I've continued this blog at a new website:
www.thoughtsbecomedestiny.wordpress.com
I can also be reached at thoughtsbecomedestiny@gmail.com.
Feel free to visit if you are interested.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Monday, April 5, 2010
We laugh in the dark.
A few nights ago, the most peculiar thing occurred.
I was watching Training Day in bed and it was approaching some time after 1am. During the movie, I thought I smelled something weird. After the time reached 1:30 am, I opted to finish the movie the next day. As soon as I turned the tv off and it retreated into instant darkness, I sat up and thought, "Mom's gone".
This happens alot. These pockets of moments where it hits you hard- the realization. Instead of distracting myself with a mad dash to prepare for bed, I decided to sit up on my bed and 'sit' with this. For a few moments, I went back into time to last summer till movement to my left caught my eye.
I winced, not fully looking but using my peripheral vision, already knowing what it was. I had reported a potential mouse sighting to one of my roommates nearly two weeks prior. I turned my head to get a look and there it was between my radiator and trash can. I adjusted my weight on the bed trying to decide if I was gonna make a mad dash to wake one of my roommates or sit tight to see the critters next move so I wouldn't lose its whereabouts. But, when I shifted, I was surprised it didn't scatter since they are so inclined to be freaked at the slightest noise or movement. And, that's when I peered closely. It was acting very unusual. In fact, it was writhing, turning over left and right, like it was having a bad dream. I looked even closer and could tell it was in some sort of pain though it made no sound. Then it hit me...
I was watching this mouse die.
I leaned back, but only a little, because still I was curious- having accepted this truth. It writhed a little more than curled into an upper case 'C'. Knowing that was it, I leapt from my bed in one movement, ran out of the door (with haste-I don't know why) and went to decide which of the 2 roommates I would wake. Hearing one's tv still on I knocked gently. He opened and I told him what happened. He got a glue trap (recently brought over by our exterminator along with traps and potential poison that was set out). My roommate planned to pick up the body with the glue trap. Before he did, he told me the mouse was definitely dead and that its eyes were dilated. And, out it went.
I called my sister immediately.
I recently took a Grief Dreams workshop and Jenn and I concluded that what we don't deal with in the waking world that truly affects us will just manifest later in the dream world- with the dreamer (a subconscious version of yourself) persistently trying to 'awaken' you to deal with what you didn't make time for. I tell my sister all that happened with the poor little critter including my reasoning for having to 'talk this out'. Cause I feared, I told her, that I didn't want to go to bed and dream of some Gigantic sized mouse laying in a hospital bed with me trying to save it.
Pause.
And, we both snickered at that.
Because we can laugh at the dark while in the dark.
And, I think that has been our saving grace. So many times in life we just want to run away from what makes us afraid- and perhaps we can run for awhile...but certain things will find you and ultimately its easier to just 'sit' with it than to run off. And, alot of times if you sit with something, especially if you can talk freely with someone you trust, you can let the fear of something dissipate...and sometimes, you can even snicker at fear.
Now, I did lament in frustration..."Why, oh why, did the mouse have to die in MY room?" Oh! "And, why oh why did I have to be aware of its presence while it was IN the process of dying?" We were there when mom was dying and it was silent and curious with much going on within her. Too many similarities. No disrespect to my roommates but why couldn't that mouse have died in one of their rooms. Surely, it would not have had that kind of emotional impact for them. ARGHHH!, I expressed.
But, Jenn had a different take on this. She felt it was fitting that came where in its last moments, it could be- in its own way- acknowledged. That this just another notch on our day to day 'superhuman feats'. Life will not and could not be just generic anymore. Meaning is in everything even a mouse's death in my room. And, it poses to me cosmic coincidences not to recognize that it heralds something for me. What exactly I'm not sure of.
But I can tell you that to my knowledge, I've had no dreams of furry creatures tied up to IV's. Perhaps, its because I 'sat' with it. Took it in and let it out.
I was watching Training Day in bed and it was approaching some time after 1am. During the movie, I thought I smelled something weird. After the time reached 1:30 am, I opted to finish the movie the next day. As soon as I turned the tv off and it retreated into instant darkness, I sat up and thought, "Mom's gone".
This happens alot. These pockets of moments where it hits you hard- the realization. Instead of distracting myself with a mad dash to prepare for bed, I decided to sit up on my bed and 'sit' with this. For a few moments, I went back into time to last summer till movement to my left caught my eye.
I winced, not fully looking but using my peripheral vision, already knowing what it was. I had reported a potential mouse sighting to one of my roommates nearly two weeks prior. I turned my head to get a look and there it was between my radiator and trash can. I adjusted my weight on the bed trying to decide if I was gonna make a mad dash to wake one of my roommates or sit tight to see the critters next move so I wouldn't lose its whereabouts. But, when I shifted, I was surprised it didn't scatter since they are so inclined to be freaked at the slightest noise or movement. And, that's when I peered closely. It was acting very unusual. In fact, it was writhing, turning over left and right, like it was having a bad dream. I looked even closer and could tell it was in some sort of pain though it made no sound. Then it hit me...
I was watching this mouse die.
I leaned back, but only a little, because still I was curious- having accepted this truth. It writhed a little more than curled into an upper case 'C'. Knowing that was it, I leapt from my bed in one movement, ran out of the door (with haste-I don't know why) and went to decide which of the 2 roommates I would wake. Hearing one's tv still on I knocked gently. He opened and I told him what happened. He got a glue trap (recently brought over by our exterminator along with traps and potential poison that was set out). My roommate planned to pick up the body with the glue trap. Before he did, he told me the mouse was definitely dead and that its eyes were dilated. And, out it went.
I called my sister immediately.
I recently took a Grief Dreams workshop and Jenn and I concluded that what we don't deal with in the waking world that truly affects us will just manifest later in the dream world- with the dreamer (a subconscious version of yourself) persistently trying to 'awaken' you to deal with what you didn't make time for. I tell my sister all that happened with the poor little critter including my reasoning for having to 'talk this out'. Cause I feared, I told her, that I didn't want to go to bed and dream of some Gigantic sized mouse laying in a hospital bed with me trying to save it.
Pause.
And, we both snickered at that.
Because we can laugh at the dark while in the dark.
And, I think that has been our saving grace. So many times in life we just want to run away from what makes us afraid- and perhaps we can run for awhile...but certain things will find you and ultimately its easier to just 'sit' with it than to run off. And, alot of times if you sit with something, especially if you can talk freely with someone you trust, you can let the fear of something dissipate...and sometimes, you can even snicker at fear.
Now, I did lament in frustration..."Why, oh why, did the mouse have to die in MY room?" Oh! "And, why oh why did I have to be aware of its presence while it was IN the process of dying?" We were there when mom was dying and it was silent and curious with much going on within her. Too many similarities. No disrespect to my roommates but why couldn't that mouse have died in one of their rooms. Surely, it would not have had that kind of emotional impact for them. ARGHHH!, I expressed.
But, Jenn had a different take on this. She felt it was fitting that came where in its last moments, it could be- in its own way- acknowledged. That this just another notch on our day to day 'superhuman feats'. Life will not and could not be just generic anymore. Meaning is in everything even a mouse's death in my room. And, it poses to me cosmic coincidences not to recognize that it heralds something for me. What exactly I'm not sure of.
But I can tell you that to my knowledge, I've had no dreams of furry creatures tied up to IV's. Perhaps, its because I 'sat' with it. Took it in and let it out.
Detox
This coming Wednesday marks the 7 month mark. On that day, I plan to 're-dedicate' to my fitness goals. My fitness and health has been the one thing these seven months that has been my own little sanctuary. Perhaps, my commitment is due to the fact that my whole world shook beneath my feet. Working out, controlling what I put in my body has seemed to help me regain some sort of control- rooting me in myself. Its the one thing that I need not depend on for anyone else. I either do it or I don't.
And, I've been successful. Currently, I am the healthiest weight I've ever been as an adult. Like the grieving, I haven't been pressuring myself to diet hard core or meet a certain deadline. I have goals. I get excited when I meet them. When I don't, I revisit them the next day. My supreme goal is to be my healthy ideal weight by summer. But, every day is a new day- and I rest in that.
