Three years ago, everything changed for my son and me when he was struck and killed in a pedestrian crosswalk by a distracted driver.
Parents who have "lost" their children know that the loss of their physical form is one of the most heartbreaking experiences they will have to endure the rest of their life. I am no exception to this. The visceral ache for the physical touch is palpable every day. Although I feel deprived by the loss of my son's form, I feel enriched by loving Connor for the 22 years he was on the planet.
When Connor was alive we texted, phoned, emailed, and saw each other on a constant basis. And yet since that fateful day of the accident, our communication has become even stronger and clearer than it ever was. Something I never would have thought possible, three years ago.
Connor and I no longer see each other face-to-face nor do we need to use a device to correspond. What that has done is exponentially increase and intensify our connection and communication. Instead of texting words, I feel his words internally without sound. It's like a thought different than my own -- wrapped up with his signature energy. I tune in to the energetic vibration that is our love, and feel the transmissions of Connor's essence.
The continued ability we have to communicate with each other is one that comes through an integrated practice of understanding and living from soul. There are no shortcuts. Like love itself, daily meditation and soul connection increases the more it's experienced and cultivated.
Ongoing communication with Connor has allowed me to better understand the physical separation. He knows my head has never been able to wrap around the words "died" or "gone." I don't feel he has "passed away" either. Those words fall flat -- meaningless to my senses that continue to feel and know him in his change of life form.
He may have exited his body, but his essence -- his soul -- is clearly still "alive" and ongoing. And when I connect more and deeper to my soul, I meet him in that realm. "How's that for instant messaging?" he jokes with me.
The words we use to define the change of life must reflect our personal belief system and our visceral sense. Words are potent, and often definitive to our patterned brains. You can start with more accurately aligning your vocabulary with the truth in your heart. That worked for me. Still does.
Three years ago, the word that best described the change of life was "transitioned." "Connor transitioned," I'd say. When others used phrases such as, "your son died" or "he passed on," I would feel the triggering words affect my emotions. Pain, confusion, fear of the future would all follow, tumbling together without reason. The triggered words did not represent the truth of my feelings with Connor.
After a couple of years I heard myself say, "... when my son graduated..." It felt more accurate a description, graduating from his earth mission to his full-on soul mission.
And now, at the three-year mark, Connor asks me to think of him as simply being off the grid. He knows that off-grid is not just a state of mind. It's not about him being out of touch, or even difficult to get to. It's about him being off the measured networks. "Living" a different existence than those on the grid.
Connor tells me that living off-grid is simple, but to our finite minds and emotions, appears extraordinarily complicated. He adds that living off-grid means living WITH, not IN. He's not living IN physical form, but he is living WITH it all.
Because he can 'live' with it all, and continue his connection with me, so can I. Our relationship together is not the relationship we had. As long as I'm willing to move forward with it rather than cling to the memories of the past, it can flourish and take on something as non-traditional as being off-grid.