While I have been on hiatus, a shitload of big change has occurred. Yes. A shitload.
Let's recap shall we?
Since March of 2013:
I left a job in management, a position I had held as both an assistant and manager for over a decade.
I returned to my favorite store, still with the company I work for, as a cashier- a role I formerly filled for over 8 years here and elsewhere. The transition was seamless.
I started college. I completed my first year with a cummulative 3.5. Not too shabby considering the hardships I endured this year.
One of which, the most devastating, was my mother's sudden death in January.
And then 4 months later, followed by my cat, Ellie who passed at the ripe age of 20 (that's 97 years, in human years. ) Ellie was my homegirl. We only spent 5 of those 20 years together, and they were precious.
I inherited my mothers cat, Cally aka The Ginger Dumpling. That little cuddle-bug has been a balm to my heart.We've taken comfort in each other, as we both lost a Mom.
And then along came another cat who I knew needed to call The Magic Cottage home- Zeus. He's such a handsome boy who wins me over daily with his sassiness.
One of my best friends, Bekah, who was living with me during the time my mom passed and was my rock for much of that time, moved out with her sweetie, still on the property so now we are neighbors/besties).
Derrick, my brother, moved in. Again the transition was seamless.
Soooo.... yeahhhh.... looking back and exhaling at all that has happened up until this point, the heaviness of my journey sinks in a little more. A shitload, I said. Indeed.
The inclination to write in this space has been building over the last month or so. Wisdom permeating my brain reminds me that writing is how I process- everything. And while it matters not who else reads it- me being me- adores the possibility that others could relate and be inspired in knowing we're all in this together. Because we are.
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Robin Williams' death this week, has opened the flood gates. Grief is triggered so easily, especially when i'ts fresh. I'm just 6 months in from Mom's death and the overwhelming climate of sadness and disbelief at the world's loss has made it easier for me to honor my true feelings in my own process.
I think about Zelda Williams, the 25 year old daughter of Robin and my heart aches for the newest member of The Dead Parent Club. I lost my dad when I was her age. The imprint of losing Dad makes the passing of Mom more poignant and surreal. "Welcome to the land of heartache and grief", I want to say to her." You might as well make yourself comfortable. You'll be here for a while. You're in good company- that's one kind of solace given without speaking a word. "
Losing a parent is heartbreaking. It matters not what the relationship was between parent and child- the profound sense of absence will rip a person wide open in an instant, leaving a trail of exposed wounds with jagged edges that pulse with rawness. The only thing that numbs the searing discomfort is the shock that sets in simultaneously- a kind of emotional airbag. The pain spills over, temporarily disabling one's capability to absorb or remember joy. The pain meets up with loneliness, isolation and emptiness- sensations cut so sharp essentially rendering the person blind to the full realization of the ways all the hurt has been sustained. Later, the hurt will be examined and cataloged. How the parent(s) died matters little, because the loss is deeply felt regardless. There is no escaping it. The wound feels gaping and as big as a galaxy...feeling like an endless stretch of space of which there is no real instruction for navigation. It can only be experienced.
I got a taste of that ten years ago when my dad died of a heart attack at 2am, on a cold February morning. I never got to say goodbye. Comfort was found in knowing Dad read the email I sent him, hours before he left this world. Knowing that he read the last words I wrote to him, "I love you". To this day, it is one of the only things that made not saying goodbye easier.
Mom was different. I spent the last 12 hours of her life, with her. I was the one who called 911 and followed the ambulance to the hospital. I sat with her in the ER, as the doctors ran tests and worked to find out what was happening. She was conscious, but the shock of what was happening encouraged her to start mentally checking out. She wouldn't look anyone in the eye. She hardly spoke. When the doctors began to share with her the information about the severity and seriousness of her condition, she mentally shutting down, her spirit glazing over as she spoke, " I am not surprised by what you're telling me. I knew this was coming. I did this to myself."
Those words play over and over in my head. She took full ownership for the place she had arrived.
She had never been fond of doctors, of being in touch with her body, or taking charge of her health with awareness.
They assured me I would have time to see her before the wheeled her into the OR for emergency exploratory surgery, as I left the room to go call my brothers. I was calling to tell them to get to the hospital fast... I knew it wasn't good and whatever was coming, I didn't want to face it alone. I had already been there on my own with her and the storm brewing too long. I knew what was headed our way. I think Mom did too.Which is why I was devastated when I discovered she had already been moved to the OR upon my return. It wasn't until hours later, surrounded by family, when I gave permission for the doctor to unplug the machines, that we all said goodbye. I know she heard us, though she was not able to open her eyes and see us, or use her voice to speak. The chance to spend the last minutes of her life with her was better than not having that time we did to say farewell. But.... I am still sad that I didn't get to look her in the those beautiful brown eyes of hers to see my words register with that twinkle she had, as I said, " I love you Mom. "
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| Mom and me 1979 |
*pause while I sob a little. *sniff*
I used to think I had an understanding about what happens after we die. Being an intuitive and a medium at that, I felt sure Mom would find a way to let me know she's ok now.
And maybe she has. I, reluctantly have to accept how numb and shut down from those channels I am now. I might appear happy and smiling on the outside- my job requires me to crank up the perky no matter what internal emotional storms are churning- I am still raw. I do not like admitting that- to myself or anyone. Its the truth though, and truth is undeniable.
The impatience at my process's finish drives me crazy. I want to be back in life. I want to be fully immersed in the daily adventure that is shaped by being present. And I am... sort of. Grief comes and goes in waves. And it can be triggered at any moment, at any time, for the rest of my life.
I know it will get easier- that's part of the frustration. For now, I begrudgingly acquiesce to the truth of the situation... I have to ride this out. There is no other alternative.
Like floating on the river, a favorite and beloved summer activity I have taken to doing weekly in August....I have to let this river of sadness take me wherever I am supposed to end up. I can't hurry it or take a short cut. I have to float it out and on... knowing that when I get to the end-ish, that I will feel and see more clearly what I have been floating on all along- the powerful undercurrent of love. "Grief is the price we pay for love." someone said, I think it was Queen Elizabeth.
The Undercurrent of Love is made from all the love we have for each other, and ourselves. I know full well the only way I have gotten this far is from the love sent my way from friends, family, and even perfect strangers. Love is always there and it is the only thing left when people leave us. Love remembered is never lost.
I'm a little jealous of the William's children...they have such a fantastic legacy to dip into anytime they want to remember their dad- the sound of his voice, the way he laughed, the effects he had on the world. Those little gems are the precious treasure of those kids as they heal and remember. I wish I could hear my mom laugh at one of my silly stories just one more time...*deep sigh*
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| Where we scattered Mom's ashes on her birthday this year, her favorite place Gearhart Beach, OR - 5/30/14 |
No one is immune to this shit- to the pain, the sadness, the love... the joy. That's why it is monumentally important to tell the people we love, that we do, often. Don't hesitate. Look right into their beautiful eyes, and watch the knowing twinkle dance there, as you say, " I love you." Because love matters. Love is one of, if not THE MOST IMPORTANT shared things in life...
We are all in this together. So let's float on...
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