This past weekend I did a 'spring detox'. Only fruits and vegetables with limited grains for 3 days. I gave myself some little challenges (as if the fruit and veggie thing wasn't enough). I only ate a grain with my fruits and vegetables at breakfast and lunch- none after 3pm. My food cutoff was 8pm so my body could 'fast' till the next morning. No meat. No dairy. I still worked out- but listened to my body as to what I could feasibly due. And, as I settled in for my first meal of the detox- I impulsively decided to eat no meal during the 3 days with the television on. Just me and the meal. Intimate. Listening. Savoring.
Just now, I've finished my last meal of the fast-a vegan tofu salad with a spinach salad. Two minutes before 8pm, I downed the last of my freshly squeezed orange (dilute with much water). I sit and write feeling accomplished, hoping my insides are rebooted and toxin released. Fresh and functioning at maximum capacity.
That is not to say that toxic things did not surface throughout the few days. Some detox literature recommends writing during the journey to examine whatever comes up.
Well, much surfaced...
First, a dear relative of mine is struggling in every way with a toxin of their own. Fears and unwanted scenarios of what could happen surfaced in my daily thoughts. It all has brought me back to the hospital days with mom- having to learn on deck and at hand what is meant to fight for and what is meant to surrender. Though I'm clear as to how much I can offer and have set my own boundaries, I hurt nonetheless at knowing another loved one is in torment.
On a different note, I received an unexpected gift from the universe that has aided me closure and healing in another relationship. What was surprising and empowering about this gift is that I didn't need it. Sometimes we vehemently seek closure to a past situation or past wrong. Self-inflicted torment can ensure when we find the bows not all tied up neatly in a situation. What validated my soul was that I found that I was at a place where I had created my own closure with this situation, forgave (especially myself), and was enjoying the surrendering freedom. So, with that, I found the timing of the universe to be especially intriguing- A gift- because with this fresh hindsight I can see that the timing is precise- And- even better- perhaps, I received this bonus to reinforce the validity to letting go. That the surrendering journey I undertook was the 'cake' and that this extra gift was the 'icing'. Thanks, Universe. Lesson acknowledged.
Much has happened since my post of last month. I will try to update the significant. This can be a daunting thing when everything feels significant. But, this is part of the journey- Feeling completely, being rooted in the body, with the ability to gracefully let go.
And, I've been successful. Currently, I am the healthiest weight I've ever been as an adult. Like the grieving, I haven't been pressuring myself to diet hard core or meet a certain deadline. I have goals. I get excited when I meet them. When I don't, I revisit them the next day. My supreme goal is to be my healthy ideal weight by summer. But, every day is a new day- and I rest in that.
This past weekend I did a 'spring detox'. Only fruits and vegetables with limited grains for 3 days. I gave myself some little challenges (as if the fruit and veggie thing wasn't enough). I only ate a grain with my fruits and vegetables at breakfast and lunch- none after 3pm. My food cutoff was 8pm so my body could 'fast' till the next morning. No meat. No dairy. I still worked out- but listened to my body as to what I could feasibly due. And, as I settled in for my first meal of the detox- I impulsively decided to eat no meal during the 3 days with the television on. Just me and the meal. Intimate. Listening. Savoring.
Just now, I've finished my last meal of the fast-a vegan tofu salad with a spinach salad. Two minutes before 8pm, I downed the last of my freshly squeezed orange (dilute with much water). I sit and write feeling accomplished, hoping my insides are rebooted and toxin released. Fresh and functioning at maximum capacity.
That is not to say that toxic things did not surface throughout the few days. Some detox literature recommends writing during the journey to examine whatever comes up.
Well, much surfaced...
First, a dear relative of mine is struggling in every way with a toxin of their own. Fears and unwanted scenarios of what could happen surfaced in my daily thoughts. It all has brought me back to the hospital days with mom- having to learn on deck and at hand what is meant to fight for and what is meant to surrender. Though I'm clear as to how much I can offer and have set my own boundaries, I hurt nonetheless at knowing another loved one is in torment.
On a different note, I received an unexpected gift from the universe that has aided me closure and healing in another relationship. What was surprising and empowering about this gift is that I didn't need it. Sometimes we vehemently seek closure to a past situation or past wrong. Self-inflicted torment can ensure when we find the bows not all tied up neatly in a situation. What validated my soul was that I found that I was at a place where I had created my own closure with this situation, forgave (especially myself), and was enjoying the surrendering freedom. So, with that, I found the timing of the universe to be especially intriguing- A gift- because with this fresh hindsight I can see that the timing is precise- And- even better- perhaps, I received this bonus to reinforce the validity to letting go. That the surrendering journey I undertook was the 'cake' and that this extra gift was the 'icing'. Thanks, Universe. Lesson acknowledged.
Much has happened since my post of last month. I will try to update the significant. This can be a daunting thing when everything feels significant. But, this is part of the journey- Feeling completely, being rooted in the body, with the ability to gracefully let go.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Six Month Mark
Today marks the six month mark. It feels like it went by so fast, to be honest. I feel like if I blink the year mark will be here before I know it. Today crept up on me, though I think my body knew it was coming.
Counseling offers advice on preparing for such occasions. There are a wealth of emotional days that are triggers throughout the year- holidays, her birthday, her deathday. They advise doing something she would have enjoyed, using the time to go through her things, finding some ritual to mark the moment. Knowing a 'day' is coming and preparing for it can ease the pain, so they say. So I try.
For myself, I've decided to make this six month mark a weekend event versus a day thing. Guess it started earlier this week when I gave myself a 'workout vacation', allowed myself to sleep in, and abandoned any activity that was not completely necessary for my survival. This weekend I want to reacquaint myself with the woman I encountered in September, days after her mother's funeral. She was fearless, raw, and on fire- all these- gifts. There are moments in your life with something tragic can light you on fire in every great way possible. Nothing can intimidate you, nothing is impossible. Since then, I've been very conscious of the ability to fall back into the 'matrix' of life, slowly digesting the 'blue pill' each day falling back into the Numbing Rituals of life when other Life Affirming Rituals should be instigated. Life is meant to be felt, deeply. I rather, quite vehemently, sustain a burning fire than have to have it re-ignited again and again by some life changing event. So, that's what I want to do this weekend. Stoke a fire. Tend to the embers. Give the flames room to breathe and just sit by the hearth. Watching it. Nurturing it.
Fire, when blazing unintended, can wreak havoc on its surroundings. So, I'm learning its best to slow down and respect it. Here, I see that fire can also be purifying. The pain, when not resisting it, can purifying in itself.
With that said, this still hurts so damn much.
Counseling offers advice on preparing for such occasions. There are a wealth of emotional days that are triggers throughout the year- holidays, her birthday, her deathday. They advise doing something she would have enjoyed, using the time to go through her things, finding some ritual to mark the moment. Knowing a 'day' is coming and preparing for it can ease the pain, so they say. So I try.
For myself, I've decided to make this six month mark a weekend event versus a day thing. Guess it started earlier this week when I gave myself a 'workout vacation', allowed myself to sleep in, and abandoned any activity that was not completely necessary for my survival. This weekend I want to reacquaint myself with the woman I encountered in September, days after her mother's funeral. She was fearless, raw, and on fire- all these- gifts. There are moments in your life with something tragic can light you on fire in every great way possible. Nothing can intimidate you, nothing is impossible. Since then, I've been very conscious of the ability to fall back into the 'matrix' of life, slowly digesting the 'blue pill' each day falling back into the Numbing Rituals of life when other Life Affirming Rituals should be instigated. Life is meant to be felt, deeply. I rather, quite vehemently, sustain a burning fire than have to have it re-ignited again and again by some life changing event. So, that's what I want to do this weekend. Stoke a fire. Tend to the embers. Give the flames room to breathe and just sit by the hearth. Watching it. Nurturing it.
Fire, when blazing unintended, can wreak havoc on its surroundings. So, I'm learning its best to slow down and respect it. Here, I see that fire can also be purifying. The pain, when not resisting it, can purifying in itself.
With that said, this still hurts so damn much.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Dear Mom
Today is Mardi Gras. It will be over soon. The Saints won the Superbowl! Louisiana is brimming with joy. Its cup is overflowing. Only February and blessings pour, all about.
I wish I were in our homeland, reveling with the revelers. I am- in spirit.
