The Child I Lost Found Me: A Mother's Journey to Communicate with Her Departed Son

By Niki Brown and Seth Brown

This raw, vulnerable, and beautifully written book has its roots in a tragedy that would understandably turn anyone's world upside down: the death of a child; in this case, Niki's son Seth. Niki's unfathomable strength, the love of a supportive family, a relentless desire for answers and a deep spiritual awareness result in a remarkable collaboration between her funny, sensitive son – from the heavens to the earth – as she channels the profound and comforting insights that Seth offers to her from the other side. This book is an essential read for anyone who is trying to make sense of life and the afterlife, especially those who are struggling with the loss of a loved one. "Your homeland is love," Seth tells his mother from the other side. That is made crystal clear, as it is love that transcends time and space and keeps the communication alive between them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Feb 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9781667874852

Book preview

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The Child I Lost Found Me

A Mother’s Journey to Communicate with Her Departed Son

Copyright © 2022 Niki Brown & Seth Brown. All rights reserved.

ISBN 978-1-66787-484-5 (Print)

ISBN 978-1-66787-485-2 (eBook)

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted

in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other

electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of

the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews

and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Contents

Chapter 1 What Is Happening to My Son?

Chapter 2 Seth’s Early Years

Chapter 3 My Knowing in the Multidimensional World

Chapter 4 Cosmic Dream About Seth

Chapter 5 The Lost Looking for the Way

Chapter 6 Past Lifetimes Playing Off of Each Other

Chapter 7 I Find Out What Seth Is Up Against

Chapter 8 Where Is God?

Chapter 9 Seth Takes Matters Into His Own Hands

Chapter 10 Seth Resolves to See Sai Baba

Chapter 11 Traveling to India

Chapter 12 Sai Baba’s Small Ashram in a Village Outside of Puttaparthi

Chapter 13 Sai Baba in Person

Chapter 14 Arrival in Puttaparthi

Chapter 15 Seth Goes Missing

Chapter 16 Time Is Running Out

Chapter 17 Last Chance

Chapter 18 Homeward Bound

Chapter 19 Flying Home

Chapter 20 Many Steps Backwards

Chapter 21 Treatment Center

Chapter 22 Seth Disappeared

Chapter 23 Oregon and the Aftermath

Chapter 24 Words of Wisdom Jumped at Me

Chapter 25 Final Release

Chapter 26 A Fresh Start at a Snail’s Pace

Chapter 27 Inspired Special Moments with Seth

Chapter 28 Annual Bike Ride and a Wedding in Oregon

Chapter 29 SETH!

Chapter 30 Surviving the Shock

Chapter 31 Preparing for the Memorial

Chapter 32 Insight on Seth’s Departure

Chapter 33 The Arizona Memorial

Chapter 34 The Oregon Memorial

Chapter 35 The Rocky Road to Recovery

Chapter 36 Niki’s 50th Birthday

Chapter 37 A Memory Soothes the Pain

Chapter 38 A Real Dream of Seth

Chapter 39 Seth’s Many Miracles

Chapter 40 Losing a Child Can Cause a Separation in a Relationship

Chapter 41 Seth Comes Home to Communicate with Me

Chapter 42 Opening Up, Trusting, Listening

Chapter 43 Now That I Can Communicate with Intention

Chapter 44 Writing, Writing, Writing

Chapter 45 Seth Comes Back Home

Chapter 46 Seth Returns in the Physical

Chapter 47 How It Feels to Have Him Back

Chapter 48 Niki and Seth Explain How This Story Will Proceed

Chapter 49 In the Beginning from Seth’s Viewpoint

Chapter 50 My Young Life

Chapter 51 Tiny Prickles – Sensations of What Was to Come

Chapter 52 My True Friend Dies

Chapter 53 Arizona Here We Come

Chapter 54 School Started

Chapter 55 Caught in a Witch’s Brew

Chapter 56 How the Entities Latched On

Chapter 57 I Have Lost Myself

Chapter 58 What I Felt About India and Sai Baba

Chapter 59 The Spiritual Reason for the India Trip

Chapter 60 Our Past Life We Shared as Witches

Chapter 61 Surviving and Becoming One of the Witches

Chapter 62 How Does All This Come Together?

