TheRulesofLifeBook.com

I never, ever aspired to be a writer and even wrote in my journal in 2012 that I would never write a novel. That said, anything in life is possible. It’s all divine. In 1985 I was in college as a marketing major and working full time in a data processing center. My plans were to live in NYC and run an art gallery. I got distracted. So here I am, 20+ years of a corporate management career behind me with a husband, two kids, four cats and one dog. We have an extended family of squirrels including Hoover, Dyson and Kirby who clamor to the front porch each morning with Fred, Barney, Wilma and Betty (the chipmunks). They feast on shelled walnuts (Costco) and sunflower seeds (Whole Foods) as I write. Birds of all types swarm in but there’s no quarreling. It’s inspiration. October 3, 2003 Grief clung disparate souls together in the chilled, drenched hollows of a fall night. A hospital room suspended in a family’s universe; alone. The window open, sounds of nature from earlier in the day had ceased. My mother sat in the corner, disillusioned by life’s cruel blow. Parents die before their children. It’s an assumed rule of time. Hours earlier I stood at my brother’s bedside, his body wrapped, outlined in a womb of hospital linens. His hand held mine, warming my fingers. We knew this would be the last time. His eyes fell from mine, lifted to CNN, endless repeats of whatever conflicts were going on at the time. It’s our human condition, the rules of society. What struck me is that my brother’s story never played. We knew these were going to be our last words. He was given grace in death. David jokingly apologized for all the nicknames, stupid things we do in our journey to love. I joked back, wanting to free him from his reality, to somehow give him hope of something, anything. It had just been the three of us growing up together but we never really knew each other or created lasting sibling bonds. We were souls on different journeys. I didn’t know his story, the voice in his head that guided him to his beliefs or away. My other brother entered the room with the nurse at his side and asked David again. David spoke his final word, “yes”. Three sets of blue eyes, in the light of that fall afternoon, spoke a silent, final goodbye. The dosage was turned up. Our souls clung one last time before David closed his eyes. Gathered around him, hours passed in the vigil of the separation. We were not a family who sought each other for strength and nourishment. We were oddly woven together by disjoined interpretations, views of life. We all knew but said nothing. At one point, I laid down next to David and whispered stories of our family camping trips. I described the smell of breakfast cooking on the Coleman stove, the textures of the logs we would sit to watch the fire, the sound of the creek where we would get our

TheRulesofLifeBook.com

water. David loved those trips as a boy and a man. He chided me often because I absolutely hated camping and still do. The feeling tingled, spread across my chest to my shoulders. I looked to David’s monitor: 11:56pm. My husband, son and newborn daughter were at the hotel; she would be hungry soon. The nurse told me I had at least two hours. Guilt and time played its treacherous game; I could feed her, be back in time. My soul needed to be there for him. Back in the room, I whispered to my mom, my dad and his new wife. I kissed David’s cheek, told him I’d be right back, whispered to my mother again. Leaving the room, I looked up to the corner, the monitor. David’s heart had stopped. My brother David died of congestive heart failure at 12:04 am, October 4, 2003 at the age of 47, his heart and lungs so full with life’s stories. It was his gift to me to share the part of him that knowingly walked into death. I think somewhere he knew what I would do with the experience. I still talk to him, in my way. But I didn’t know my brother. I didn’t know his inner world, the souls journey of managing the triggers of emotion and thought as life got tangled. I didn’t know what brought him uncontainable joy that threatened to burst his conservative and sarcastic shell. I knew what made him happy, but that’s different. Death, transformation and rebirth are cycles we live through here on earth. The illusion is we are unique souls on separate journeys. We are one consciousness in Creativity, testing endless poles of duality in our existence, love versus fear, hope versus faith. We’re guided to embrace life from all perspectives but we get distracted, stuck in our views and rules. Compassion is divine. We are here to grow love, unfortunately we do so by exploring depths of fear and hate, some falling into their endless chasms. Creativity creates no right or wrong. We choose to grow love or not. Fast forward to November, 2012 Grey pea coat thrown over my pajama’s, my 13-year-old son and 7-year-old daughter quickly crammed into the van on the morning race to school. My daughter in the back and my son in the passenger seat, we sat at the traffic light at Edmonson Pike; time 7:08am. Fingers clenching the steering wheel, I watched the clock, the traffic light, the clock, the light. My son began telling me something which I’ve long forgotten but he used one of his dad’s often repeated stories as an opening. My blue eye’s flashed and rolled to my son’s. “Oh god, your father’s story again?” He quickly retorted with like humor, “But mom, you have no stories.” The light changed. He went on with his story but I was frozen in mine. For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been more comfortable exploring the inner world of my thoughts on my own. Interacting or explaining them to others wasn’t worth the battle.

TheRulesofLifeBook.com

It is my deep belief that children teach us more than we teach them. Time plays tricks, makes us think adults are smarter but children are closer in time to the source which holds the truth of this journey we call life. On the way home, I realized I had neglected to let my kids know who was the thinker of the thoughts behind the play of daily life. I was leaving it to their interpretation based on what they saw and experienced through me, like I had with my brother. Children are here to teach us and frequently, more than we’re ready to learn. I went home that day and began a journey that has turned into an open book for my children to see the soul behind the thoughts, here to do life’s work and hopefully leave the world a bit more joyful as a result. Yes, life is difficult and then you die but the rules we live by are a choice. We create life’s battle between the illusive 6 and 11 (hint: they’re not rules) on our own, the victories or losses are here to guide us. We simply have to learn their language so we can navigate toward exuberant joy. Fear and its friend hatred travel in our world at break-net speeds, permeating our thoughts to create a chaotic frenzy of actions. Our communication mediums whether print, televised or other, are tools for societal rules like money and time. Much focus is placed on breeding hate and fear; it sells more. It’s easier to attach to fear than love. Societies two primary tools beat into us a lack of trust in the nine Universal rules, hammering at our faith. We’re all the Chosen One’s with a unique set of rules that unlock the truths we seek in the carnage, the dust of our self-induced battles, our evolution. I’ve shared mine openly with my children through my book. I’m sure they’ll testify to seeing them at work. Children teach us humility while illuminating the nine rules of Love. - Melissa Abbott Cooke