be present for the unfolding.

Freedom to Fall is a book about the life of my son as a rock climber intertwined with my life as a bereaved mom. To read more about it or to order a copy, click on the appropriate link above.

Nurturing Spirit

If I could be in Heaven, looking down, I would see more clearly the importance of making every effort—for the sake of Spirit. In giving expression to Spirit, life gains grace. In truth it is who we are, our very essence and soul!

There is no finer task than keeping Spirit alive in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds. While nurturing forth Spirit while there’s still breath, I prepare for flight to Heaven. When I get there, I’ll smile deeply, seeing just how important that really was, for the newly burnished quality of my soul.

Spirit isn’t concerned with circumstance so much as wanting to participate, to come forward from underneath the rubble of distraction. It is often the something lacking, when we wonder what’s amiss. Its ethereal quality can make it easy to forget, yet there it is—that which finds the silver lining and humor in disaster, goes the extra yard—and sparks forgiveness.

Spirit is a loyal friend, no matter life’s conditions, content to ride the wave of experience. In awakening it from slumber, we enliven the will to live. In keeping front and center the only thing that matters, we transcend space and time.

Conditions may wash over me. After all, tidal waves are real! But I can accept life with grace, knowing this precious anima is always here to serve. Let me rise time and again, in the face of difficulty or hard times, with enthusiasm, encouragement and steadfastness—with joy and love.

When I’m in Heaven, looking down, I’ll smile deeply, knowing that I took God at his word when He gave me life.

Excerpt from Freedom To Fall

There is something beautiful asleep inside of me. I’m given a lifetime to wake it up. To awaken the kernel of beauty, I must free the reins of resistance and surrender to the Way of things—as each moment comes to light and passes on. Otherwise, I will never get over Chris dying. I will miss the joy of wonder, never know the dawn.

There is something here for all of us, something to overcome. Chris didn’t plan to die young, but he sensed he would. He would never see tigers in the wild. There were mountains he would never climb and races he would never win. He wouldn’t grow old with people he loved. He could have clung to sorrow. Instead he chose to live.

Tomorrow lightning may strike. It matters not that the tree lives a thousand years and the moth a single day. What matters is waking up.

To order a copy of Freedom to Fall, click on the appropriate link above.

Seminar on Loss as a Spiritual Journey

Today I want to share the link to register for my free on-line event on July 10, 10:30, pacific time.  If you can’t listen in then, it will be available for free until July 31.  Just go to Hay House radio and to the title of my event:  Freedom to Fall: A Spiritual Approach to Loss.

However, I encourage you to register for the live event, as it will involve interaction with listeners.  You’ll be able to send in questions, and I’ll respond vocally on the show.

I am deeply grateful for being able to share my story for this seminar. I’ve always envisioned a day when I would be able to share with others my experience of loss, the journey it entailed, and the miracle of reclaiming the true bond with my son and my life. In putting together this program, I’ve come up with practices and insights to help encourage this journey in you.  It can be the journey of a lifetime. It can change your life and in some cases, save your life.

Here is the link for purchasing a free on-line ticket that allows you to listen in:

I look forward to having you as guests on the program!