Chapter 63 Pulling Past Lives Together in Understanding

Chapter 64 Our Story Is a Puzzle Fitting Together in Perfect Timing

Chapter 65 Carla Moves On

Chapter 66 Carla Is Finally Gone

Chapter 67 What Does Normal Really Mean?

Chapter 68 I Lost the Sweet Normal

Chapter 69 Changing Patterns

Chapter 70 A Screeching Halt to Channeling

Chapter 71 Time Leading Up to My Rebirth

Chapter 72 Why Is Suicide So Hard to Deal With?

Chapter 73 My Family on One Side and I on the Other

Chapter 74 My Passion

Chapter 75 My Miracles to My Family

Chapter 76 Seth Reveals What Heaven Is Like

Chapter 77 What Happens to a Soul When It Returns to Heaven?

Chapter 78 Seth, What Are You Doing in Heaven?

Chapter 79 Your Desires Come from Your God Center

With Gratitude

This memoir is dedicated to my wonderful husband, Craig, to my amazing children, Jessie, Seth, Marika, Levi, and their families.

You are all sparkles of love and joy within my heart.

Levi, Marika, Seth, Jessie, Niki and Craig

Appreciations

I also dedicate this book to my loving mother and father who are now in Heaven. I want to acknowledge my wonderful sisters, Tani, Coco, and Kerry, who were there for me throughout this challenging experience, and to my spiritual sister, Carole, who stood there steadfast and strong in her love for our family.

Foreword

Niki Brown has written a family love story of connection and support that is extraordinary in the extent of the content, universality, earthly and cosmic implications, and teachings for humankind. The locus of the story is Heaven and Earth. Seth, the second child of Craig and Niki Brown, was 22 when he was liberated from his earthly body and went to a heavenly or cosmic place he believed he belonged.

Niki writes in a simple, direct way that allows the reader to walk alongside her, as if a member of the family, and participate in the mundane and profound events of their daily lives. As she describes the early life events with Seth and the other members of the family, her husband, Craig, daughters Jessie and Marika, and son, Levi, one is overwhelmed with the awareness of the deep, highly involved mothering showered upon each member of her family.

Very early in life Seth began to display a struggling inner life, and by the nature and expansiveness of his struggles, Niki increased her connection and support to Seth’s well-being. The process worked and Seth had a happy, productive childhood. He became an avid skateboarder and snowboarder. Seth loved to draw and developed into an excellent artist. Niki appreciated Seth’s love of life and the enormous energy he brought to that love.

During his first college semester Seth began to exhibit a set of behaviors that were alarming and raised questions of Seth’s ability to function. In March 1996 I met with Niki and Craig Brown at the request of Sheila Casey, Niki’s longtime friend. I listened to Niki and Craig describing Seth’s state of well-being. Seth was 18 at the time and struggling with internal and external life issues. I told them that there were no indications of psychosis. I stated that Seth was dealing with some significant internal dialogue and that he was conflicted about being here on Earth. He wanted to have a life, and he also wanted to be liberated. I determined this was a deeper struggle of his soul. I referred Niki and Seth to a psychiatrist for an evaluation of Seth. The psychiatrist’s diagnostic conclusion was that there were no indications of mental illness.

At age 22, four years later, July 29,1999, Seth was liberated from his body. You will read in this book the significant loving efforts the Brown family made during those four years to support Seth in discovering all reasons to find a purpose to create a meaningful life here on Earth.

Fourteen years later in 2013, Niki began to write this excellent tome. The telling of the family’s earthly journey with Seth is testament enough to a story of connection, love and support. Yet Seth had other plans that included, … putting the pieces of the earthly puzzle together as to why me and my mother had to go through this life adventure …. Channeled through Niki, Seth explained why his time was completed as a student on Earth. He ascended into the afterlife, so he could become a teacher from the Cosmos.

The second half of this book describes in detail Seth’s teaching and experiences as a Soul wandering the Cosmos and expounding on the merits of Love and Connection. Niki has become the exact channeling being to share with us Seth’s stories. Niki reports how it was not easy at first, but with strong focus and determination, she has become a pure channel. Seth even lauds his mother for her dedicated, concerted efforts to relate his exact words. The Foreword above regarding Niki’s concise depiction of her family’s struggle, and especially her deeply devoted support of Seth, coincides with the forward revelations of Seth’s description of afterlife beyond the bounds of Earth. The same direct, casual style persists in Niki’s exact channeling of Seth.

