Crumbling castle....

I thought about a crumbling castle as I drove home from being with my 87 year old father for the last couple of days. The mighty McCormick domain ruled by Robert the king master. I say this in somewhat of a jest but in reality - it is an attitude that prevailed in our household. I'm not even sure how much of it was perpetuated by him. It was the backdrop of our times - trying to raise three girls in the midst of the 50's, 60's, 70's and 80's. My mother was held responsible for keeping the domain calm and healthy. She held the role of making the home a refuge for him after working. And to this end, we were always told..."Your father has the last word on this. You have to ask your father. Wait until I tell your father about this." It was usually with dread that we heard those statements. Although, I must say by the time I was a teenager, my father's response was much more open than my mom's. It still didn't dissipate the power that we all gave my father in matters concerning the family.
And this is exactly what is at work or at odds right now as we watch him grow more frail. He still has that tone of voice that says, "Now girls, you really don't understand how complicated or how difficult this would be..." And I find myself wilting and thinking, "Oh yes, he most certainly knows more than I right now..."
Then I walk away and say to myself, "HEY! Wait a minute! That doesn't make sense!" But I cannot confront him or if I do...the words seem to dissipate somewhere between his listening ears and the place in his brain that would understand the train of thought. He walks away, not wanting to deal with such harsh reality. I don't blame him. He has to deal with so much on a daily basis. And I cannot fathom what it is like to have my ability to think, remember and understand dwindle away as it has.
And so I think about a crumbling castle because with my mother gone, and my dad hanging on - the perception of family as I have lived with all my life is changing. The castle is smaller on the horizon and a new home is being built upon its foundation.

The time just keeps on passing....

The holiday season is here. Thanksgiving arrived with the gift of grief. I always think, "Oh I'm prepared for this. I got it handled." Ha-ha! Grief must love those phrases. As if we can control when it rises and shakes the earthly foundation of what we think our day will look like. With the time passing and the grief abating for longer periods of time, I forget the punch that it announces itself with.

So what does grief hand me these days? Many, many memories. They come in with all senses. Remembering the smell of the house with day long cooking, the sounds of many conversations going on at once, glasses being refilled, family members chiding each other over past shenanigans. The feeling of being so full from overeating. Taking dance breaks to do some jitterbugging or whatever to whoever's music is playing at that time. The sight of so many dishes after eating. All of us women in the kitchen cleaning, chatting and sometimes when we were younger, singing songs. I remember noise and mom trying to focus on whatever cooking endeavor needed attention. At age 52, there are so many memories to choose from. I'm blessed with a long family life of grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles and whoever we all brought along for the holiday season.

My mom loved the holidays! She loved the feeling of family coming together. She loved the ritual of getting the house cleaned, the shopping and planning for the meal. She worried herself into exhaustion over the success of the gathering. If I could change anything in my past, it would be to take away my mother's worries about things turning out. It all turns out, no matter what the result. It all turns out in some way. Whether I like how it turns out is another discussion.

But for now, I am honoring grief's punch during this season and giving my memories its due time. This won't be a Christmas season so much for me but a Christmas season for my mother's memories and desires for a wonderful and loving time with her family.

Anniversaries

I felt off yesterday. More than usual. Someone asked me how I was and I said, "Living through the gray." They replied that maybe I needed a kick in the butt. I smiled to myself because they just don't know of the world I am living in. And there is no way to "know it" until it happens to you. An extremely personal process.

I was compelled and I mean COMPELLED to get a piece of chocolate cake yesterday. When I have that kind of dessert, I am thinking of mom. She loved chocolate cake!! In the past, I haven't really indulged so much in those kinds of desserts. The sugar usually makes me sick afterwards and its not worth it. But its a whole different story since my mom died. This weekend I even had a glazed donut and its been years since I've eaten one of those!

My friend, Peter Holter told me that the way he got through his parent's deaths is to eat lots of ice cream sundaes. That was his source of comfort. It helps me to know how people move through this passage. It helps me to know that food is often the comfort space. And it helps me to know that I'm not alone in experiencing the uncontrollable waves and ocean of grief.