For me, I've used this past week as a golden ticket to indulge. I've relished in sweets (had two red velvet cupcakes- you know how I love those!) and partook in several glasses of wine. I've stayed up absurdly late doing whatever I felt like and slept in late savoring the six fluffy pillows at my disposal. My dreams have been vivid and my senses have been heightened. I've listened to music like its a vitamin I'm deficient in. I've played with friends and laughed heartily at their antics. I've flirted and fantasized vividly. I've been mischievous. Buying things on impulse. You'd be so proud- I nearly bought an outrageously priced last minute ticket to fly down for Mardi Gras! Though I know you would have championed the cause, I opted to be reasonable-but I needed to be PERSUADED to think reasonably. It was extremely out of character for your straight and narrow eldest. Blame it on the moon having been in Aquarius or other forces at work- but I'm breaking free. A little rebel emerging. I know you knew she was always there.
The Saints victory will have Louisiana celebrating all year. Mardi Gras every day. Louisiana never needs much of an excuse to party. If I were a tatoo kind of girl- I think I would get a symbol reflecting the spirit of Carnival. To remind myself to celebrate life.
That was one of the last things you told Jenn and me. I will never forget. You must have felt the tension in our hushed whispers in that dark ICU room. We were trying to let you rest. From your deep unconsciousness (perhaps, true Consciousness)- you- with closed eyes- told us to "Go...Go Have Fun". Just like that. Smooth voice- sure and convinced. You silenced us. We were in shock that you spoke. You made us still at What you spoke. You were amazing like that. Defying expectations.
Thank you for saying that, Mom, because I'm trying. Its nice to have fun.
Love,
Heather
P.S. I'm saving the money I would have blown on the impromptu trip to go towards another trip. Where? Not sure yet, but I've got some ideas!
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Women, Surrounded
Just finished Skyping a great female friend who lives on the West Coast. Our friendship was rekindled through the emotional blaze of this past summer. Its mystical, I'm learning, how life- with its people and experiences- tends to come full circle. And, always, it circles again and again and again...picking you up and pulling you towards so many 'serendipitous' encounters.
A week ago, I was in a bad place. A hair trauma sent me deep down a rabbit hole of despair and rage. There is something about hair for a woman. Its rooted in her psychology, her physicality, her sensuality- that a trauma here, regardless that it grows back, wreaks havoc and devastation. I cursed the Universe wholeheartedly for being an asshole of mega-proportions over the timing of this. Not sure I've been that enraged since Mom's death. Was surely not as low. And, when I say low, I mean REALLY LOW. Self-ruin became my fantasy and pushed up the 'to-do' list. I had felt that the physical blow that this hair incident provided was the sign I needed to go completely AWOL. Fuck goals. Fuck trying. Fuck LIFE.
In this raw and uncensored state, my sister was there. Thousands of miles away, but there- via telephone. She issued words of encouragement, offered suggestions to mend my (literally) troubled head, and was quiet in complete presence while listening to my fiery laments. The only time she exerted her will was when I, in an attempt to 'fix' a bad situation with any action, declared that I was going to personally cut all of my hair off. She advised, gently, to make no rash decision while I was so emotional. That I was in no place to do that.
But, rash decisions are what I do best. I've had to make decisions, hard ones, when my peers were ruminating on what color dress to wear for prom. Distinctly, I remember a high school English project where we had to write about something that troubled us. I WISH I could have wrote about things like not knowing which guy I was going to say yes to for said prom or which college is best for me. No, I was writing damn near an essay on the legal morality of Euphanasia and my empathy of a particular man's public struggle with the matter. Because these were the subjects plaguing my soul. For years, I've resented this- and probably most unfairly-resented my peers and others around me.
And, I still battle with the resentment. I don't believe my experience of journeying with a loved one through dying and death to be unique, but I have not felt it to be very common amongst my peers. In my close relationships, I have stood out with this situation. The insensitivity of those around me, most recently, has been a struggle. So, I have been trying to find peace with this. Telling myself that some of my friends do not understand because they can't understand, not yet. But, I'm sorry to say that excuse doesn't go far with me. Unfortunately, I've realized that some don't understand because they can't understand- and they can't understand because they are too self-involved. Which led me to another discovery...The major people that I have had trouble relating to or inspiring genuine sympathy from have all been...
Male.
Every male relationship I have(save one or two family members and a friend of the family - all much older, by the way) has proven profoundly disappointing throughout this journey. Does this mean that all men are emotionally devoid of emotional sympathy? Nah. I don't think so. Does it mean they gain emotional depth past a later age? God, I hope not only then. Do I want to lament about the men in my life who have pissed me off with their self-absorption and insensitivity? No, not really, I've done that well enough. But, being the curious creature that I am, I could not help but think of what this observation means in regards to my journey...
What can I learn from this?
Once I woke up the next day from my hair trauma, having heeded my sister's advice and slept through the night without chopping my hair off- I decided to take another golden piece of advice from my sister and call a trusted hair professional for help. The woman was soooo generous of spirit and advised me to come right on over to meet her so that she could help me. This was in the middle of her day where she was spending time with her kids ice skating! What followed was her working through my mangle head offering wisdom after wisdom that seemed perfect for my present struggle. See I am so used to making decisions, Hard decisions, any decision- decisions when others stay stagnant- that I have to learn when NOT to make a decision. When to just be still. This is a hard pill to swallow for someone taking charge all of the time. This 'Hair Healer' continued to challenge me (unbeknownst to her) to perceive the world differently. She spoke, "When you have been placed in the middle of the ocean...You do not look up to God and lament, WHY?! You look up to him and ask, How?" All this and more she offered me as she did her best to heal my trauma, healing much more than the surface.
And, this led me to even more encounters. One of my best friends sends me solid and strong texts of a "I'll still be checking on you nature" after I tell her I'm going AWOL. My sister continues to be a rock, at one point proving her true solidarity by considering chopping off all of her locks if mine did not recover. Another good friend of mine who lives in Georgia, calls me and inspires me with more wisdoms- threading together what I feel is my LESSON- heeding me to relish in the feminine support I've been so washed with. To nurture and care for myself. To receive nurturing. She even said that hair caring is a very tender part of our physicality, such a ritual connected to our mothers- now is the time for me to ask for help and receive all of the bounty from this- from all of the WOMEN in my life. There is a reason I'm not receiving male attention. It is not the energy I need most now for my growth. There will be a time and place for that. Not at this moment.
And, I was warmed by this. It resonated. Receiving IS an Action. But, of a different nature. Its foreign to me. It has a different energy charge than that of resenting others for what they cannot nor will not give. I must let them go. I must embrace what I do have. Especially, when I am surrounded by a bounty of women wanting to offer the goodness of who they are. And, there are so many! From my counselor to Hair Healer, from one of my best friends who lives blocks away to the West coast woman I just Skyped, from my Georgia goddess to my beloved rock of a sister. There are even more now that I think about it-all becoming more and more available as of late.
The night of my lamenting, my sister said something big. She said that amidst my wailing and rage, she struggled. She wanted to be there for me (physically and emotionally). She let me go on and on. All she could think at one point, while I suffered and cried, was how much that in That moment- I was needing my mommy.
She said she did her best to do what she thought mom would do. She did beyond a good job. She did great.
When she said that, I, too, realized more. That I (she as well)...we are like little toddlers first learning to use a fork. At first, this a foreign custom. In a fit of impatience, the kid in throws the fork and resorts back to the baser use of her hands. I'm learning to eat, walk, and move all over again- because this time- I don't have mommy to help. Not in the physical sense. I'm having to learn how to do everything I've done before (and new experiences) without Her. That hurts. No way getting around that.
But, I am grateful. Because the mothering 'essence' is unveiling itself. If I will open myself to it. No resentment for what I don't have. Only acknowledgment of my surplus- The Generosity of the women in my life. With me, learning to receive it and savor it. A different kind of action. Drinking and eating of this goodness. Using my fork.
A week ago, I was in a bad place. A hair trauma sent me deep down a rabbit hole of despair and rage. There is something about hair for a woman. Its rooted in her psychology, her physicality, her sensuality- that a trauma here, regardless that it grows back, wreaks havoc and devastation. I cursed the Universe wholeheartedly for being an asshole of mega-proportions over the timing of this. Not sure I've been that enraged since Mom's death. Was surely not as low. And, when I say low, I mean REALLY LOW. Self-ruin became my fantasy and pushed up the 'to-do' list. I had felt that the physical blow that this hair incident provided was the sign I needed to go completely AWOL. Fuck goals. Fuck trying. Fuck LIFE.