I moved to Buena Vista, Colorado in May of 2017. I became reconnected with Niki and Craig in 2019. Thus began a new friendship based on being neighbors, rather than my being a consultant. The writing of the book came up and I asked if I could read it. It was an early draft, yet as profound in content as the current draft. Niki had no idea of the correlations of Seth’s writing, and current scientific data validating what Seth was casually stating. That alone is a testament to the exact channeling Niki accomplished.

Addressing the understandings of Seth and current scientific biological research, Seth states that each human being is unique. The mapping of the genome began in 1990 and was completed in 2003. Seth was liberated in 1999 and spoke of uniqueness, personal choice, and free will before genetic studies revealed no two human beings are alike, not even identical twins. Currently, it is conjectured that all living beings who have what is commonly called life force are unique. A current line of research suggests all living beings have consciousness, which is directed by the Self, the composite of genetics and life encounters, and the Soul (life force).

There has never been a period when experimental, inductive methods of research along with anecdotal, observational, and other deductive methods have been so highly devoted to the concepts of Soul (psyche), consciousness, Spirit, and free will. Seth speaks of roaming space and the possibilities of exploring the universe. He speaks of projects, solving past lives, and correcting certain events of life on Earth. He speaks of all manners and forms of afterlife from sedentary to major, altering activities.

As you read this portion of Seth’s channeling make comparisons of the latest theoretical quantum physics and metaphysics, and of course your own personal philosophical set of beliefs and perceptions. Most of all listen carefully to his admonitions of love, connection, happiness and purpose.

One more prophet of the greatest teachings of life: Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and love your neighbor as yourself.

Roger T. Strachan Ph.D.

Center for Creative Choice

Creator of Self/Soul/Spirit

A Model for Human Development

Author’s Note

I had a vision about our book. I saw a huge, orange and yellow bird in the sky with its wings flapping in slow motion, as it watched the sunrise from over the vast, purple mountain range. It then turned to me and stared intensely into my eyes. I realized it was the Phoenix, a mythical bird that represents renewal, rebirth, hope. The bird then formed into a crossbow covered with feathers and shot itself as an arrow into our book. I felt I was being shown our story now had the energy to transform – from ashes to rebirth.

My love knew no bounds. My undying desire to bring my eighteen-year-old son, Seth, and myself through our horrendous experiences was the catalyst for writing this book. We had been challenged by an undertaking that far exceeded our abilities and understanding of how to cope. We trampled through many mazes trying to find our way: frantic, weary, lost, heartbroken. And yet from these exhausted emotions and the desire to have Seth healed, the pieces of our puzzled adventures began to fall into place. Thus, the title of our story; I Lost My Child and He Found Me: A Mother’s Journey to Communicate with Her Departed Son.

Because of the intense adversities we traversed, only our immediate family and a few friends understood the depths of our dealings. I wrote this book to heal. I wrote our story to let extended members of my family and friends know the depth of what we endured and to explain what we had been battling, and how we survived. I wrote to reveal the spiritual truths that unfolded and the miracles that danced before our eyes. I wrote for those who are in despair and to hopefully bring them full circle and understand Spirit is always close to give us hope, love and guidance.

Seth left our earthly dimension on July 29, 1999. In the study of numerology, the number of this date adds up to 10. Some numerologists consider the number 10 to represent human divinity and encompasses all possibilities, all potential, and the completion of a cycle.

In the beginning I wanted to put down in words all that we had gone through. I wanted to hold it to my heart and share it with others. As I sat quietly in meditation, I heard Seth say, Mom you need time to live without my physical form; you need to grieve, to learn how to channel my messages, and open to my miracles. Our story needed time to sit, to become fertile with life – and the afterlife.

It was fourteen years before I began to write our story. I was overwhelmed with insecurities, and yet I felt the undeniable urge to continue. It was hard to go back into my memories. My heart would feel raw, tears would flow, and my well-intentioned efforts would be waylaid. The manuscript would sit for months and sometimes even a year would pass before I would pull it out, take a deep breath, and begin again.