My sister got ahold of me yesterday. This was after my german chocolate cake treat. She was a wreck and as she said, "losing it." She reminded me that this was the 6 month anniversary of mom going in for the heart surgery. This was the anniversary of the toughest 3 weeks of my life. Was my subconscious churning this about during the day? Was this the reason for the grey feeling? Six months ago, I flew down on Southwest airlines crying my eyes out because of the complications involved with surgery and my mother's poor body. Six months ago, my life changed. I changed and continue to change as a result of her death.

What is strange is that I wouldn't wish that she be back here. Her body was deteriorating and decreasing her quality of life. I know that she is in a much better place. One that I can't even imagine and I'm happy for her. Sometimes I can feel her presence and sometimes I feel nothing. But this pull of anniversaries is something I can't explain. There is a similar process when people get sober. There is an agitation, 'messed up' feeling before and during anniversaries of "one's last drink." What happens in the brain and soul? How does that timeclock of the psyche work? Is it meant as a chime to pause, reflect and appreciate the brevity of life's changes? Is it meant to wake us up to realities that have passed and morphed into new realities?

I'm grateful for the 6 month mark. I'm hoping it means more color in my daily view. There is nothing that heals grief more than "time." I'm also grateful that I have my family to go through this with. It helped me so much to listen to brigid's experience - it gave me words and a context for the day I was having.

Will Mom help the Notre Dame football team?

Today is the first game of the season for Notre Dame. Dad says its gonna be tough - that Georgia is a tough team and the Notre Dame's team isn't experienced enough this year. But I wonder, I wonder if mom in her heavenly spirit will cast an angelic presence on the team this year and help interceptions and unbelieveable touchdowns happen. Well....ya never know!!

I was given a gift today through a passage I read in some Sufi book that is way over my head. This is the title of the book to give you an idea of its density: "Upgrading the Operating System of the Soul - A Manual of Quantum Sufism" by Donald Weiner. I'll let you know if I actually finish it! But I digress... this passage is actually very understandable. The author lost his son at an early age and has written down, along with his wife...the communication that they feel is from him. Where the communication comes from doesn't concern me. But the message is comforting.

Dad,
You can find me in that well-relaxed breath that you take on the innerness of your heartbeat...Feel me as a support all you think and do-a similar note underlaying or overlaying your own. Can you fall into my beingness beyond concepts or thoughts to know how I am and how I perceive? Break down any preconceptions again and again until your inner sense is very fine-grained and plaible, soft and sensitive so you can feel my breathing-just beyond your own.

"...like a similar note underlaying or overlaying your own..."

Let's see how the notes and football plays today underlay and overlay the Notre Dame team's efforts. GO IRISH!!!!!

Good Orderly Direction

I was awake last night completely stressed out about my father. I could feel the tension in my jaw and face. I could physically feel the control I was trying to exert manifest in my body. I kept saying to myself, "Relax! RELAX! relax..... It will work out." But my thoughts were like a hamster cage running all my itself.


I remembered an acrynom used for folks having a hard time picturing what a God of their choice would look like - feel like. "G.O.D. = Good Orderly Direction." When I said that and felt its meaning, I relaxed. It gave me a guide that I didn't have to control or force. Things that are needed would happen. Most of those things are in the future with their own way of unfolding. Good. Orderly. Direction.

I was given this direction while my mother was dying. I asked for strength in each moment to do the best I could in staying present. I was given that strength. I look back at that time and I know I was carried. I have to remember that I am being carried right now. Except I want the spirit carrying me to run, not journey, not meander about, but RUN! I want that because I want relief from my personal worry. I want to be prepared! I want my father taken care of!! And I want it NOW.

Good Orderly Direction

Everything will work out the best way in its own way. All I can do is set up as much as I can, a pathway that makes sense for my dad to live out the rest of his days. And maybe it means that I come down here for a couple more months, cook up lots of meals for him, have a movie marathon while visiting and encourage him to get out for some social time. What else can I do?