In this raw and uncensored state, my sister was there. Thousands of miles away, but there- via telephone. She issued words of encouragement, offered suggestions to mend my (literally) troubled head, and was quiet in complete presence while listening to my fiery laments. The only time she exerted her will was when I, in an attempt to 'fix' a bad situation with any action, declared that I was going to personally cut all of my hair off. She advised, gently, to make no rash decision while I was so emotional. That I was in no place to do that.
But, rash decisions are what I do best. I've had to make decisions, hard ones, when my peers were ruminating on what color dress to wear for prom. Distinctly, I remember a high school English project where we had to write about something that troubled us. I WISH I could have wrote about things like not knowing which guy I was going to say yes to for said prom or which college is best for me. No, I was writing damn near an essay on the legal morality of Euphanasia and my empathy of a particular man's public struggle with the matter. Because these were the subjects plaguing my soul. For years, I've resented this- and probably most unfairly-resented my peers and others around me.
And, I still battle with the resentment. I don't believe my experience of journeying with a loved one through dying and death to be unique, but I have not felt it to be very common amongst my peers. In my close relationships, I have stood out with this situation. The insensitivity of those around me, most recently, has been a struggle. So, I have been trying to find peace with this. Telling myself that some of my friends do not understand because they can't understand, not yet. But, I'm sorry to say that excuse doesn't go far with me. Unfortunately, I've realized that some don't understand because they can't understand- and they can't understand because they are too self-involved. Which led me to another discovery...The major people that I have had trouble relating to or inspiring genuine sympathy from have all been...
Male.
Every male relationship I have(save one or two family members and a friend of the family - all much older, by the way) has proven profoundly disappointing throughout this journey. Does this mean that all men are emotionally devoid of emotional sympathy? Nah. I don't think so. Does it mean they gain emotional depth past a later age? God, I hope not only then. Do I want to lament about the men in my life who have pissed me off with their self-absorption and insensitivity? No, not really, I've done that well enough. But, being the curious creature that I am, I could not help but think of what this observation means in regards to my journey...
What can I learn from this?
Once I woke up the next day from my hair trauma, having heeded my sister's advice and slept through the night without chopping my hair off- I decided to take another golden piece of advice from my sister and call a trusted hair professional for help. The woman was soooo generous of spirit and advised me to come right on over to meet her so that she could help me. This was in the middle of her day where she was spending time with her kids ice skating! What followed was her working through my mangle head offering wisdom after wisdom that seemed perfect for my present struggle. See I am so used to making decisions, Hard decisions, any decision- decisions when others stay stagnant- that I have to learn when NOT to make a decision. When to just be still. This is a hard pill to swallow for someone taking charge all of the time. This 'Hair Healer' continued to challenge me (unbeknownst to her) to perceive the world differently. She spoke, "When you have been placed in the middle of the ocean...You do not look up to God and lament, WHY?! You look up to him and ask, How?" All this and more she offered me as she did her best to heal my trauma, healing much more than the surface.
And, this led me to even more encounters. One of my best friends sends me solid and strong texts of a "I'll still be checking on you nature" after I tell her I'm going AWOL. My sister continues to be a rock, at one point proving her true solidarity by considering chopping off all of her locks if mine did not recover. Another good friend of mine who lives in Georgia, calls me and inspires me with more wisdoms- threading together what I feel is my LESSON- heeding me to relish in the feminine support I've been so washed with. To nurture and care for myself. To receive nurturing. She even said that hair caring is a very tender part of our physicality, such a ritual connected to our mothers- now is the time for me to ask for help and receive all of the bounty from this- from all of the WOMEN in my life. There is a reason I'm not receiving male attention. It is not the energy I need most now for my growth. There will be a time and place for that. Not at this moment.
And, I was warmed by this. It resonated. Receiving IS an Action. But, of a different nature. Its foreign to me. It has a different energy charge than that of resenting others for what they cannot nor will not give. I must let them go. I must embrace what I do have. Especially, when I am surrounded by a bounty of women wanting to offer the goodness of who they are. And, there are so many! From my counselor to Hair Healer, from one of my best friends who lives blocks away to the West coast woman I just Skyped, from my Georgia goddess to my beloved rock of a sister. There are even more now that I think about it-all becoming more and more available as of late.
The night of my lamenting, my sister said something big. She said that amidst my wailing and rage, she struggled. She wanted to be there for me (physically and emotionally). She let me go on and on. All she could think at one point, while I suffered and cried, was how much that in That moment- I was needing my mommy.
She said she did her best to do what she thought mom would do. She did beyond a good job. She did great.
When she said that, I, too, realized more. That I (she as well)...we are like little toddlers first learning to use a fork. At first, this a foreign custom. In a fit of impatience, the kid in throws the fork and resorts back to the baser use of her hands. I'm learning to eat, walk, and move all over again- because this time- I don't have mommy to help. Not in the physical sense. I'm having to learn how to do everything I've done before (and new experiences) without Her. That hurts. No way getting around that.
But, I am grateful. Because the mothering 'essence' is unveiling itself. If I will open myself to it. No resentment for what I don't have. Only acknowledgment of my surplus- The Generosity of the women in my life. With me, learning to receive it and savor it. A different kind of action. Drinking and eating of this goodness. Using my fork.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Four Points
I woke up with a knot of anxiety in my stomach. Been waking up like that for the past week and a half. My eyes open and I sense that I'm not in any immediate danger or chaos and I have to consciously remind myself to breathe the knot out and relax. Everything's okay, I tell myself...
But, that's not entirely true. Everything in not okay. But, I don't overload myself with that thought in the moment- I just tell myself that in THIS particular moment- me in bed with my six pillows all over me- I'm okay. Breathe. At least you have these four points.
I believe every living human being should have four points that are just their own. Four corners they can call their sanctuary, large or small, that you share with no one. If you own your own home or live in apartment by yourself, you know the joys of having four points to call your own. If you live with others, family, your children, roommates!, then hopefully, you have your room. Even if you have a spouse or significant other, perhaps you claim your four points in the bathroom or an office- somewhere! Even a bed shared with no one can be your four points. A place to find solace and space.
I'm trying to make my four points as inviting and serene as possible. This week I purged my closets and shelves. I threw out or donated books I was never going to read, books I'd like others to experience, movies that I could just Netflix, clothes that no longer fit, and any other excess. It felt like a detox. Recently, I bought new vanilla colored soft sheets with a creamy lavender duvet cover for my down blanket. This was well overdue and the beginnings of a sensual promise I made myself for the new year (more on that another time). I cleared my desk and minimized it contents (distractions) to invite a well-awaited creative spirit. I have altars (another four points) that I created for meditation outside my self-made desk. One honors some of my mom's precious things. I cleaned them all and put things back slowly, with a present awareness. I reached high, dusting. I vacuumed. I washed my threshold in salt and cleansed all stagnant energy out and away. Today I will open my window to release any remnants.
A big feng shui move- I took my mother's special box with more of her memories from under my bed and found an honored spot high on a shelf to place her. This was a significant move for I have been plagued with awful nightmares over the past few months. That special box needed to be somewhere else- exalted, and not underneath my four points. My four points are for me and me only.
Speaking of dreams (or rather nightmares), I had one a few nights ago. This one was not so much of a nightmare as some of the others I've had of or about mom, but more unsettling and uncomfortable. The more I think of this dream, the more I become at peace with underlying feelings...
