It was Christmas Day – special in its quiet way. Together, as a family, we enjoyed the peacefulness of the morning, fully aware that it would be short-lived. My daughter was leaving in two weeks for a semester abroad in Europe. There was still a lot to prepare, including figuring out the housing situation, the financing, and, of course, packing for six months. Even more urgently, my son, a senior in high school, had a number of college application deadlines a few days away. After working on them for about an hour or two, he felt unproductive, tired, and also a bit sick. So, wisely, he decided to take a short afternoon nap. I was supposed to wake him up in an hour, but since I knew (and worried a lot) about how exhausted and sleep deprived he’d been for a month, I let him rest longer.
About two hours later, he walked into the room where I was sitting alone and reading. He looked at me and asked where everybody else was. Instead of answering, I jumped from my seat and ran toward him, just in time to wrap my arms around him before he fainted in my fragile embrace.
Later, I reflected on what prompted me to run and catch him – there wasn’t much the conscious mind can determine as a logical explanation. Yet, the subconscious saw all the invisible clues that something was wrong and instructed me to act before I could think and reason. That, of course, prevented my son from falling and hurting himself. He told me after that he didn’t see me there in the room because when he walked in, “everything was black.”
The tests showed that all of his vital signs were within normal ranges, except a bit of a faster pulse. What followed was an uneasy and often very scary recovery until the first days of 2020.
It was January 1st, and applications to Columbia and Yale Universities were due. I walked into my son’s room where he was peacefully sleeping. I touched his forehead to check for a fever. He was definitely getting better, but he mostly needed rest and sleep – something his ambitious, very driven self has been depriving him for quite some time. Relieved that his breathing was quiet and rhythmic, and his body temperature was pleasantly cool, I walked out of his room. I felt tears starting to roll down my face. I searched within for the emotion that triggered them. Amidst the terrifying tumult since Christmas, I could unequivocally feel – and quite unexpectedly – a gentle wave of joy engulfing me.
My son slept through some of the college application deadlines that, just 10 days ago, we considered urgently important. Only 10 days before, the highest priority that occupied most of our conversations at home was where he will go to college. Today, Columbia and Yale don’t really matter. I searched within, intentionally, looking for signs of disappointment and regret for the missed opportunities. There were none! Instead, I felt again the sense of joy, which, like a velvety blue flame, was glowing inside me. There wasn’t even a trace of sadness over the unfulfilled ambitions. There was just emptiness – not black, sticky, and frightening, but very comfortable, spacious, and inviting.
Nothing else had changed in those 10 days except my perspective. My son’s future was still lying ahead, open and potent with possibilities. His quiet breathing and healthy, cool body temperature were all that mattered in that moment. This moment – it was so tangible, so present, so fulfilling! “Surrendering. Surrendering. Surrendering,” I could hear the word reverberating deep inside me.
I closed my eyes, letting the tears find their way out through my heavy eyelashes. My attention instinctively went searching for the blue flame inside. It continued to joyfully glow –
unburdened, unassuming, and blissful among the radiant emptiness within. Surrendering. Surrendering. Surrendering.