Good Orderly Direction.

I have to remember that there are other forces at work. I have to remember that I have two sisters who are my family and this is not all mine to take on. I have to remember that there are divine spirits that help guide each and every one of us. And Dad has his own Good Orderly Direction that he follows or perhaps fights against. I'm certainly fighting againsts mine!! For today though, I think I'll just keep repeating to myself, Good Orderly Direction = God.

August already. 4 months and counting

I miss my mom. When I miss my mom like this, it makes it difficult to work, to play, to focus on much. Its a gray time - matches the color of the weather we've been having. I was reminded that its only been 4 months. I can see my impatience gripping on to this grief process. Trying to nip it, make it smaller, make it manageable, make it Go Away!

Yeah, now I'm back to the regular coping mechanism for feeling bad. Make it go away. Distract...anything to keep me from that base emotion of "I miss my mom and there is nothing I can do about it." Thank God, grief has its own life, a master of its own destiny because if I had my way - I don't think I would choose to feel this way. This muted veil that keeps me from being in my "active life." The active life that is engaged with an exterior world. No, grief takes over the interior doings, the soul and spirit. Grief demands this attention and when it asks for this attention, it expects to receive it. My resistance only makes things more complicated. Letting go and surrendering means saying no to "my way" and hello to the "soul's way." I think I can give my mom, my loss, my family and myself some time to visit with this intense place.

The next phase. Dad.

See that ball? See that pin flag on the green? I wish I could navigate my life as easy as putting a ball on the green to the desired target. This stuff though ain't no fun to navigate and I'm not very good at it. Ha! Who would know what "good" is, anyway?

My dad - living on his own since mom died. He's doing okay for himself. Feeds himself out of the meals we daughters have made for him in the freezer. Picks up his medication and goes to his doctors appointments. Tries to walk a little bit during the day. And my heart breaks for him. It breaks when I talk to him on the phone. It breaks when I see him and hang out with him. He has become in my mind "elderly." I don't know why I've not called him that before. Perhaps he had my mother to lean on and his wit is still strong and sharp. But after this visit, I see that he is elderly. That one fall will break his bones - that his body is breaking down in its age. Small meals, quick and frequent visits to the bathroom, faulty and missing short term memory banks, confusion for small understandings. And my heart breaks because he is going too. He is going where my mom so happily resides now. I don't know when but it won't be long. I don't get the feeling that we will be moving him up here. Its too much for him. He says he will go quickly and not to worry about anything. But who really knows. All I know right now, is that it is tough. I hate it. I hate saying goodbye to my parents. And I know that someday this will all be looked upon without such deep pangs in my heart.

Moon Encounter on Hwy 5

The last time I went down to visit my dad, I left very early in the morning. The sun wasn't up yet and I was already past Livermore and well on to the droned flatness of Highway 5. I love driving at that time of the morning because the colors of the dawning day are so vivid and fresh. The oat colored hills start coming alive in the morning light and the changing of moon and sun guard is as visible as an IMAX theatre. So it was during this time that the full moon in its setting glory had my complete attention. I pulled over in the rest stop and was frantically trying to find my camera for a picture of this glorious scene. It seemed pathetic to try and catch this on film (uh, well on digital film). I knew my camera wouldn't really be able to capture this. So I calmed down and resigned myself to a 'in the moment' experience. I believed so strongly that my mother was watching also from wherever she has landed.

I noticed out of the corner of my eye, this guy with a "GOOD" camera was snapping away! I ran over to him with my business card and asked him if he would mail me the pictures he was taking. He seemed like he was in a hurry and took my card and said, "sure, sure." That was weeks ago. In fact the full moon is just coming around again. So lo and behold I got the pictures just the other day in the email! He captured the beauty of the moon setting so beautifully! Turns out he was on his way to his Aunt's funeral down south. His name is Ching Chang. And if you ever need a realtor in Davis - here is his biz info.
cychang@juno.com
College Town Realty
522 G St Davis, CA 95616
work:(530) 753-1500 cel:(530)219-5173
Fax: (530) 753-1503

Another dream

Oh how the dreams become vivid during the waxing of the moon! They arrive in full color and saga development. This was another visit by my mother. I won't go into all the details as there were so many detours, journeys and explorations during this sequence, I was confused when I woke up whether I was coming or going.