...I was with my mother and sister at our childhood apartment. Jennifer was sleeping and mom was about, seemingly healthy though not grounded. Was unsure of her placement there. I was hungry and wanted to go out to get food, not content with foraging inside, but kept procrastinating- getting distracted by things. Outside it looked as if it were going to rain soon. "I should go NOW", I thought. But, for some reason I didn't seize the opportunity. Soon, I started to hear the rain and could see it slightly through the blinds. The trees and landscape had a bluish green look to it. "Ugh, now I have to go out in the rain" was my thinking, especially when I purveyed our at home options. Good options. Certainly was not going to starve. Just was not satisfied with them. And, for some reason, hearing the downpour become heavier wasn't swaying me. I get dressed and prepare to go and when I open the front door, I am taken aback by complete quiet blanketed with a milk white thick mist. This mist was thick and bright, but I could not see arms length through it. The opaque thickness moved slightly. It was so heavy and came right up to the front door. I started to feel anxious, trapped. Didn't want to stay in, I was fired up already with the determination to go out. But, the mist was so thick that I'd be completely blind. I knew how to get down the stairs. After all, this was my childhood home. Could feel the way there. But, beyond that?! What if I got lost and could not come back?! Did I really need this 'other meal' that much? Was it worth the effort? Apparently, I did. At least enough not to shut the door because I stood there at the threshold, trying to 'SEE' through the fog, pondering my options...trying to move myself to go forward.
That's how the dream ended. I woke up unsettled. The feelings I felt were slightly akin to what I felt arriving way early for my return flight back to New York earlier this month. Having much time, I wandered into a touristy New Orleans shop wanting to buy something. I was settling on a t-shirt when I noticed all of these New Orleans magnets. I started to choke up. My mother adored and collected all kinds of magnets and they found sanctuary on (one of her four points)-an upright freezer. Now, I see my mom in everything so there are triggers everywhere- but for some reason I got really anxious and overwhelmed by emotion. So much so, that I had to ponder if I would need to run out of the shop. I quickly made my purchase and walked to the gate realizing why I was overwhelmed. It was the first time since her death that I 'walked alone'. My sis and family came to NYC with me shortly after the funeral.....I had the sweet anticipation of seeing family and friends for a bittersweet holiday...I looked forward to the special New Year's Eve ritual that Jennifer and I had planned....I even had the hope that I would see a certain guy.
But, there at the airport, all these things were gone. Part of a recent past, yes, but the past nonetheless. The road that lay ahead was misty, alright- healing that would take place in its own precious time, lusty goals that require extreme vulnerability, and adventures unknown. There I walked towards them stripped bare- no future plan to see family soon that was set in stone, no distractions. No Anchors nor Assurances. Just the pure and raw clay that I am.
And when you feel like you are raw clay being an action driver woman like myself- you can get overwhelmed trying to mold yourself. Curses and laments to the higher powers ensue when you get exhausted working with raw materials that hurt when you move them. I AM HUNGRY for something else. I just don't know how to move forward in the thick of it all sometimes.
And, that's when it just hit me. Literally- just now. When you are clay, ready to be molded, standing at the threshold of a mist that envelops your world in silence, perhaps the action you take is that you stand there and just Listen. When you are clay, instead of molding, allow yourself to be molded. Just Listen. It moved me from my bed to desk today. From one four points to another.
Right now, I am satiated with that.
But, that's not entirely true. Everything in not okay. But, I don't overload myself with that thought in the moment- I just tell myself that in THIS particular moment- me in bed with my six pillows all over me- I'm okay. Breathe. At least you have these four points.
I believe every living human being should have four points that are just their own. Four corners they can call their sanctuary, large or small, that you share with no one. If you own your own home or live in apartment by yourself, you know the joys of having four points to call your own. If you live with others, family, your children, roommates!, then hopefully, you have your room. Even if you have a spouse or significant other, perhaps you claim your four points in the bathroom or an office- somewhere! Even a bed shared with no one can be your four points. A place to find solace and space.
I'm trying to make my four points as inviting and serene as possible. This week I purged my closets and shelves. I threw out or donated books I was never going to read, books I'd like others to experience, movies that I could just Netflix, clothes that no longer fit, and any other excess. It felt like a detox. Recently, I bought new vanilla colored soft sheets with a creamy lavender duvet cover for my down blanket. This was well overdue and the beginnings of a sensual promise I made myself for the new year (more on that another time). I cleared my desk and minimized it contents (distractions) to invite a well-awaited creative spirit. I have altars (another four points) that I created for meditation outside my self-made desk. One honors some of my mom's precious things. I cleaned them all and put things back slowly, with a present awareness. I reached high, dusting. I vacuumed. I washed my threshold in salt and cleansed all stagnant energy out and away. Today I will open my window to release any remnants.
A big feng shui move- I took my mother's special box with more of her memories from under my bed and found an honored spot high on a shelf to place her. This was a significant move for I have been plagued with awful nightmares over the past few months. That special box needed to be somewhere else- exalted, and not underneath my four points. My four points are for me and me only.
Speaking of dreams (or rather nightmares), I had one a few nights ago. This one was not so much of a nightmare as some of the others I've had of or about mom, but more unsettling and uncomfortable. The more I think of this dream, the more I become at peace with underlying feelings...
...I was with my mother and sister at our childhood apartment. Jennifer was sleeping and mom was about, seemingly healthy though not grounded. Was unsure of her placement there. I was hungry and wanted to go out to get food, not content with foraging inside, but kept procrastinating- getting distracted by things. Outside it looked as if it were going to rain soon. "I should go NOW", I thought. But, for some reason I didn't seize the opportunity. Soon, I started to hear the rain and could see it slightly through the blinds. The trees and landscape had a bluish green look to it. "Ugh, now I have to go out in the rain" was my thinking, especially when I purveyed our at home options. Good options. Certainly was not going to starve. Just was not satisfied with them. And, for some reason, hearing the downpour become heavier wasn't swaying me. I get dressed and prepare to go and when I open the front door, I am taken aback by complete quiet blanketed with a milk white thick mist. This mist was thick and bright, but I could not see arms length through it. The opaque thickness moved slightly. It was so heavy and came right up to the front door. I started to feel anxious, trapped. Didn't want to stay in, I was fired up already with the determination to go out. But, the mist was so thick that I'd be completely blind. I knew how to get down the stairs. After all, this was my childhood home. Could feel the way there. But, beyond that?! What if I got lost and could not come back?! Did I really need this 'other meal' that much? Was it worth the effort? Apparently, I did. At least enough not to shut the door because I stood there at the threshold, trying to 'SEE' through the fog, pondering my options...trying to move myself to go forward.
That's how the dream ended. I woke up unsettled. The feelings I felt were slightly akin to what I felt arriving way early for my return flight back to New York earlier this month. Having much time, I wandered into a touristy New Orleans shop wanting to buy something. I was settling on a t-shirt when I noticed all of these New Orleans magnets. I started to choke up. My mother adored and collected all kinds of magnets and they found sanctuary on (one of her four points)-an upright freezer. Now, I see my mom in everything so there are triggers everywhere- but for some reason I got really anxious and overwhelmed by emotion. So much so, that I had to ponder if I would need to run out of the shop. I quickly made my purchase and walked to the gate realizing why I was overwhelmed. It was the first time since her death that I 'walked alone'. My sis and family came to NYC with me shortly after the funeral.....I had the sweet anticipation of seeing family and friends for a bittersweet holiday...I looked forward to the special New Year's Eve ritual that Jennifer and I had planned....I even had the hope that I would see a certain guy.
But, there at the airport, all these things were gone. Part of a recent past, yes, but the past nonetheless. The road that lay ahead was misty, alright- healing that would take place in its own precious time, lusty goals that require extreme vulnerability, and adventures unknown. There I walked towards them stripped bare- no future plan to see family soon that was set in stone, no distractions. No Anchors nor Assurances. Just the pure and raw clay that I am.
And when you feel like you are raw clay being an action driver woman like myself- you can get overwhelmed trying to mold yourself. Curses and laments to the higher powers ensue when you get exhausted working with raw materials that hurt when you move them. I AM HUNGRY for something else. I just don't know how to move forward in the thick of it all sometimes.
And, that's when it just hit me. Literally- just now. When you are clay, ready to be molded, standing at the threshold of a mist that envelops your world in silence, perhaps the action you take is that you stand there and just Listen. When you are clay, instead of molding, allow yourself to be molded. Just Listen. It moved me from my bed to desk today. From one four points to another.
Right now, I am satiated with that.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
In The New Year
Its been awhile since I've written. A little over 2 months. Christmas and New Year has come and gone. Much has transpired. Maybe I'll be able to share, but for now I can just say- emotionally exhausting, but not without beauty. I'm well into my resolutions at this point. Kind of got a head start.