After a while I was exhausted from having the book on my mind, and I just wanted it completed. I found a ghost writer, extremely qualified to help me edit and finish my book. However, this was not meant to be. By letting go of my book I lost its essence to someone who had not lived what I had lived. This would not do. I will say, however, she showed me that I wanted to write with more detail and from that understanding my writing skills became more proficient. I decided I wanted to complete our story – to honor Seth.

It took eight years to finish. I often felt guilty that I wasn’t doing enough, but Seth came through with wise words saying, All is in perfect order. In the end, time did not seem to matter. Seth and his supporters were in control of the situation; organizing my writing life with perfect timing, including bringing forth incredibly capable, wonderful people who were perfect for the task of completing and publishing our book.

I honor my gracious son for coming back into my life in abstract form, yet as real as ever. He inspired me to believe in myself. He picked me up when I was down, brushed me off with stardust, and loved me. He knew the birth of this book would create spiritual understanding and healing not only for me and my family, but for the many who have gone through extreme crises, bringing truth to bare; we are all One connected through God’s Divine Essence.

Niki Brown

Chapter 1

What Is Happening

to My Son?

I screamed! SETH! The capital letters of his name ignited, sending fire across my brain. A tangled mass of chaotic words slithered up like snakes and smothered out the flames.

Breathing heavily, I awakened, aware it was all a dream. Relieved, I clutched my tear-drenched pillow. The moon dipped into my window. A shadow stood in the hallway. My heart jumped, still caught in the realness of the dream.

I recognized Seth standing there. I exhaled, reassured. Yet fractions of shadowed light, sectioned into nanoseconds, took me beyond the third dimension. I saw Seth’s face broken into segmented pieces, as if the whole of him could not form itself.

I shook myself real. Seth, what’s the matter? Are you sick? He didn’t answer but stumbled towards me in his lanky, eighteen-year-old body.

He shuddered. Mom!

I could see the little boy within him wanting to burrow under the warm covers and have me hold him like I used to do when he was scared.

Mom, I can’t hear myself think. There are horrible, angry voices inside me. They talk over me; they hurt me inside. They told me you don’t love me, that the whole family hates me!

He crumpled to the floor by my bed holding his head. I put my arms around him and lifted his broken spirit. The moon lit our way. I looked into his eyes as he had me do when he was three years old. Our deep recognition had been a place of safety for him when he had experienced a terrifying past-life event. I didn’t understand why that persistent fear from his childhood had crashed down on him. Why had he attacked his college roommate weeks ago? Why hadn’t the psychiatrist helped? How could he possibly say we hated him?

My mother-bear instincts exploded through me. SETH! I shook him. I LOVE YOU! My words ricocheted off the walls. WE LOVE YOU! The words vibrated back and forth, opening portals into his empty soul. I said it over and over again forcefully, fiercely. My truth defied whatever was trying to unravel him.

Then the words came softly as a mother whispering to her baby. They came tenderly, touching his head, his neck. They came lovingly, bits of tenderness he knew in his heart were true.

Although this haunting dream would terrify us later, today was Seth’s high school graduation and our family lovingly hugged and congratulated him, as the warm Arizona breeze wrapped itself around us. I studied my blonde son standing before me. He turned his blue eyes towards the night sky. In that moment hope and excitement etched itself upon his innocent, handsome face. Expectancy poured through my mother’s heart for him to realize his own self-worth, to appreciate all he was, all his goodness inside and out. But that did not happen. The small black hole that lurked inside of him began to expand.

Family Picture: Niki, Seth, Levi, Craig, Marika, and Jessie

Seth was pleased that he had received a full academic and art scholarship at Arizona State University (ASU) in Tempe, Arizona. We were excited for him to begin a new adventure, and happily moved him into an apartment with his best friends.

But only one week later I received an urgent call from one of his roommates who sounded completely unraveled.

Seth is acting strange. The young man stuttered. He attacked me.

What?

I had to wrestle him down, John said. He kept screaming, ‘Everybody hates me. I can’t trust any of you; you are all ganging up on me!’ He finally collapsed. He is in his room now. You have got to come.

I hung up the phone and found my husband Craig working in his office. I explained what had happened. We have got to get down there right away, I said.