But the dream concerning my mother was she came into a house that I was living in. She was in her early sixties and wasn't too happy. She was frustrated and she was hungry. I wasn't surprised to see her but upset that she wasn't a happy camper. So I volunteered to go out and get some food for her. It was in that sequence where uh, I got distracted as I sometimes do and ended up many different places - none of them resulting in any food for my mom!

But towards the end of the journey, I stopped in to see my dad who was living in an apartment complex. It was noisy place with outside hallways. His window was open, with no screen and I peeked in through the drawn curtains. He was asleep on the couch even though it was in the afternoon. I called out to him, "Dad?" He opened a bleary red eye and mumbled that he just can't sleep without my mom next to him. I walked in and he got up from the sofa. I felt bad for him as his sadness was palpable.

He decided to go with me and we went over to pick up mom. It was as if they couldn't see each other. And I was in the middle of the two. I said to him, "Well why don't you just have mom move back in with you! It's not like you got divorced. It's not like she didn't like you and divorced you and that's why she isn't with you!!" He looked at me in disbelief and said, "Oh no! I couldn't bear losing her again." And it was said with such solemnity that I said no more. But I was still trying to figure it out in my head,and my mom was in the back seat wondering if I was ever going to get her food. I was thinking, "Ummm let's see. If she moved back in - it's not like she can take care of dad anymore..." And slowly, the realization was sinking in that she was not of this world anymore. That there would be no moving back into a home with dad. That there would be no more of mom and dad in this world. And that Dad was the one in touch with reality. Not me. I straddled between two worlds.

I woke up feeling very sad and missing my mom and missing my 'mom and dad' together as they have been for me for 52 years. I won't keep saying how strange this process is but I will continue to be amazed by it. During the week, I am generally so busy with my "doingness" that I don't feel the grief so much but I sure do on the weekends. And every weekend is different in how I experience the loss of my mom. It feels like something that I don't get over but something that I learn to live with.

The moon dream

My mom visited me last night in my dreams. It was so lovely to see her although she was slight in density and kind of floating along. There was a full moon shining in the night sky and I exclaimed, "Mom! Do you know every time I see a full moon, I think of...." She interrupted me softly and said, "Yes dear, I know. I know." And the feeling was one of a quiet love and a quiet memory. An exchange we had many many times over many many moons. No matter where I was in the world, when I saw a gorgeous full moon, I thought of my mom. Sometimes I could call her and she would dash outside to see if she could see the moon too. Other times, it was in a catch up phone call - Or she would call me and say, "Molly! Have you seen the moon tonight? Go look at it!" Those calls came less and less as my parent's lives got smaller. Very rarely would they go out at night so she would miss the rising of the moon.

But our house on Rudd Road was prime moon viewing property. That is how the tradition got started. Having it rise above the hills, its light shadowing and preparing the way for the big round ball....slowly, slowly it came up until it had risen into the sky and mom and I would be on the back patio just watching it rise. Lovely lovely memories..
And even now....in her other world, we come together to watch the moon rise.

The Currents of Aftermath

I was down visiting my dad this last week. I started sorting out things of my mother's. Going through drawers, her office and then her closet. I was given the grace to look through things without feeling destroyed with loss. How that happened, I truly do not know. But I was grateful.

I have to relay the contents of this one Birthday card I had sent to my mother in 1978. I understood so deeply when I read this, the amount of distress I caused my mom with my lackadaisical lifestyle. My poor parents had NO idea what to do with me during this time of my life.

