Glo Blog

  You would think hitting a wall, literally,head on, in October would have been a big indication I needed to slow down, sit still, process, proceed with caution.  But no.  I did not. I stitched up the broken places and kept going.  Next.  I kept going.

You would think the spinning,spinning in my brain and the sleepless nights throughout would have been an indication to slow down.  Be still.  But no.  I kept going.  I lit the match on the incense-and let it burn down to the nub-as my little Buddha patiently waited for me to come to a halt for just a moment,please, in the pause, and sit.  But no.

It is not in my nature. Never has been. To slow down goes against the grain. Perhaps that is why I loved running marathons so much. I just had to keep going.  2 miles turn into 4, 4 turn into 8, 8 into 16 and then the home stretch and suddenly, in a given amount of time, 26.2 was completed.  I could stop, for just a moment. Next.

And then,recently, when the still voice, that one honed so well on past mistakes and shoulda’s, coulda’s, woulda’s.  That voice, well fed on earned wisdom and courage, was not so still and screamed at me to stop, to slow down to, let it all go.  I did not listen.  I kept going. I was keeping grief at bay.  Not realizing I had to give it time to breathe and be part of who I was, at least for a little while.

“Four seasons.” A dear friend recently said to me.  “You have to get through four seasons.”

And then what?  I am a woman who has always known what to do.  My default is continual motion.  I do the right thing.  No matter what. I work hard.  I see things through.

Oldest child syndrome?  Or just a child raised to achieve?  To pursue?  To plow through?  No rest stops along the way.  I can not remember a time, ever, when I quit.  If one job was over, it was time to find another.  If one crisis was on the mend, I dealt with it and moved on to, well, sometimes another crisis and maybe then a bit of calm.  Life and all that. Failure, for lack of a better word, has never been an option.  And while, these default modes have served me well, I have come to realize, these modes of , what? Survival?  Perfection?  Also have become a hindrance.  I listened more to the cares and wants of others and not to the ones of myself. I stopped listening to that still voice.  She has always been right.  And I tuned her out. Muted her but good. Funny how that happens.  It is not so obvious in the midst of turmoil, but there in the aftermath, I have been the one left the most depleted.  The one not being most true to me.  I thought I knew better.  I though I learned that lesson.  Many, many times over.  But grief is a funny thing.  It hovers.  It lingers.  It shifts and changes.  And then, without warning, at least in my case, it whacks you upside the head and heart and leaves you motionless.  Forced still.  But not the good kind.  Not the calm kind of still.  Nope, in  my case, the still came with doubt and uncertainty.  It crept along behind me, annoyingly so and would not leave me be.  I cried.  A lot. I slept- very little. I cried-even more. I got angry. Judgemental. I held things in for fear I would say the wrong thing-or worse, say what I really felt.  I went overboard.  I got involved in projects I had no business being involved in, whatsoever.  I did not listen and I kept going.But I was going nowhere.  2 miles did not turn into 4, 4 did not turn into 8.  I was stuck and nothing was working.  My tricks-the ones that always got me through, well-they just were useless.

I don’t remember ever being as exhausted as I was. As I am.  In the bones and in my being.  I am reminded when, after the second year of caring for my mom, with all that goes with caring for a parent, turned into the third year and more of her mind started to go, and I started to grieve then for the mom I knew and for the mom I knew was never coming back- a longtime mentor reminded me to not fool myself into thinking the grief I was feeling at the time would not resurface again on that day, whenever that day, or night it would be mom passed away. Grief will resurface, she said.  And it did. There was no running away from this one.

“Don’t kid yourself”, she said.

But I did.  I am sure I did.

There was so much to do at the time. The travel back and forth.  The tending to, the caring of, the paperwork, the checking in, the things we do when someone we love is dying and we want to do things right, as we should. Making sure health care and insurance allow her to die the way she wants.  Bending the rules, begging.  Watching a mother hold on to her mind and find the ease to breathe is not for the faint of heart and soul.  Not one bit.  I thought that was grieving.  And I kept going.  There was no time to stop. I was raising a child and being a wife and somewhere in there trying to find some iota of something for myself.  Wanna guess which went first?

But then, in the very quiet of a mid December 3am, when the house and all her contents were at rest, and I was sitting by a waning fire, that still voice spoke. I thought at first, it was the sound of my own muffled cries-you know when you cry quietly so no one else will hear. Those sounds we all make when we weep from the soul.  When all you want to do is cry.  I thought at first, it was the ramblings of my thoughts, trying to figure it all out-to find the solution.  To find the way. To keep going. To not disappoint.  To not let others down.  What to do?  And then again, from the deepest, softest squishy parts of my inner self-that still voice got louder.