Seth was quiet when we arrived. We helped get his things together. My heart beat a trembling rhythm of sadness, fearing the joy he once had with those boys might be lost. I knew they all cared for him. They had been his best friends since grade school.

My heart constricted. Seth must have had a breakdown. New situations were always hard on him. We hoped to get to the bottom of this fear that bound him. If only we could figure it out, he might be able to go back to school and find his life again. We got a referral to a psychiatrist and put all our hopes into this doctor.

Seth was so wrought with his own fear and pain, the psychiatrist’s questions about what Seth liked to do, fell flat on the floor. In the end Seth just shut down. The doctor was frustrated that he couldn’t help. He prescribed Prozac in the hope of relieving some of Seth’s tensions.

After three weeks Seth felt well enough to go back to school. He was worried he may have lost his scholarship. The administrators said if he was able to catch up in his studies, he could keep it.

He was looking forward to going back to his apartment. The boys were gracious in having him return and helped him catch up with his homework. Things went along fine for a while, and I thought all was well.

But it wasn’t long before we received another phone call. This time it was from a police officer late at night. Seth had run our old Honda into a lamp post. He was being held at the police station downtown. When we arrived, Seth kept his eyes on the floor. I knew he was upset with himself and was sorry the accident had happened.

We told the bald, sullen policeman he was on medication. He turned to look at Seth with his intense eyes and said, You shouldn’t be driving then. Have you been drinking, taking marijuana or drugs with the medication?

Seth looked him in the eye and said, No.

The policeman pondered for a moment studying Seth and then turned on his heels and walked away. His voice was gruff. I want you to take the substance abuse tests. It was clear to me he didn’t believe Seth. The report came back. He had marijuana in his system.

Seth walked to the corner of the building, stopped and turned towards us. His face was distraught, and a firm frown framed it. Dad, marijuana can last in your system for up to 30 days. He shook his head saying, I didn’t take any marijuana this evening. I did smoke some, but that was a week ago. He knew he was clean and yet he couldn’t prove it.

As his release papers were being handled, I recalled an incident the year before when Seth’s art teacher had told me how much she enjoyed having Seth in her class. She appreciated his politeness and the way he had usually worked to his highest potential. But I think Seth is taking drugs, she’d gone on hesitantly as if worried to offend me. He doesn’t seem to care about his artwork anymore and he seems distant.

I was shocked. Seth? My boy? Drugs? No way, I said. He’s never done anything like that. My husband and I … we never … but I didn’t continue. I saw the tired empathy in her eyes that seemed to say, Just because you and your husband never did drugs … just because you love your son … none of that means he’s clean.

In my innocent mind my children had been safe because we were good parents. Apparently, I was misguided. Overwhelmed and worried, I left the high school. Seth’s grades had not dropped in any other subject except his art class. His art teacher was giving him a B+.

I thought back to how Seth had been behaving; it defied what I had heard about kids on drugs. He was getting As in every class except art. He loved being with his family; he was forever making us laugh with his dry humor. He was quiet, but Seth had always been quiet. He was a young man aware of life looking at things from an artist’s viewpoint. He was a deep thinker and enjoyed spending time alone but also enjoyed being with his family and friends. He was active and loved skateboarding.

Yet when I thought about it, I realized that slowly, in a small way, insecurity had raised its ugly head between his junior and senior years. He told me he wanted to be more like his friends who seemed capable and self-assured. He studied and scrutinized everyone. He desired to have bits and pieces of others to add to his character because he thought he was not enough.

I was amazed he could feel that way when he had so many things going for him. Why was he so insecure? He had a family that loved him and friends that enjoyed being with him.

He was athletic and did great in school. His sister said he was popular in high school but wasn’t aware of it. He had a big heart and cared about people, animals and nature. He was handsome, although I don’t think he saw that. He was too busy tearing himself apart.

But I still needed to ask him about the drugs. My thoughts focused as I closed the car door and walked past the pink bougainvillea into our adobe home. My heart was on his side, hoping the teacher was wrong. After school he came through our well-worn front door with an upbeat step and walked towards his room. He emerged again with his skateboard under his arm. In the kitchen he opened the refrigerator door looking for something to eat. Then he saw me sitting there quietly.

Mom, are you okay? I looked at this amazing child of mine, and my heart fell into my gut. I had to know.