Hi there,
How was your trip to Vancouver? Beautiful huh? I'm at Tricia's house now, working for Barb and Ed. I'll be leaving around August 11th to go to Michigan for another music festival and to see my friend Brown. Then possibly, on to New York with Judith, depending on my money.

Its real nice to be some place for awhile and get caught up with my life - absorb my travelling experiences. But the bug is still strong in my, so I'll probably continue moving around for a couple of months. If I can get on a "hoedad" crew, I hope to be tree planting in oregon in the fall. Its excellent money for the hard work, so who knows - I'll keep you posted.

Have a real happy birthday. I'll be thinking of you. Love, Molly

I was telling Dad, "All mom would say to me as she let out a sigh, was, "God, can't you get a nice job in a bank somewhere?" It drove her crazy that I was so unsettled and travelling here and there. She was always grateful when I would settle somewhere. Although, settling in Alaska for five years wasn't quite the idea she was thinking of.

I had such a nice time with my dad. Just watching movies at night with him gave me comfort. Its a new kind of relationship I have with him. One that is so much more present and immediate. I am grateful to feel so close with him.

Touching the Storm

I'm down here in Oceanside visiting my dad. Well not visiting. Its so much more than that. I'm here because he needs me. He needs his family. I'm here because there are things to do with my mom being gone. I'm here because I want to be here. I want to be near my father. I want to be in the house that mom "made" a home.

I've been surprised that the storm of grief hasn't hit me as it was before - swirling uncontrollably without any plan or destination. No, it feels like it is in the distance waiting more for an invitation, an opening to come in gently. My focus is on my dad and taking care of what I can while I'm down here. He is preparing himself to move and I am preparing myself to help him move. To say goodbye to this place of home for so many years.

So I throw away what I can and at this point - its the very very basic stuff. Old business cards that had been saved. Doctors that my mother went to. She had one card, scribbled all over the card. No! No! No! I guess she didn't like that doctor!

But I did open her cosmetic drawer in the bathroom and put on some blush that she used. And boom! The door of grief swung open, taking my breath away. I was pushed into a memory of seeing my mom apply "her face" and it was like I could feel the feelings she would have as she made herself pretty for the public. I looked at her mascara, her lipstick and her pin curls. God, anyone who knew my mother knew what a big deal her hair was. We almost had an entire trip in Europe ruined because her hair wouldn't comply and look as well as she wanted it too. Thank god, she remembered the old fashioned way of getting curls. She bought pincurls and went to bed with all sorts of these metal things sticking out. I was grateful because it meant she was a happy camper for the day "to have a little curl" in her hair.

So the invitation extended by my gracious grief still has the punch of a hurricane when opened...but I am grateful for the reprieve. Time when I can just be with my dad. My primary parental relationship. My dad. Its a new world. A new relationship.

KapOWWeee

That's what it was when I started reading Henri Nouwen's book "In Memorium" yesterday. He has put into words the experience I had with my mother while she was in the hospital and for days after her death. He talked about the use of prayer with her. I remembering thinking in the hospital how EVERYONE used prayer. The nurses said they would keep her in their prayers, the social worker, the "pink ladies", the people passing in the hallways that I had become familiar with, the cashier in the cafeteria...they all said the same thing. "I'll keep her in my prayers."

My sisters,dad and I prayed with her, over her, for her. We prayed for ourselves, for the doctors and nurses caring for her. We prayed and prayed and prayed. I was aware that it helped. It brought my attention to that higher place where sense was made of the things that confused me. It helped relieve the despair I felt of losing my mother. And it helped my mom. She would become peaceful while listening or she would smile quietly. There was one chaplain whose southern voice soothed her as he made up his own prayer just for her. He would always say to her, "Oh Gloria, you look beautiful today." I would think at the time, "What a wierd thing to say! She doesn't look great today, She looks awful!!" But then she would smile and I could see that it comforted her and made her feel good.

