The Brightest Star

Where do you go when you die? I remember asking my mom this when I was ten and my neighbor, Uncle Ron Sykes died. She picked me up from catholic school and said she had bad news. Mom told me Uncle Ron went to heaven. I remember wondering where he was in heaven at that exact moment. I already knew he had died, I can’t tell you how I knew, but I did. I already knew he was sitting on some big, puffy cloud with Jesus sipping chocolate milk and waving at everyone below as they floated across the sky. The thing was, I was young and didn’t understand what death really meant. I knew it meant that the person was gone in a body sense but, I still needed more answers. I did not know the lingering path that death creates. It would take many years before I would be once again asking myself questions about death. A few nights after my neighbor Ron died when the sky was clear and the air crisp and cool, I asked mom again where you go when you die. She told me to look up into the night sky and pick the biggest and brightest star. Once I found the one I liked best, she told me that that was Uncle Ron. He was now a big, bright shining star and he would never stop glowing. He would live forever. This was such a profound moment for me. I loved the star analogy that she told me. It has always stuck with me and now I have found that all these years later when I look up in the sky on a clear night, I know all my friends and family that died before me are shining stars, burning bright. I thought of my conversation with mom back on November 15, 2010 as I stared up into the night sky on a once again, cool and crisp night. That morning at 6:30am, my best friend of fourteen years, Michelle died. She was 41 and died of lung cancer. She fought a two and a half year battle with cancer and it won. That night, I drove to her house to help her husband write the obituary and to pick out what she will be buried in. I said I would help tell her three year old son, Grayson about death. I remembered the serendipitous moment with my mom and the star talk. I knew what I needed to do. On the ride over, I thought about that morning remembering that it was gloriously beautiful outside. The clouds were perched high in the sky, there was a magnificent fall breeze and golden leaves swirled around me. The smell was heavenly, and I thought, what a beautiful day to die. The night of her death was clear and stars burned bright across the sky. I remember thinking that in a few moments, I will get out of my car and go into her house. I will have to take her son by his sticky little hands and tell him about death. I will do it while remembering that talk my mom and I had. A few hours later after dinner was cooked, dishes cleared and half an obituary written, it happened. Michelle’s husband and a few family members came and went, calls came in and calls came out. Doorbells rang, and the dishwasher sang its somber wail. Grayson looked up from his coloring book and asked me if mommy was in heaven now. I simply said “yes, sugar bear, she is and you know what, she isn’t sick anymore and she is sitting on a big, puffy cloud with long flowing hair and looking down on you right now smiling.” He looked up at me and said “really” and then smiled. It broke my heart to think of all the things that she would miss in the physical sense, but I knew he needed to know about the stars and that this was the time for his star talk. I told him that mommy was now a big, bright star and she would shine forever. Whenever he wanted to talk to her, he just needed to go outside, find the biggest and brightest star and that was her looking down on him. He smiled again and simply said, “Ok” and went back to coloring. Two hours later, I finally finished Michelle’s obituary, picked out her funeral attire and tucked her son into bed. I talked with her husband and eased his fears, and hugged family, and shed a few trapped tears. Grayson fell asleep to Wonder Pets and I cried my eyes out on the way home; my sobs engulfing the car.

What did I learn that month after her death? Although death happened, life remained. It had to go on. Eggs were scrambled, toast buttered, school bags packed, and my own home chores and obligations met. Seasons changed, anniversaries and birthdays came and went. Blue balloons were held by four-year-old hands and floated to the heavens to mommies and bright starts. I had to sit down with Grayson one night to explain the clouds and that even though it was a cloudy night, the stars were still there, but just hidden. And, there was no need to have a gigantic panic attack in the bookstore parking lot. Death circled me for weeks like a buzzing bee that I was scared was going to sting me. I flung my hand at it and swatted it away at every chance I got. The months after my first real, death encounter, Grayson became OCD, and thought that if he even smelled a cigarette, that he would breathe it in and die. He became obsessed with expiration dates on food, and would ask his father and myself if it was ok to eat and if it would kill him. He clung to his blankets and special toys and searched for his own way to cope with no longer having a mother. I tried to imagine what it must have been like to have been a 3 ½ year-old boy, yearning for his mother’s warm arm crook to pull him in and inhale the smell of safety. He was so young and searched for his mother in every woman’s eyes he met. He once asked if little boys could get more mommies because his mommy was needed by God for good things. He needed a mommy again. I told him you only get one special mommy and even though you can’t see her, she is always there. Grayson once told me as he was preparing for his bath that mommy came to see him the night before. He had a beautiful grin upon his face and said it was wonderful. He said his mommy came to sleep next to him at night like she did when she was alive. They told each other stories and fell asleep under the cool, blue light of his space-themed nightlight. I asked if it scared him for his mommy to visit, and he said of course not. I think the beauty and the pain of a watching a child cope with a parent’s death, made me change the way I lived life. I cherished conversations with my parents more and loved my boyfriend with a ferocity that I had never showed before. I wanted to make sure I told my mom all the things she needed to know just in case.

It has been five years since Michelle died. Her mother died about a year later, and Grayson did much better with her death. He still struggles, but is doing great. I told him missing someone is ok to do all the time. It’s normal, and necessary to help you grow up better. I told him you need to always remember, because this keeps their memory alive. I think of this now when I remember and miss my mother and my father. I miss them every day, but like Grayson, I can go outside on a clear night, look up in to the sky, and see them again in the brightest stars.