Seth, your art teacher called me into school today. She’s worried that you are taking drugs because of your change of attitude in her class. She says your work is not up to par. Are you taking drugs?

He stepped back stunned, took a second look at me and shrugged. No, Mom, I’m not. Shaking his head in disbelief he continued. Maybe I don’t agree with her suggestions on how to complete my painting, but art is an individual process. The artist is the creator. It comes from my heart, Mom.

I loved him for his answer and quickly gave him a hug. Life felt good again as I watched him head out for an afternoon of freedom on his board.

I trusted my children first and foremost, and yet sitting there in the police station I began to wonder if I had been overly eager to trust as I had. He was no longer a child but a young adult. I knew he loved his family, but he needed to connect with his friends who were all growing up. I could see how he might be drawn to drugs or marijuana, because it could easily have made him feel better about himself, maybe more empowered.

We signed the police papers, and it was time to take Seth home to help him to get back on track in any way we could.

Seth seemed relieved to be back home. He fell into the security and connection of the family and still wanted to keep up with his schooling. He had been given a Driving Under the Influence (DUI) because of his accident, so I became the designated driver taking him back and forth to his college classes at ASU.

It was about a week later when I had awakened to the horrible nightmare terrorizing me with Seth’s name on fire in capital letters. That same night he had walked into my bedroom shocked to his core and told me about the angry voices inside him.

After he calmed down and started to believe the truth – that we deeply loved him – I was able to ask him some questions.

Do you want to go to another psychiatrist?

No, he said, as he sat down with a sigh and put his head between his hands.

Closing my eyes, I resorted to thoughts that maybe, after all, entities did exist. Many people believed in them, but I had always felt they were only real if you opened yourself to the belief they were real. Therefore, I never put any energy or thought into such matters. And yet here I was with their invisible realness in front of me and my son dealing with the unknown.

What were entities? Supposedly, they were spirits who didn’t go to Heaven. I had heard possible reasons why these spirits decided to stay behind. I had heard they may be lost, because they didn’t understand they had died, or perhaps they didn’t want to leave a special person or place. They may have wanted revenge. The last one, revenge, seemed to fit what Seth was dealing with, but why?

It seemed out of our hands and yet I believed our Divine Self knows everything about our life and each of us was capable of receiving the truth. There were those who were extra gifted in this manner. Perhaps these spiritual psychics could bring understanding to our situation. Once the truth was understood it might be easier to create an exit for the entities, an exit into the Divine Light where all may be healed.

I touched his shoulder. It’s worth a try, Seth, to find a spiritual psychic who can help us. Does that sound okay with you?

His eyes lifted with a hopeful, yes!

Chapter 2

Seth’s Early Years

Seth was born two years and one day after his older sister, Jessie. As soon as her birthday party finished, he stirred. He came into the world not voicing his opinion like Jessie, who had cried loudly. Instead, he seemed to cringe and go inside his little self, afraid of this new life.

He opened his eyes only a slit. He seemed far away most of the time. This continued for about 2 months. One day I was changing his diapers and my heart felt heavy. I wondered if there was something wrong; he barely opened his eyes. He was quiet and didn’t seem interested in his surroundings. Maybe I should check with the doctor. With that thought on my mind, Seth instantly opened his big, beautiful, blue eyes and focused on me. My heart began to beat quickly. I was overjoyed. My baby was well. We had connected from the heart. My little Seth had finally come home!

By the time he was a toddler, Seth revealed another unusual part of his inner life. Even though he felt safe at home with us, he was extremely wary of strangers. If someone looked or smiled at him, he would stiffen his whole body and create weird faces, as he walked in a restrictive gait. The first time this happened I was shocked. Why would he react like that?

Two-Year-Old Seth Giving Mommy His Flower

Then an instant insight came to me along with a visual. I knew Seth had lived through the holocaust. I saw him as a young teenager. He was trying to survive and his way of doing so was to act crazy. The guards were superstitious and fearful, which caused them to leave him alone.

When our little Seth was old enough to understand, I explained to him he attracted more interest to himself by acting weird. I told him people would pay less attention if he would just act normal. I explained most people were friendly. Jessie took her role as big sister seriously. She would hold his pudgy hand in hers and look up at the smiling strangers, as if to say everything will be fine with my little brother.