I just read an article about blogging. How its so popular and self-indulgent. Since, I am completely self-absorbed right now- I wondered if I should revisit this blog. Its as good as any, I thought. People write about wine, child rearing, their pets, so forth...Why couldn't I continue to write about the bereavement process with the same indulgent fervor? Some might think it should be a personal journey not meant to be shared in this manner, but I enjoy writing and have learned rather recently that I could care less what a lot of people think. Could care less in that liberated 'I'm going to do it anyway because at the end of the day you could hurt me no more than I've already been hurt'.
So, with that logic, I will write at my leisure...any morbid thought i feel, any insight I can share, any neuroses I need to purge. And, I will be forgiving of myself and fine with my punctuation errors and any bad grammar or syntax, How it flows out is how it comes out...because I want it out. I want what I'm feeling to be in and out at the same time. Writing anchors me and I've been flailing about in stormy waters for awhile.
My mom used to say, "Heather, whatever you write, I will want to read. When you write your first book- I don't want you to give me a copy- I want to buy a copy"
"Of course, I'd never have you buy a copy, Mom!"...that's what I would always say.
But, she would protest. Thank you mom for reading my stories when I was a kid and for keeping them when I was throwing them out. I will try to have that faith in myself you so generously had for me. A faith that is beyond the belief in one's own talents or gifts, but the faith that encourages the belief of self expression.. That it is good to pour yourself- outside of yourself. And- that we should trust in that mother principle, real woman or universal deity (how lucky to have both) to nurture that growth worthy and pure enough of sharing.
I just read an article about blogging. How its so popular and self-indulgent. Since, I am completely self-absorbed right now- I wondered if I should revisit this blog. Its as good as any, I thought. People write about wine, child rearing, their pets, so forth...Why couldn't I continue to write about the bereavement process with the same indulgent fervor? Some might think it should be a personal journey not meant to be shared in this manner, but I enjoy writing and have learned rather recently that I could care less what a lot of people think. Could care less in that liberated 'I'm going to do it anyway because at the end of the day you could hurt me no more than I've already been hurt'.
So, with that logic, I will write at my leisure...any morbid thought i feel, any insight I can share, any neuroses I need to purge. And, I will be forgiving of myself and fine with my punctuation errors and any bad grammar or syntax, How it flows out is how it comes out...because I want it out. I want what I'm feeling to be in and out at the same time. Writing anchors me and I've been flailing about in stormy waters for awhile.
My mom used to say, "Heather, whatever you write, I will want to read. When you write your first book- I don't want you to give me a copy- I want to buy a copy"
"Of course, I'd never have you buy a copy, Mom!"...that's what I would always say.
But, she would protest. Thank you mom for reading my stories when I was a kid and for keeping them when I was throwing them out. I will try to have that faith in myself you so generously had for me. A faith that is beyond the belief in one's own talents or gifts, but the faith that encourages the belief of self expression.. That it is good to pour yourself- outside of yourself. And- that we should trust in that mother principle, real woman or universal deity (how lucky to have both) to nurture that growth worthy and pure enough of sharing.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
This New Journey
So, its been a over a month since I've been home. Tomorrow makes 2 months since mom left. Not now- but there are times that piece of reality hits me hard. A couple of weeks ago it hit me in the cereal aisle of the grocery store four blocks away from where I live. There, in front of the Captain Crunch, I went clean off. On God. Angry. Enraged. Fortunately for others, this lament went on in my head. I don't know how long I stood there- There with the bright harsh fluorescent lights above, the vivid colors of Fruity Pebbles, Tony the Tiger, and all things representing the childlike 'carefreelessness' of a Saturday morning crunching- with milk and no worries- I grieved. And, I grieved hard. I continue to grieve hard.
Because I valued my mother. I loved her. Adored her. Heeded her advice. Cared for her. Cleaned her. Fought for her. "There are people who don't value other people, let alone their own mothers!", I yelled at God. I LOVED MINE. Why??? Why, when I offered my suffering for her suffering? How could I give so much and have so much taken from me?
And, she suffered. She suffered tremendously. Her going was not a smooth one. Maybe in the last hours, but there were years, YEARS, of torment. So, I dared God to get mad at me. Because its not like we did not ENDURE. Oh, we endured, all right. So, HE (or SHE) was going to endure my rage.
Much has gone on since I've last written. Mostly, inside of me. There's a fiery sea churning about. A tempests of sorts. This would not appear so on my surface, but it is truly evident in my soul- coursing through my veins.
I've always found the metamorphosis of the caterpillar intriguing. But, not in the way most school children observe. You know, with cutesy songs of the transformation and colorful pictogram's illustration the stages. I was always intrigued with the process because I imagined the cocoon stage as mysteriously violent. Not violent in the most monstrous of ways, but, indeed violent in a certain catastrophic way. To go from this earth bound creature with its gazillion little legs and its methodical energy exertion of a crawl to a thin, light winged creature was so astounding to me. To the curious, head-tilting-to-the-side, human eye- the cocoon is silent, barely moving. Most children will wait, often impatiently, for the crinkling debut. But, to me, the sheer silence of that chrysalis stage signaled to me that something must be happening deeper...the cocoon- a claustrophobic pressure cooker for some event happening explosive on the cellular level...This is no mere debut as a dainty creature. Snakes shed their skin, so can spiders, lizards can detach parts- but to completely change the entire structure of who you are and emerge different- that is some sort of nature sorcery at work. And, it is that special alchemy of spirit I've always respected about the Butterfly.
There's an alchemy at work in my soul right now. I don't what the mixture contains or what I'm becoming. All I know is that I get angry at God while buying cereal, people irritate me easily, I haven't had one of those 'dreams' where she comes and talks to me and I'm getting childishly impatient at this. I can sleep for 9 hours straight and crave more and still, I'm tired all day.
I can feel the prick of winter coming. I know its early. I'm not hibernating. I'm 'cocooning'. And, right now, I'm a little wistful- I don't know what kind of creature I'm going to end up being (or uncover, for that matter). But, I will allow myself to surrender to the Change- in all of its catastrophic glory.
I have no choice. This is my destiny. These are the cards I've been drawn.
I surrender to nature's magick.
Because I valued my mother. I loved her. Adored her. Heeded her advice. Cared for her. Cleaned her. Fought for her. "There are people who don't value other people, let alone their own mothers!", I yelled at God. I LOVED MINE. Why??? Why, when I offered my suffering for her suffering? How could I give so much and have so much taken from me?
And, she suffered. She suffered tremendously. Her going was not a smooth one. Maybe in the last hours, but there were years, YEARS, of torment. So, I dared God to get mad at me. Because its not like we did not ENDURE. Oh, we endured, all right. So, HE (or SHE) was going to endure my rage.
Much has gone on since I've last written. Mostly, inside of me. There's a fiery sea churning about. A tempests of sorts. This would not appear so on my surface, but it is truly evident in my soul- coursing through my veins.
I've always found the metamorphosis of the caterpillar intriguing. But, not in the way most school children observe. You know, with cutesy songs of the transformation and colorful pictogram's illustration the stages. I was always intrigued with the process because I imagined the cocoon stage as mysteriously violent. Not violent in the most monstrous of ways, but, indeed violent in a certain catastrophic way. To go from this earth bound creature with its gazillion little legs and its methodical energy exertion of a crawl to a thin, light winged creature was so astounding to me. To the curious, head-tilting-to-the-side, human eye- the cocoon is silent, barely moving. Most children will wait, often impatiently, for the crinkling debut. But, to me, the sheer silence of that chrysalis stage signaled to me that something must be happening deeper...the cocoon- a claustrophobic pressure cooker for some event happening explosive on the cellular level...This is no mere debut as a dainty creature. Snakes shed their skin, so can spiders, lizards can detach parts- but to completely change the entire structure of who you are and emerge different- that is some sort of nature sorcery at work. And, it is that special alchemy of spirit I've always respected about the Butterfly.
There's an alchemy at work in my soul right now. I don't what the mixture contains or what I'm becoming. All I know is that I get angry at God while buying cereal, people irritate me easily, I haven't had one of those 'dreams' where she comes and talks to me and I'm getting childishly impatient at this. I can sleep for 9 hours straight and crave more and still, I'm tired all day.
