It rained overnight and is raining still. The garden is drinking it all up. It pays to have patience and faith that our world will survive. I also must have patience and faith that I, too, will survive. Tomorrow will be 8 months that my mother have left us. We are grateful we’ve had her for so long, but it’s never enough. Though I knew her time was near, I didn’t know how to prepare. And how does one do that anyways until it happened?
So I’m piddling along as best as I can. Some days I do/try better/harder than others. Some days I like to completely chill and do nothing. I haven’t been good at that for a very long time. There’s part of me that always want to ‘fix’ and make it better. That’s not bad, I suppose, because it means I’m always hopeful, always seeking. I’m not good at moping though I often feel mopeful. I should really learn not to brood/think so much.
It is both true and false that it gets better with time. But really. When someone as significant as your mother disappears from your life, how do you navigate that? I am a bit lost in this first year of strangeness. Some days are good. Some days are not at all. And that’s how it is with me. Regardless of how the days are, I’ve been alright and functional. For someone who gets lost all the time, I’ve been able to drive myself and my father to and from coffee every day. Most of the time it’s just down the street to the mall.
Today is one of those many cups of everything day. I’m wanting to drown all my feelings. I can’t and I don’t. Instead I sit with them all. I draw my #95 teacup for my #100dayproject and my day 5 of Daisy Yellow Index Card a Day Challenge. Today’s prompt for the #dyicad is hydrangea. I like prompts. They are my guiding lights not only for my art work but also living in this year of being lost in the strange wilderness of grief and loss. It’s a mouthful of a long sentence but you know what I mean.
I’m also standing with all my feelings. I like washing dishes by hand. I’m soothing my nerves as I clean each piece in the warm sudsy water. I’m washing away my cares and woes. The chaos goes down the drain with the dirty water. Peace fills its place. I’m soothed and smoothed.
I go out to the garden even though I don’t feel like it. The lettuce and spinach are in need of harvesting. It would be a shame to let them get too old to eat. I snip and pull and stuff them into bags. They will keep in the fridge or our walk in cooler. There’s enough to share with friends and family. Sharing is good and takes me out of focusing on myself.
It’s been a good day in the end. I got out of the house and out of myself. My sister and I took our father out for coffee in Circle Centre Mall. After, we cruised the Dollarama Store and found some neat stuff for the garden. I bought a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups as a reward for a day well done. We stopped at the library on the way home to pick up some Chinese books for my father. I think we all went home soothed and smoothed. I hope so anyways.
I am enjoying a bit of good energy and vibes this morning. It’s such a relief after yesterday. I have been warned about days where grief can hit you like tsunami or tidal wave. I am not even sure if it is grief. It came out of nowhere yesterday morning. I was hit with such a bad feeling. It was hard to swallow, think, to move. I wondered how I could carry on, breathe, cook, clean, write my post. I worried about my father’s health. He is after all, 93, the same age as my mother. I don’t want to be responsible for for his health/life. It doesn’t seem fair and I am a little ticked off at my mother for leaving us – and without a manual to guide us.
It’s a bit strange but most times I don’t feel her death. She’s just not here. And with her gone, I feel the many losses of our family. There’s no one to call me by my Chinese name except my father. I just realized that yesterday. It makes me feel somewhat heart broken. And there will be no one to ask or talk to about our home village and all things regarding our heritage and ancestors. My father still has a remarkable memory about all that though he has not been back since he left as a young man. I was drowning with all these thoughts and guilt on things I didn’t do.
All things do pass. I was able to get beyond my emotions and put one foot in front of the other. There’s life to be lived and things we have to do. No matter how we feel, we have to get up, dress up and show up somehow. Some days are better than others. Today is a better day. I thought out what I want/have to do and the best of how and when to do them. Progress is slow and minuscule. I see results and I am happy with them. I’ve been to the gym this morning, planted all the cauliflower and harvested lettuce from the greenhouse for lunch. I am a happy and relaxed camper.
A sunny Tuesday morning. It is still cool at 2℃. It is a cozy 18.2℃ in the greenhouse. Everything is thriving. The lettuce is ready for picking. The spinach a bit behind. The snowpeas are climbing the wall. The radish has a way to go yet. All the seedlings are looking green and hearty. It is a slow spring and a slow me. But I will have a wonderful garden. I’ve seeded one raised garden bed with more lettuce, spinach and kale. In a day or 2, I will plant the cauliflower seedlings gifted by my sister. Everything will come and be okay in their own good time.
