SAGE JOSEPH DRISCOLL. My son.
One day in the early days after Sage passed my sister Jude sent me a package. Enclosed was a red bracelet, a red scarf, and a deck of happiness cards. I shuffled the cards. And revealed was a message for me. A feeling of awe and gratitude was with me in that moment. The card read;
Reading a book of spiritual wisdom is not like reading a book of history or political analysis - you are not simply absorbing information, you are spending time in the company of a Sage.
It was only in passing that I knew, without a shadow of doubt, that Sage was my teacher - a master teacher who came to teach and to learn. Together we opened to life and to love. To the struggle and the flow. It is clear that his teachings and his learnings on earth are done. It is clear that mine are continuing.
Sage was with me on earth for 10 years and 11 months. In that time we loved, fought, giggled, struggled, learnt, taught and became great friends. Sage was the chalk to my cheese. In so many ways we were opposites. It took a while to get there but we found balance within our opposites and I felt it deep in my heart when Sage would call me his best friend. I knew early on and maybe so did Sage that this was not our first life together. Over time we have continued to find each other. In this life I was lucky enough to be his mum. Before falling pregnant I had implored the heavens, angels, even god (anyone who would listen!) to please ease my lonely heart and send me someone to love. Cue Sage. The love was instant.
My Sage. The famous inventor. The short kid with a big heart. The one who danced his very own special happy dance. Sage was unique, quirky, charming, silly, creative, vulnerable, sweet and courageous.
Early on I realised that Sage was in fact a little old man hanging about in the body of a child. I remember one Sunday seeing him walk to the toilet with the cartoon section of the paper under his arm. My eyes were seeing a little boy of 7 but my heart and soul saw the shuffle of the little old man’s feet.
While I was pregnant I wrote a diary to Sage. Each day I would share with him the early stories of his life from inside my belly. One day I wrote and shared with Sage that I was unsure of what name to give him. I asked him to send me a name if he knew what he would like his name to be. A day and a half later while sitting on the couch tying my shoes ready to go I received his name. His name is Sage. From that moment on Sage was Sage. Even from the belly Sage was clear. Even from the belly Sage was gently directing. The little old man in the child’s body was Sage. The silent teacher.
Sage moved slowly and if he could get away with it he would move very little if not at all. I like to move fast. Sage sometimes sped up to meet my speed but mostly he continued with his methodical steps carefully placed. When he was young I would make up songs as we walked to school in the hope they would move him along, quicken his pace. Most of the time Sage laughed at my songs and would slow down to enjoy them. Imagine my frustration! Patience has always been staring me down. Asking me to play along. Sage would ask me not to rush. He would patiently sit as I ran in circles foolishly believing I was getting somewhere. Sage became more and more patient as I flapped about. I wanted to get there – wherever that was - faster. Sage would ask me to stop. In our days together in Petrie, in Brisbane, our last home, he would invite me to sit on the couch with him. “Why” I would ask “Is there something you need?” I would sit. The need was stillness. Over time we met each other more and more on the couch. I was learning. We had a red couch and would make appointments with each other to sit on the red couch. I learnt to love our appointments on the red couch. If I was lucky the appointment made was for a big squeezy hug.
I cried the day the red couch was sold.
The big squeezy hug was a specialty of Sage’s. Sage spent most of his time in imagination and his mind. He memorised, calculated, created, designed and inspired. His mind was his playground. The world outside his mind was a confusing and sometimes hurtful place. The big squeezy hugs helped Sage to stay connected to the earth and connected to me. Sage didn’t understand social language and the world continued to ask him to be social. He would become anxious and overstimulated and learnt early on to seek time on his own. The wise little old man chose when to enter and when to retreat. As his mother I was aware of his struggle and acknowledged his resilience and courage. At school he would learn ways to understand people, emotions and the ways of the world. Sometimes he would practice his new skills with me. He tried so hard to understand and to do the right thing. I was proud of him. At times I was saddened by the little effort that was made to meet him in his world. I would try but the truth is I never really understood what was happening in his world. It seemed so strange to me. I imagine just as strange as we were to him.
One day when Sage was 6 we were walking home from a stroll by the river. On the side of the road were a bunch of dandelions. When we saw dandelions we would stop to make wishes. The wish Sage made that day was for his mother to listen to him. I remember being shocked. I thought we were having a lovely day. It took me years to realise that my lovely day was not always his. That to truly listen to Sage meant listening for what I did not expect, to meet him where he was at rather than inviting him to meet me. I did not always understand what Sage told me but I learnt to sit longer and to simply listen. Over time his world became less of a strange place to me. It remained at times odd and seated in another dimension but it was his. As I softened to listen, Sage shared more.
In his world Sage was a famous inventor. He believed in this dream so deeply and with such conviction that to him it was not a dream but a reality that he was one sure step at a time walking toward. Sage’s commitment and devotion to his dream inspired me. I now believe in the impossible dream and know that it is achieved one sure step in front of the other. Sage was a famous inventor and I am the mother of a famous inventor! The impossible dream can be your reality if you decide, so Sage taught me.