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
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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.