Reading Nouwen's book, I went back into that very precious time with my mom. When I was "there" in that intense reality, I said to myself, "I will never forget this place. I want to live my life from this place." It hasn't even been 60 days since her death, and I have veered far away from that truthful place. Caught up in the job and routine. Maybe that is why I was so kapowwwed while reading this. I was reminded of my mother's death and that feeling of losing her, of letting her go, and how that process helped me touch the mystery of human life.

"It is precisely in the moments when we are most human, most in touch with what binds us together, that we discover the hidden depths of life." p.10

In those hidden depths of life, I question my day to day activities with a new and hopefully awakened viewpoint. I can't say I've been happy. I can't say that I'm skipping with joy about my life right now. But I can say, that I can get out of bed without a weight pulling me back under the covers. I can think about the upcoming day and feel a little less quicksand under my actions.

I recognize that this is "that" process...of learning who I am without the groundedness of my mother's attention and that saddness and missing her still defines the state of my psyche.

"The deeper I entered into my own grief, the more I became aware that something new was about to be born, something that I had not known before."

It is my job to awaken to what is new and feel as much as I can, the spirit that my mother embodied and that I shared in the hospital room with her. It is my job to remember. To remember the absolute preciousness of life and of being human with all its angst, joy, distractions and that there is a spirit that lives within me - ready to direct my day. I have to remember that I lost my mother in the hospital. That wonderful woman with her smile, laugh, and all those expressions. I lost those to a finality that still baffles and KapOWWWWees me. Now that is a truth to be reckoned with.

"Sometimes I find myself daydreaming about radical changes, new beginnings and great conversations. Yet I know that I must be patient and allow her who taught me so much her by life to teach me even more by her death." p 62
To buy this book, click on this link:
In Memoriam

Mothers Day

Those who know called to see how the day was going for me. I was kept in thoughts and prayers for strength and comfort. But the day was uneventful for me. There were no tinges of pain, no ache'i'ness of a heavy heart - it was just another day. I thought about my mom of course. I thought about how blessed it was to spend so intensely the time together at the hospital. My mother KNEW she was loved as she struggled in the ICU madness. And we knew that she was loving us every time eyes locked in acknowledgement. I had my private time with her, unlocking the preciousness of our relationship through touch, little kisses to take her boo-boos away, prayers from Mary Ann Kilbane's Mass card, reading the Mass and singing many many songs. I felt like it was a payback time from all of her years taking care of me as a vulnerable and helpless baby and child. I gave back everything she had given me. I learned from her, the power of loving a child and then the power of loving a dying parent. What a circle of reality.

These days, I can be grateful. I can finally feel some enthusiasm for getting out of bed. There is some softness around the edges that have been so raw in the last two months. It is actually occurring to me to call friends and try to move toward a social life again. I know that it will ebb and flow but at least it has started to flow more toward life and living.

Doing the best I can...

...under the circumstances.

And what are these circumstances? Well trying to operate through life and responsibilities while healing a big fat hole in my heart. And at this point, the healing, if that is what is associated with a grief process, hasn't really started. Nope, it feels more like its still getting wounded. Whaaaaat???

Pictures of my family, memories of times together, future tripping about my family sans Gloria, thoughts of how my dad is getting through this time, talks with my sisters and on and on it goes. All these things stab at my heart as I try and grasp the fact that my mom is no longer here in physicality.

People have asked, "Well doesn't it help to know that she is with you spiritually?" Uh.... No. It doesn't help. That is an entirely different matter than acknowledging and knowing that she isn't here in body, language, speech and all these wonderful human senses.

Can I feel her presence? Yes. Without a doubt. But I feel more strongly her absence. It is in that place that I get through each day. Every new thing I go through, which in essence is living each day, I notice how much I want to tell her about it. I want to tell her how nervous I am about the talk I have to Rogue Community College. I want to hear her say, "Oh honey. I know you'll be fine. You'll do great." Can I hear her say that through presence of spirit? Can I know that she will be with me as I give my talk? Ummm yeah, maybe.

But grief says and demands of me that I stop and acknowledge there is a big gap while living each day. When I do that, when I stop, acknowledge and feel that big gap, the tears start welling and running through my psyche. They fall up and over, cleansing my soul until I can breathe a little deeper and allow some fresh acceptance into my heart.

