This story is written by my dear friend, Glenn Miller
How often do we think of higher levels or “out of the box” translations to the stages of grief? In the origins of tarot, we see “Death” as the harbinger of change – not necessarily loss. I fell subject to this mentality many times in the past, but the instance that I recall most clearly came about a little over five years ago.
I remember being woken up from heavy dreams many nights in a row. They centered around themes of people that I deemed older and wiser speaking to someone that I saw as representative of someone younger and more rebellious. Just for a second opinion of what the dreams could mean, I spoke to a friend that dabbled in dream interpretation and tarot. Of course, she did a reading (as was her way) and drew Death (right side up). The initial knee-jerk reaction hit me, and my brain began racing in random directions of what (or who) around me would be leaving this world – only to be reminded that the reading in full simply was indicating a change in my life.
Now, I don’t put much “faith” in tarot, runes or other readings by themselves, but in this case it struck home more because of the coincidences within my dreams… Instead of focus on loss, I began to dwell upon how all things must be just coincidental. I denied that any real changes were coming, who actually could put stock in dreams or stupid readings? A couple days later, I started to get mad that I had even let myself put any stock in either medium. I got mad that the cards ever existed, and that I even bothered to talk about my dreams in the first place. But, the dreams persisted and began to contort into clearer pictures… I started screaming out to whatever might exist as a “higher power” to make the dreams stop, just letting me have a restful sleep. I was willing to do whatever I was told to do just to make them stop. No one would bargain with me…
As the dreams began to get clearer, it took away all peace of mind that I ever felt… Until I had a particular dream about standing on a hillside and looking out over the sunset as I held a little boy’s hand. I still remember holding his hand and talking about the clouds, the stars coming up and just the overall peace that started to come forward. The day after that dream, I found out that my wife and I were pregnant with our first child. I knew that it must be my son that was in the dreams… The older person speaking to the rebellious youth in the prior dreams were telling me of upcoming conflict – my adult self telling my younger self to get a grip and grow up… I spent the remainder of the pregnancy within myself, trying to go through the motions, but never getting a full handle on how to get over my depression. I put things in motion to try and give my child a better life – searching for a better job, buying a house and just generally trying to nest. No matter how hard I worked though, I could not seem to make things “real”.
Putting the gorey parts of childbirth from the male perspective to the side, it took the day of my son’s birth to snap me into place as both a man and as a parent. I had to look into his little blue eyes to really know that things had indeed changed. I sat and rocked his tiny self next to a window in the birthing suite and looked out into a thunder storm, feeling him sigh as if he felt true peace and knew that things would be different every day. I accepted the change.
We named my son Chance, and he has become the true purpose of his name – looking at him every day reminds me that this is my chance to do something right. Every day is a step within change as he grows up, as it is with my daughter, but I wouldn’t miss a step that either of them take on their journey…