I have been reading and listening to Cheryl Richardson off and on through the years. The other day, her blog post on the birth that follows goodbye landed in my mailbox. It spoke so much to me, having lost my mother 6 months ago.
“The birth that follows goodbye
The note was simple, yet weighty. Words so potent I had to catch my breath.
“I’m very sorry for the loss of your Mother,” she wrote in the kind of cursive handwriting that betrays age. “When I lost my own Mother many years ago, someone sent me this quote and I’ve held onto it ever since. I hope it speaks to you.”
I turned the page and found this:
“Your mother gives birth to you twice – once when you are born and again when she dies.”
As I reread the words, I felt the truth of its message seep into my bones. I’ve thought about this quote nearly every day since receiving the card. It gave context to my experience. Upon my Mother’s death, I felt thrust into a birth canal against my wishes, pushed toward something I couldn’t name. The labor pains of grief and heartbreak were shaping and molding me into a version of myself I hadn’t met yet. A woman without a face or name.
This morning, while sitting in my cold tub, sunshine at my back and jays squawking overhead, I had the first inklings of rebirth and understanding – an opening in the dark tunnel of sorrow. I felt the presence of my Mother and a voice that said, “You are the elder now, my darling. The mantle has been passed.”
Just a few months ago, my reaction to this message would have been a resounding, No! I want my Mother back. I don’t want to be the new adult in the room. But today is different. I gently accept that a rebirth happens when the last parent dies and we become the next elder. It’s a stage of life that offers us the chance to elevate the aging experience, to move beyond extending or preserving life,and explore what it means to live and leave well.
On the first Easter without my Mother, a woman masterful at loving others, and my Father-in-Law, a fierce protector and provider, I embrace this new beginning and think about the kind of elder I hope to become. What words would describe me and the essence of my life when the next elder steps into place?
More on this in the coming weeks as we continue to explore the Wisdom Years. Until then, Happy Easter, little bunnies.
Love,
Cheryl “
I know that I cannot have my mother back. I do not want to be thrust into new world of being the elder either. But here I am anyways, standing on my own two feet. I cannot turn and run away. I still have a father to look out for.
It is hard to know what to do with myself in the darkness of a November morning. I am at my keyboard tapping out my thoughts for the National Blog Posting Month. I don’t have it in me to write a novel in a month. I’ve tried and failed each time. A few mutterings will suffice. It will help me to breathe in and out. Difficult times and feelings are not strangers to me.
This human experience is not easy. Life is not for the faint of heart. It gives and then it takes away. I wonder how I can survive the loss without my mother. She was always there in her house down the block. We’ve always had her love as she had ours. She was presence. I have to remember that this journey is not unique to just me. We all travel the same road. We all are given this gift of life and suffer the grief of loss. We are all the same though we may experience it in different ways.
My house is not as clean and orderly as my mother’s. I’ve never had her knack. It is full of clutter and dust. I guess I’m drowning in my disorder physically and psychologically. I’m keeping my head just above the water. This writing helps sort and organize the mess in my head. I’ve rescued my pot of broth from the deck. It’s heating up on the stove to make something for lunch. After lunch my father, my brother and I will go to the bank to sign papers. Life goes on, one step at a time.
Good morning. How have you been? It’s 3 weeks since I’ve lost my Sheba. It’s such a short and yet long time ago. I’ve had her since she was 2 months old, almost 14 years. But it’s never long enough. She was 3 months short of her 14th birthday. I think of her, missing her presence in all my waking moments. How could I not?
It’s been difficult to come here, my space of refuge, of sighing and letting go. I’m still in the grasping stage. I now know what is meant by grasping at straws. I’m grasping and clutching but there is no physical Sheba. I feel breathless at times. I hear the click of her nails on the floor. I feel her presence – on her pillow at the foot of the bed, in the kitchen crunching her breakfast and making coffee with the guy in the morning, waiting for me as I come out of the bathroom. I’m ready to step over her but she’s not there. And so it goes.
The acuteness and sorrow of loss will mellow with time. For now I will just let them rise and fall. I will let the tears gather at the corners of my eyes, feel that lump in my throat and the ache in my heart. It is the nature of grieving. I had not been able to or allow myself the luxury of mourning my losses in the past. I had believed in keeping a stiff upper lip and keeping a tight lid on feelings. But Sheba has broke through that dam.