Early one wintery morning I was curled up on our couch relaxing with a cup of hot coffee. Seth stood still, preoccupied with pencil and paper in his pudgy fingers. Turning from his reverie he walked towards me with determined steps. His deep, blue eyes held mine. He pressed his pencil and paper into my uncertain hands. He willed me to create some wondrous image which had already settled within his own mind. I felt unnerved for this was something I couldn’t do. As his mother I could kiss away his little ouchies. I could feed his hunger for love and appreciation. But to ask me to draw? I was at odds with myself. A gifted artist with pencil, I was not. But how could I have said no to such a simple request. So, I moved the pencil and created a stick person. Seth scrunched up his forehead, tightened his eyelids, and held back his tears. He grabbed the pencil and sent it flying. I felt so bad he couldn’t count on me for such a simple task. And yet because of that he learned to rely on himself to create what was in his mind.

In the years to come Seth never again asked me to create art for him. Instead, he filled his treasured sketchbooks. Every piece of empty, white paper was taken up with characters created with his unique imagination. Weird beings came to life in unstructured ways. Ears presented themselves on foreheads. Noses protruded out of necks, aliens all of them. He wrote tales of their lives, their challenges. He described their connection to others: what they ate, how tall they were, how they functioned in their society, on and on, all written in very small, precise Seth handwriting.

Seth’s Artwork at Thirteen Years Old

Seth’s Drawing of Himself at Seventeen

Playing his Guitar as an Alien

A month before Seth turned four, his baby sister Marika was born. There had not been any jealousy between Seth and Jessie, but a new baby lying in Mommy’s arms on the bed created discord for the little guy. With arms folded tight, a frown upon his face, he walked determined into my room and climbed upon my bed. I saw emptiness, dark and vast, written across his handsome, little face. With a questioning look he started to bounce. I had just given birth to Marika the day before, but his flushed face was so unhappy and lost; I knew instantly to play along.

I told him, Bounce higher, Seth! He jumped and bounced, at first gloomily, but then sparks of joy started to emanate from his little being. I laughed and said, Marika loves you, big brother. She loves to play with you! We giggled and fell into each other. Love was all abound. His heart felt good and right. He popped off the bed, his eyes sparkling. He leaned over and gave his little sister a big kiss on her soft, baby forehead. How precious he looked as he straightened his back and walked gallantly out of the room.

One morning as we stood in line at the grocery store, five-year-old Seth saw a black spider crawling across the floor. He eagerly pointed it out to me. A tall, elderly man overheard him and stepped on the spider. I felt the man did it out of kindness to Seth. He thought everyone did that sort of thing. But this little boy was absolutely crushed.

With tears running down his flushed cheeks, my straight-backed, little boy looked up at the tall stranger and said, Why did you step on that little spider? He wasn’t hurting anybody. Seth turned and ran outside, bursting with pain. I doubt that man ever stepped on a spider again without thinking of the soft-hearted, little boy.

On Marika’s first birthday, Craig and I were surprised to find out baby number four was on his way. This time Seth had no jealousy, only excitement for the next new baby. Seth wondered how the new baby looked in Mommy’s tummy.

When Levi was born, Seth was disappointed. He did not look like the neat, alien pictures he had seen in the baby book showing every month of the baby’s progression in mommy’s tummy. Nor did he look like any of the aliens Seth had drawn in his sketchbook. But Seth came around, happy that he now had a little brother to play with.

We lived in Black Butte, Oregon, when the kids were little. It was a resort area in the central mountains of Oregon. We took many adventures into the wilderness near our house. I remember early one morning when the spring sun bathed our backs in its warmth. My four children and I watched with awe as I put my hand gently above the webbed ball of caterpillars in the sagebrush. As I touched their nest of sleeping bodies, they came to life, moving and reaching their fuzzy heads toward the warmth of the sun.

My little Marika in a whispered stillness said, Mommy, you are magic! Ah, the sweet mysteries of life, I sighed. Stillness surrounded us, as my little ones gazed openly at the nest of semi-fuzzy rascals, trying to disentangle from each other.

Another crisp winter morning I was walking alone, quiet in my silence. I would not have this restorative, free time again until the next morning. I had walked by the winter pond filled with old, velvet-brown cattails frozen around the stems. As