Stop.

Just stop.

Be still.

Be. Still.

And for the first time in a long time, I  listened.  I heard.  I stopped.

I made decisions that served me and all that I am.  Others did not like that so much.  But I am okay with that.  I wasn’t at first to be truthful, but it settled into a knowing.

I slept.  I cried some more.  I hugged my child.  I kissed my husband.

I sat still.

I grieved.  I am grieving.

I found strength.

I found my still.  I found my voice.

 

One candle more.  A look back at a year that propelled me one step closer to where ever it is I am supposed to be-provided me with more opportunities to learn, to grow, to gain more wisdom, strength and courage. It was a year of challenges- not just the kind that leave us wondering how, in the course of life, are we to get from point A to point B; but more about how we survive point A to get to point B-so we can continue down the path.   It was a year of side roads, bumps, pot holes and dangerous curves ahead. Forget A to B.  I just wanted to get in the car and go.

There are things, those pot holes and dangerous curves mostly that I think about the most. For I am certain, very certain now, with each candle added through the years, my  life has been shaped more by dangerous curves and pot holes than anything else.  Not because circumstance put them there-but because I chose to keep going-never mind the cost of repair. Things were demanding. I was pushed to the limit. I was wiped out by disappointments-disappointed by realizations and things you can not turn away from-if you are one of those women who sees-who does not shut out the light-who not only calls out the elephant in the room-but refuses, finally, to clean up after it.There in the muck of life-I found more of myself than I imagined.

People let me down.People imploded in front of me and took others down with them- but this year, instead of making excuses for them, I let them go. It was a tremendous gift to myself. I learned to shut my mouth.  No, really.  I learned, most importantly, when to just shut up and keep going and when to speak.  I got louder.  In the silence as much as in the speak. It made a huge difference in my  life.

I learned to value the process of death and accept when it arrives. And there in the process of death and staying true to someone else’s wishes and wants in the course of living while dying-I found the very presence of life.  I found what matters most and there in found what will  never matter. It is true- unconditional love is the richest and most treasured-and when death takes away that one last breath-it is the unconditional presence of love that will remain. It is the few unexpected moments you will remember in the tears.  It is the moments that made me her daughter, her first child, the woman I came to be because she gently nudged me and I got to do it differently than the way she did-and sometimes-exactly the way she did. Sometimes, even in the darkest moments, I got to be her voice-a gift she gave me without even knowing it.   It matters to stay true-no matter the challenges.  It matters to be honest.  It matters to stay the course-no matter what. No matter what.

I found peace.  In the most unexpected places. In the quiet of dawn-clutching my mothers hand when the hiss and pump of a machine overpowers the ebb and flow of an ocean, in the middle of the night, just us two, mother and daughter when the end is too near and no one else is around. When all she gave me, taught me is put to the test. She got it right-my mom, there in her hours of the end-she got it right.  I learned that at that exact time, that moment-when someone you love breathes the last breath, you will want to continue breathing and be grateful and be kind and continue on with the business of living.  I found peace in the grace of each moment. It was not talent, it was not beauty, it was not the unwrinkled brow that got me there.  It was every nook and cranny of life-every wrinkle of what’s if’s and why not’s.  It was the potholes, the dangerous curves and the destination unknown that got me there. None of it was easy. Ever. I learned to pick up the phone and ask for help, gratitude and guidance.  I learned in the deepest parts of the unexpected we find the things we never expected.

I learned that I don’t “have to” anymore.  I earned it and I am okay with it.  I don’t have to put up with people I no longer respect, agree with, or for that matter, don’t even like all that much. I don’t have to pretend. I don’t have to act one way to please another group of people who act another way.  I don’t have to.  I don’t have to be anyone but who I am-with all the imperfections, with all the heartache, with all the stuff I am made of from the stuff I survived.

I learned I can survive anything thrown at me.  Anything-but if you attempt to humiliate my child, in all her goodness and light, I will never forgive and I will fight the urge to unleash a motherly anger that only a mother can understand.  I learned parenting gets harder, not easier.  And yes, it is okay to be one of those mom’s who drives your child to school in her pajamas.

Finally, I learned brilliance is overrated as is genius-and it is never an excuse for bad behavior.  Ever.  In this road map of life, we all have things that have left a mark, a scar-but at some point, we move on-we grow on-we get on with the mending and the healing and we navigate a different way.  Or else, we get on another road and leave the rest behind.  I learned, finally, I am okay with that.-leaving the rest behind.  It’s my own road. Potholes, dangerous curves and roadblocks.