She was everything to me. She was always there and still is for me – my buffer against the blues and other ills. It’s high time I give credit for her work and role in my life. She has given much love and joy and many stories to be told.
Good morning! My hair is standing on end. I feel stiff and awkward like a non functioning robot, but I am here. My fingers are poised over the keyboard, ready to tap. The exercise will loosen me up for the day. I’m used to sit in meditation with Mark Williams daily on YouTube. I’ve been doing it since July. It’s become a habit now. My body cries for the familiar posture. It’s a good way to kick start the day and my brain – to warm and fire up its cylinders. And if nothing else, I will have a strong core and good posture. Let’s see if it worked.
I’m sputtering and stuttering a bit. What did I expect – smooth sailing? I’m still tired from the busyness of yesterday and trudging through the snow. I have never stalled and stopped completely – yet. Somehow I always manage to stoke the fire and keep going. Maybe I can have another cup of decaf. Maybe I can just sit here, enjoy the sunshine and watch the traffic on Preston Avenue. Would that be such a terrible thing – not doing or trying to get anywhere?
The sun disappeared while I was making my cuppa and unloading the dishwasher. Light and life are so fleeting. Here one minute, then it’s gone the next. Canada and I’m sure, the world, is still reeling over the the crash of Ukraine International Airlines Flight PS752. All 176 passengers were killed. 68 of them were Canadians, mostly students and young professionals. Such a loss and tragedy and the why of it? Where are we going as a world? And will there be a world for the next generations to come?
I cannotmust not stay in the valley of the shadow. I must rise up above to do the best I can and know how. Perhaps that best is to take the slower train, savour the landscape and moments and have my coffee. Tomorrow is another day.
So I sit me down to write with my cuppa strawberry flavoured tea and little blocks of dark, dark chocolate. I’m not sure how correct my tapping will be. I am not feeling totally correct. Don’t hold me to my words. Tomorrow I might disown them. I am not coming from the dark of the night place but ’tis the season’. All this jolly, jolly Christmas stuff sometimes upends me. All the expectations and preparations. All the hopes and dreams. And all the fairy tales.
I was not born into all that. I immigrated into the culture. I adopted the customs though I was never quite at home with them all. In a sense I have never been quite at home in my life. I was always looking out into others’ homes and Christmas trees, envious of all the glitter and laughter. After a long while, I did feel comfortable with it all – Christmases and Easters. I had made them into my own seasons of worship and gratitude. Christmas was my holy time. Easter was my season in the desert.
Now, they are both gone. I feel no reverence or holy. But I do feel a loss. I feel sad for it. I will try to slowly migrate back towards the feelings that once had meaning. It is not easy in these times. There is too much nit picking and political correctness about everything nowadays. The song Baby, It’s Cold Out There is considered inappropriate and banned. Even Rudolph, the Red Nosed Reindeer is thought of as a song about bullying. I will have to shelf everything and think about it later. Tomorrow is another day. I wonder how many are feeling like me.
December 10, 2018 4:48 pm
I’m here with my cuppa and no chocolate. I have not given much thought to anything overnight. I’ve put my brain on a freeze. No analyzing of this or that. It is much better to just sip, stitch, no bitching and be as merry as I can. Life is short. The night is long. The time is for me to pass. I rather use it and my energy in creating something beautiful rather than sour grapes and bitter lemons. It’s the season to be kind to myself and others, focus on my own path and not be distracted by the sidelines. To my own self be true. I will not be like Eve. I will not flee from my Garden of Eden.
A change of pace, a change of scene is always good for the soul. It breaks up the routine. It breaks up thoughts. You can’t rely on the same old, same old. You are forced to see something different if not differently.
So here we are in another city, in a hotel. In recent days we’ve experienced the loss of family members. That alone has changed our lives forever. Our days are somehow never going to be the same. The thought makes the losses unbearable and the memories all the more precious.
I see those moments frozen in time. It is as if I could reach out my hand and touch those people. I can almost hear their voices and laughter. So I have not lost them really. I still have had the experience of them in my being. They are still part of who I am.
I am a little sad but I’m also full of their love and my love for them. So really I am happy after all.
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onethousandandtwo 