I can feel the prick of winter coming. I know its early. I'm not hibernating. I'm 'cocooning'. And, right now, I'm a little wistful- I don't know what kind of creature I'm going to end up being (or uncover, for that matter). But, I will allow myself to surrender to the Change- in all of its catastrophic glory.
I have no choice. This is my destiny. These are the cards I've been drawn.
I surrender to nature's magick.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Leaving On A Jet Plane
At airport. Going home. NYC, that is. July 26th. That feels like ages ago. On that day I was flying in to Louisiana- in a completely different place. Now, I leave over 60 days later - completely different.
I am excited to go back home. More than ready to resume a routine. Find some order. Create some stability. But, leaving is bittersweet. This whole experience feels epic. Like comething out of a movie. And, why do we equate larger than life experiences to that of a movie, something fictitious? Perhaps, feeling this larger than life
is life.
I've learned much. I know I have much much more to learn still. I'm grateful. There were unexpected moments in this trip that felt 'cinematic', too. There were the intense family dramas that led to bigger family revelations. There were the rediscovered friendships that bloomed at just the right times. There were more losses, but never as large as the BIG one. There were many victories. Victories in spirit and growth. Comfort zones were stripped bare. Every part of me became vulnerable. Raw. Exposed. Every part of me became new soil. Unearthed. Now ready to be tended.
And, that's a revelation that I felt yesterday. Instead of obsessing over how to continue my journey, how to process it, how to craft it into something- I became reacquainted with my biggest lesson of all- Absolute Surrender.
Instead of crafting something out of all of this, I have chosen to allow myself to be crafted.
It is liberating to realize this. Takes the pressure off. In surrendering, I can find complete freedom.
I am excited to go back home. More than ready to resume a routine. Find some order. Create some stability. But, leaving is bittersweet. This whole experience feels epic. Like comething out of a movie. And, why do we equate larger than life experiences to that of a movie, something fictitious? Perhaps, feeling this larger than life
is life.
I've learned much. I know I have much much more to learn still. I'm grateful. There were unexpected moments in this trip that felt 'cinematic', too. There were the intense family dramas that led to bigger family revelations. There were the rediscovered friendships that bloomed at just the right times. There were more losses, but never as large as the BIG one. There were many victories. Victories in spirit and growth. Comfort zones were stripped bare. Every part of me became vulnerable. Raw. Exposed. Every part of me became new soil. Unearthed. Now ready to be tended.
And, that's a revelation that I felt yesterday. Instead of obsessing over how to continue my journey, how to process it, how to craft it into something- I became reacquainted with my biggest lesson of all- Absolute Surrender.
Instead of crafting something out of all of this, I have chosen to allow myself to be crafted.
It is liberating to realize this. Takes the pressure off. In surrendering, I can find complete freedom.
Friday, September 25, 2009
I Pray In the Tub
There are just days before I leave. Back to my urban home. I miss it. Very much. But, I must say that anxiety is creeping upon me. Anxiety about leaving. I leave behind so much.
If told in advance that I would be spending a great portion of this year HERE in the south doing what I've done, I would have to been dragged kicking and screaming clawing anything within reach. Fortunately, I did not get that memo- hence, a bit more grace on my part. Coming home (Louisiana) always resurrects old and deep demons for me. Turbulence. Haunting remnants of the past. Very alive ghosts. Coming home always required much of me, much preparation, much prayers for strength.
And, though this trip has been the most painful of them all- I discovered hidden treasures. The beauty of true friends. The kind of friends that show up and are THERE when you need it- giving so freely gestures that do wonders for my spirit. Visiting with family and really listening to their stories- their trials, their triumphs, loves lost and gained. Being around for birthdays and gatherings. Eating so much comfort food that you are filled to the brim. Hearing distinct styles of talking only native to this region. Being pulled and called to slow down. Slow down with everything. Waiting in line, strolling, taking it easy. Watching sunsets unobstructed over fields and fields and fields.
All my senses are on fire, especially the ones unavailable to the naked eye. I don't know quite what to do with all of this raw feeling. Its not comforting to feel exposed. But, I feel I need to embrace all of this vulnerability. The only thing is- I hope to make good decisions out of this place. The kind of bold ones that people may question, but you feel secure about because they come unhinged and with absolute honesty. Because you are so exposed to your truest self underneath it all.
I suppose I should allow room for mistakes. Its just that mistakes now come at too high a price. Normal failures that I could shrug off carry much more of a blow because I am so weary.
So, I said a prayer. In the bathtub. I've been praying alot in the bathtub these days and will probably pray myself to sleep. I prayed for God to send me everything I need to get through this time. Strength, naturally. But, much more. I asked for the confidence to trust my instincts. I invited people in my life who will not require much from me but offer themselves freely and tenderly. I prayed to be equipped with an arsenal of supplies I'll need for these heavy days. Those supplies could come in the form of good movies, songs designed just for me, or just good company. I welcome it all. And, I told God that I expect all of this and more. Because it is a good thing to ask and an even greater thing to receive. Because it would be something he (and she) desires. So, I ask knowing it will come. Bountiful. In waves and waves and waves.
I prayed this. And, I feel calmer. I'll sleep tonight in the sea of this knowing.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
One Bad Move...
So, the Big Move didn't go so well. Last minute, there were cancellations. I had a breaking moment. Fortunately, things and people came together. Though the move extended to an extra day, it got done. We are finished.
It was surreal cleaning the final touches to mom's apartment, mopping ourselves out.
Family tensions still brew. Anxiety rampant. Its been too long. Too much. Fighting for mom. Often fighting with each other. Needing family and also being around family too much. Big decisions. Little decisions. Huge consequences. Exhaustion beyond comprehension. Curve balls left and right. Always something.
Yesterday was bad. Another familial eruption. That was it for me. I'm done. Can't offer any more. I've reached my max. I'm there. A bill that I had was taken out of one of my accounts inappropriately. Had to make phone calls to clear it up. That was like running a marathon. I'm spent. So much to do, I can't even sit and grieve! Guess I have a lifetime for that. I'm one bad occurrence from a mental breakdown.
I wrote last night in my journal what I want. I want to be away from here. I want to exist elsewhere, preferably not in the physical world. Somewhere beyond. I want to exist in a time where mom is neither died nor is dead. I want everyone I love and care about to be content, but not necessarily near me. I want to be away. No responsibilities. No obligations. Wearing no masks. Near no one asking me how i feel. No one telling me 'your mother isn't suffering anymore'. I want to be away from people. Or, if there is people- let them require nothing of me. Just be there. I want to go where I can be raw and vulnerable in the presence of all things tender. I want to just be. Not even be myself. I'm a wreck. I want to just BE.
I want life to let me be.
Monday, September 21, 2009
The Big Move
Today should complete the big move of furniture remaining in mom's apartment. It will be a relief once that is done. It has been such a big hurdle. Next, we work on selling mom's car. After that, I look forward to using my last week in town just visiting friends and family. Good things to look forward to. My brother-in-law has a fight (boxing) this coming weekend. My sis, bro-in-law, and nephew will come up to NYC for a a week. That will be nice.
I miss home (NYC), but I know I will miss here. I'm a creature of habit and fell into a exhaustive, but regular routine here. Soon, it will be time to say good-bye to that, as well.
So many goodbyes.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Weary
Today has been tiring. But, then again, every day has been tiring. So, that is a given.
Today begins one moving session. With luck, mom’s apartment will be cleared by Monday evening.
One less thing.
Taping boxes, I broke. I don’t want to do this anymore. Sifting through her things. Old things I haven’t seen since I was a kid. Little items sent from afar. Unexpected findings that meant something to her. Thousands of pictures. It’s a knife slowly pushing in, reminding me as I push through, “She is not here”. Only her relics. Torturous. I want to be done.
Yet, I don’t. The more I clean, the more I sift, it brings me closer to the end. Another ending. The ending of ‘going through her stuff’. Then there will be the ‘clean of her apartment’. Then the last look around with the closing of the door and the returning of the key. That leads to finishing up her other affairs. Then making my rounds of visits. Then a goodbye to her grave. Then, a departure. Everything is perishing around me, ending. It hurts so much.
How do you want to run from where you are and stay at the same time?