Edge of Bardo

"The word "Bardo" comes from the Tibetan words "bar" meaning "in between"; "do" meaning "island" or "marking point."

I've taken great liberties with a definition of Bardo. I'm not a buddhist - don't really believe in a karma reproducing life. I'm more the garden variety Catholic girl who never grew up her version of heaven and hell after we die. So I prefer in my naivete to believe that my mother is on her way to heaven. And here is where I stole the Bardo concept. Maybe it was for my own solace. I could think of my mother lurking about for 30 days to energetically care for us and to let us feel her presence. Well I grabbed that concept and its been helpful for me this last month.

I've never been good at Good Byes. I prefer a wave of the hand and a tight hug, saying "Hey I'll see you soon." Not to dip into a despair of never seeing someone again. Maybe that is why when I see people I haven't seen in years, I am struck with the feeling of picking up right where we left off.

But I cannot escape the "ugh" of realizing I have no receiver at the end of my daily phone call to mom. I can call my dad - but boy oh boy - it just is not the same. My mom used to get excited about the smallest things for me. She had an interest in stupid small things - like what I was going to cook for dinner or what was at the grocery store. And I was interested in what she was telling me....maybe the funny Raymond show that they watched last night. Or I could listen to her work herself into a complaint and then say - "Oh I shouldn't say anything bad. It really is okay. I'm just feeling sorry for myself." And we would ping pong back and forth about sleep patterns, traffic, weather and any ol' thing that popped up between us.

God, I miss this woman. I miss her because she is my mom. I miss her because she was a good friend to me. I miss hearing her voice. There are a lot of people missing her as we move through the days without her. I reread her poem where the ship is waiting for her and it is with grand wide open arms that she is being received. Just the way she was sent out. With more love than one can imagine!

"...what we call death is only a change."

These words, written by Hazrat Khan, are a reflection of the same thing spoken of by many many teachers and pupils of a spiritual path. But when I'm in the middle of that change, I don't want to hear about it...I don't want to accept it and I don't even want to change the feeling of resistance. So while in a grief state, I hold that one truth out there - like it's in a distant field that I may eventually get to. But for now, the sadness and the pain of my loss are greater than any other vision.

On day 24 though, I can recognize the shift of grief, another perception of this transition. "When we see life end suddenly, we call it death...and once that word is spoken it is the end of the matter for us. But the word is never silent, it continues, if not in this then in another sphere." I am changing. Life is changing me. "It is like turning life inside out. We are walking on the same earth under the same sun, but we are looking at a different world with different eyes. Life is a different life to us and the meaning of every word is different."*

I can feel mom moving on - a distance growing between us. As the physicality dissipates, the spiritual increases. She has returned to her source and will come back to me millionfold. I just have to be awake for her visits.

Hazrat Khan- pg. 41 "Mastery"

Memories

Wow. My nephew-in-law, Chris Smith did this montage of photos for our family. I immediately got choked up and filled with emotion as I looked at the picture, realized the work it took to bring it together and "felt" the image of Gloria looking over all of us.

In this process of good-byes, I feel her presence around me - a slight shadow accompanying me through my days. Its a happy sensation, one of comfort that says, "Hey I know you're missing me. But I'm right here and I'm gonna stay here as long as you need me to." When I have a reprieve from the personal sadness, I am able to feel happy for her - that she has been moved on to the next level. From what I've read and heard, the next level is pretty darn great. And I know that she completed what she wanted and needed to do on this planet. She raised us, she loved being a mother and housewife. She loved seeing what we three girls were up to. She often lived vicariously through us, especially in her later years. I wouldn't have wanted her to live a moment longer than she did. Where she is at today is way better than I can ever imagine.

And now its up to me to live my life as fully as I possibly can because I really do know, without denial - that my time as a human being is limited.