But, I believe in cycles. Everything is cyclical. So, with endings, there are beginnings. The endings now are sure, definite, no going back. But, the beginnings? They are mysterious and foreign boxes to wrapped in huge questions marks. I hope to find some solace soon. I'd settle for sleeping for three weeks straight.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
A Letter To Mom
People have asked us to post the letter we wrote to mom that we read during the Eulogy. With my sister's permission, I post:
A Letter To Mom
Dear Mom,
You once told us that you believed that God knew the struggle that you were going to have with illness. So, in order for you to prepare for that path, he sent you two angels to accompany you on your journey. We love you for saying that, but we do believe in another story.
Two young girls became empowered women when they learned through their mother how to value what truly matters in this world. We are so thankful for you always being in our corner, creating opportunities for us when it seemed to others that there were none,
loving us without boundaries, and for making sacrifices for us that we will never fully know.
With that said, please know this from us:
It was an honor to clean you, comfort you, care for you, and hold your hand in times of doubt.
It was an honor to pace hospital floors, searching, praying, and fighting for you in ways you could not.
It was an honor to be at your side and hold your hand when you took your last breath.
It will always be an honor to have known you. To continue to know you as we grow.
You have inspired us to grow from girls to the women we are now. Because of our journey together, we have learned that:
We are not our bodies; they are just instruments for our use.
Many No’s will lead to Yeses.
Humor, A smile, and eternal optimism can melt the iciest of hearts.
Add cream of mushroom soup for a great crawfish etouffee.
That all things in life are transient and life’s true gift is being able to surrender to the moments, Here and Now
So, we hope you can see Mom, how we believe our story to be different.
God sent YOU to US as an angel so that we might be able to live and breathe your story.
That we let it pour into who we are and what we offer the world.
We hope to make you proud because we are so proud of you.
We rejoice that you are liberated from your body.
We know that your spirit is free. Free from confinement. Free from suffering.
Now that you are free, we would like to ask of you…
Please watch over us. Be with us.
Be with us when we take our walks.
Be with us when we have more babies.
Be with us when we love again and when we lose again.
When we face adversity and when we relish in our triumphs.
When we rest and when we are still.
Be with us Always.
And, please make the journey back to this earthly world
To come and get us
When it is Our Time.
Monday, September 14, 2009
More...
People have asked me if I will continue to write for this blog. I hadn't thought of it. The Funeral signified the end. But, perhaps, there is more. So, continue to check this blog if it so interests you. I write for myself. But, if sharing contributes more to someone else's journey...I will welcome that. Jennifer and I would like to receive everyone's address and phone numbers. We would like to send out thank you cards. Plus, it would just be nice to have family and friend information. Please feel free to email them to me at heatherkpierre@gmail.com .
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Funeral Information
Thank you to all who have followed my mother’s journey. Thank you for all of the prayers, words of encouragement, and help. While Jennifer and I continue on our journey through grief, celebration, and cultivating a connection to being present, we will continue to post more.
Mom’s Funeral will be held on Friday, September 11th.
St Anthony Church
600 Madeline Avenue
Lafayette, LA 70501
The Viewing will occur at 8am.
The Rosary will begin at 9:30 am.
The Funeral will begin at 11 am.
Burial Site is at Calvary.
Reception is at Holy Rosary Gym (down the street from Calvary)
Flowers can be sent to Syrie Funeral Home. We are told that you can send flowers easily through their website, www.syriefh.com . Once at the site, look on the left hand site and click Obituaries. She is under Violet Ann Mouton Pierre. We welcome all flowers, but are particularly partial to Violet colored flowers because of moms namesake or Mom’s favorite color, Blue.
Donations can be made through Mom’s website, www.violetpierre.blogspot.com .
Mail can be sent care of Hilaria Broussard (my grandmother) at:
300 Rubria Street
Lafayette, LA 70501
Again thank you to all who continue to pray for our strength.
Newspaper Obituary
Violet Ann Pierre, age 54, died at LGMC September 5th, 2009 after a courageous and triumphant journey with illness. She was a devoted mother and a well-known vocalist. Violet’s singing skills were greatly treasured throughout the great state of Louisiana and beyond. After relocating to Louisiana in her teenage years, she traveled with siblings and her father singing second soprano at weddings, funerals, galas, parties, and more. Her voice was often referred to as “angelic”. She was daughter of famed musician Curtis Mouton and Louisiana native Hilaria Broussard. Violet was also a graduate of Holy Rosary Class of ‘73’ and studied music for two years at what is now known as the University of Louisiana at Lafayette. She was very creative and active in her children’s schools, volunteering for arts and crafts projects and fundraisers. She is survived by her mother and two daughters, Heather Pierre and Jennifer Scypion-Pierre (Wilford). Her surviving siblings include: Charles Tony Mouton, Margaret Elise Mouton, Sonja David, Curt Mouton Jr., and Jude Mouton. She also has one grandson, Wilford Scypion Jr. The viewing and funeral will be held at St. Anthony Church in Lafayette on Friday, September 11th, 2009. Services begin at 7am and the funeral will begin at 11am. Flowers can be sent to Syrie Funeral Home at www.syriefh.com . For more information, visit www.violetpierre.blogspot.com .
In honor of her a special prayers was written:
When I walk along a path and I am uncertain, I search for you.
When my heart is weary and I do not understand, I listen for you.
When I am scared and I am cloaked in doubt, I rest in you.
When I am still and silent wrapped in fields of violet, in that quiet, I know
You live in me.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Moms At Peace
Early this afternoon, Aunt Elise, Little Will, and I came to the hospital to relieve Jennifer from her night shift. I parked the car. Aunt Elise and the little one came in first. By the time I came in, Jennifer told me that mom's breathing had change. Became more rapid when she sensed people were in the room. Her eyes were open. I went to hold her hand. I read in the Hospice information that you should pay attention to all changes, even the slightest- especially the breath. When I held her hand and head to talk to her, her left eye started tearing up. Tears flowed from that one eye has I held and talked to her. We all told her how much we loved her.
While everyone sat to eat, I stayed holding her. Jenn was glad we were here to talk to her because she had a good half hour talking to mom earlier in the morning. I told her all of the things I could think that I wanted to tell. How I was so blessed to have her as a mother, how I loved her so much, how I feel honored to resemble her because she's so beautiful. I told her that I'm proud of her and that she is so strong. I wiped her tears. Told her that I saw them. Told her that I will always be her "Papaya". She used to call me that as a child. Then I got close to her and told her, "Mom, if you choose to go, we will understand. If you choose to say, we will understand that, too! We are following your lead. For the first time in your life, think of yourself and what you want. We will be fine. We love you."
After that, things change quickly. Her breathing started to even out. They became more shallow. Every inhale, I watched with passion. Waiting. I felt her last breath could come. When the breaths became fewer and farther between, I became anxious. I called Jennifer. As soon as Jennifer touched the bed, Mom took her last breath. The Three Musketeers. That's what she used to call us. We were all together.
We told the little one that MuMa's an angel now. He says, "But, she don't have her wings." We told him that she gets them later.
This Morning
Written This Morning
“I want MuMa to wake up. I want MuMa to feel better.”
This is what my nephew tells me this morning as we enter Mom’s apartment so that I could dry some clothes. I want that, too. With the state of mom, Jenn and I have learned to not dare to0 much investment in the future. We don’t know what will happen two days from now, lest 2 hours. Staying in the moment is helping us to stay grounded. However, every now and then, when little Will refers to mom, Jennifer and I share this knowing feeling. This is a feeling of dread. How will we tell him? I have my own moments where I’m overwhelmed with the rush of reality. This usually happens as soon as I open my eyes upon waking. “Mom is dying” is the first thought that greets me when I open my eyes. You are supposed to get much rest and take care of yourself when you are taking care of someone else. But, I can’t help but find myself procrastinating going to sleep to avoid opening my eyes later to this same reality.
Today, mom’s sister will sit with her during the day. We’ve fallen into rhythms. Patterns that find us as we adjust to new circumstances. Now, our days consists alternating nights sleeping in mom’s room and spending the morning with her. Mom’s sister (Elise) sits with mom during the day. The other daughter takes over the next night. The room is small. It takes a kind of grace to maneuver in such close quarters. But, then again, everything about this journey takes a little grace.
While Aunt Elise sits with mom today, Jenn and I will take the little one to a birthday party today. It’s at a bowling alley. Will deserves some fun. Some colorful distraction. Much needed.
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