A Birthday

So it's my birthday today. 52 years old. My mom died at 81 years old. I'm in a wake up call mode. Life is looking a little shorter these days. Have I lived the life I've wanted? Am I the person I want to be? Am I doing my life's work? The work that God designed for me? These are the questions I ask people while coaching. These are the kinds of things that we highlight and look at for the nuggets to help them live more happily and more joyous. And I ask myself the same questions and do the same work with my mentor. But it is all highlighted in bright yellow - these questions. And the answers? They are unfolding with a plea of patience to stay in the present and enjoy what I have. And I do have so much to be grateful for.

My brother-in-law, Bob lost his mother last year. Asking for a sign that she is near, Mary Brower gave her family pennies. Random pennies showing up in random places at just the right time. We found pennies while my mom was alive in the hospital and going between the different worlds of consciousness. We found a double penny at the mobile and promptly attributed it to Mary taking care of Gloria and showing her the ropes of heaven. And they showed us with double pennies.

Today, coming back to my hotel room, there was a penny outside my door. It wasn't there before because I had picked up a newspaper from that very place. Nope, this was a penny with a strange bright red stain on it. Red, a color my mother would have picked out for me. I think this penny was from my mom saying, "Happy Birthday Honey! and I love you!"
Thanks mom!

This grief's mantra and constant drone

It's a low lying, low flying repeat of the word, "mom. mom. mom. mom." I've been so busy and distracted with work; picking up the pieces of my dropped life. Its been kept at bay - the drone of busy'ness chattering above grief's constant reminders. "mom.mom.mom.mom"
But today, driving alone up to Ashland, I noticed over and over all the things I was storing up to tell her when I called. And every time I started storing an image to tell her about, a bite to eat I enjoyed, I caught myself and heard the drone. "mom.mom.mom." I couldn't call my mom because she isn't on this planet to pick up the phone. The consistent call to listen to the void of mom/gloria was with me all day and all this evening. When I was away I would call and tell her about all the things I was doing - driving conditions, price of gas, who I met with....small incidences in my life that she seemed to enjoy hearing about.

I think this is called missing her.

I remember several weeks ago when she was still alive and she had my attention 1,000%. The tragedy, the suffering and the shock of all that was going on replayed over and over in my head. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't rest. The "mom.mom.mom.mom" drone was so loud and deafening. It's only relief was through a breakthrough sob and cry. My body connecting to the words and expressing its angst. The drone would lessen and quiet with the tears. And in a few more minutes it would start up again until another crescendo - all in its own time, undetermined by any timeline of mine.

Today is the 17th day without my mother. I know the mantric drone of 'mom.mom.mom.mom'
will shift, change, get loud, get quiet, get sporadic and be constant - like a running river. I just don't know the journey - nor do I know the ocean that it will spill into.

Grief is having it's way

Grief is a funny thing. My mom died on April 1st, 2007. We were there for her last breaths on this earth. Profound experience. The spirit leaves the shell of a body and floats around us as if saying "Wheeee. I'm free! I'm free! Look at how light love makes me! Look how wonderful this other side is!"Meanwhile her daughters are weeping and sobbing at the disengagement of our experience from hers. Weeping and sobbing at the 81 years of human experience lost to us except through the memories and stories we have to pull from.

Grief is a funny thing. It feels right now like I am living on top of a huge surging tidal wave that rocks back and forth in my presence. Every once in awhile it spits forward in a grand fashion and sweeps me into uncontrollable tears and full experience of loss. I'm not minding it. I am expecting it.

Its the mind numbing and shell shocked feeling that is getting to me. Small sounds like children shrieking outside feel like nails on a chalkboard. Popping sounds make me jump like a gun has been fired. Small personal annoyances grow to magnitude proportions and sadly it's the person closest to me that gets fired upon. Yes, this is the part that is not fun.Its only been 16 days. And that does not count the three weeks of hospital hell before that. I am a hamster exhausted on its wheel but not giving up and simply getting off the treadmill. They say it's that easy. But my body is doing its grief thing - whether its running from it or running to it.

Grief is having its way with me today.