When There Are No Words, Sing

I am pretty sure my mom instilled in me an "escapism": sing when words fail.

Too often in my lifetime there have been those who stop speaking to me. They might have their valid reasons, I know I'm not the easiest person to deal with when conflicts arise... Silence is excruciating to me because of this fact. I can't really wrap my brain around cutting off communications and holding onto grudges or unintentional pain.

And then the dreaded conversation where my mom had no choice. She could only mumble, not able to talk though I could tell she wanted to. Overwhelming sorrow whispered in my ear "sing". "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine". And all of a sudden, a lost mind reconnected to its soul and her voice and words joined mine until the song was finished. If I could have crawled through the phone air waves to hold her again, I would have. A song sung with me maybe for the last time.. into the silence.

I like to think words spoken and music played and sung are all eternal energies that keep flowing through the sky, out into the universes and back again, gently blowing against us in the breezes that blow.

I love you mom. Thank you for the gift of song.
--your forgotten daughter

Being Held

I had been waking up with a sense of urgency to see my mom. Somehow I could feel the changes she is experiencing. And I guess I selfishly want as much time as I can muster. So cheap plane ticket found and plans made and here I am, sitting beside her this morning while she slurps down her breakfast.

I loved my dad, but he had his own dis-ease with life and alcohol was his drug for self medication. And it drastically changed his personality, so the end result was a little girl never knowing what love could and should look like. Somethig that has shaped me, shaped my life and always presenting an internal tug of war.

Fast forward to this morning in Oregon. And a stepdad we lovingly call SuperStan. We gave him that title long before he morphed into a constant caretaker of our mother. He has somehow found his personal path out of alcoholism and into the man I see tenderly keeping my mom home  in her familiar world and keeping himself steady and strong for what lies ahead. Some kind of love that seems a bit overwhelming to me at times- like this morning. I walked into the living room where my childlike mom had curled up next to him on the couch, assuming the spooning position. She was being held inside his arms and I could feel her again- the safety and warmth in his gentle embrace. I can't explain the lump in my throat or the enormous gratitude that washed over me. I couldn't help making a comparison of where she has been and where she is now. I find myself being held, too, in a round about way. And because of this man, my mom is still my mom to a large degree because his love reminds her and guides her. Never take being held for granted......

Eighty-seven

87

My mom's weight was 87 pounds a couple of weeks ago.

She spent the majority of her adult life worrying about being overweight. And sadly, sometimes she would call me and begin the conversation with "how much do YOU weigh"? Kind of constantly comparing the two of us (for whatever reason?) It never really mattered, but I wondered why it seemed a big deal for her.

So as I see pictures of her frail, tiny body, memories flood in. But I also find myself thinking about how we all tend to find fault in ourselves, internally criticizing and searching outward for validation that we look ok, we sound ok, we "fit in" ok. And in the end? Does it really matter what others think? Maybe the best bet is to have or discover an internal dialogue that reminds us we are enough. We are pretty enough. We are perfect enough. We are magnificent in our own, unique way. We are the best at any given moment-- and at any given moment we are subject to change. 

The inside is the only thing that matters. The ONLY thing that matters.

Frogs

Coming from a "dysfunctional" family shaped me into who I am. And who I am has never been so clear to me as it is right now. 

My mom has always carried a child-like essence. Her spirit is curious just like a toddler. Her sense of humor matches that of a young person. And that fairy-like attribute has been a blessing and a curse. It served her so well as an elementary school teacher, someone able to relate and play with and encourage those in her classroom. Her heart is as wide open and naive as an innocent young girl, even though life has repeatedly put her to the test. She collects little knick knacks that are whimsical and comically presented. Frogs. Everywhere frogs. Their significance in her world isn't lost on me. Creatures that adapt and change according to their surroundings. Creatures who sing and chirp and hop and flop and have that same sense of youthful exuberance that she has always had.

Those are the blessings. The really big blessings.

From as early as I can remember, I stepped in to be her guardian. I have always had this hugely urgent protective tendency where she is concerned. (A lot of the time feeling like a curse.) Over the years it became her joke that I was really her mother, and she was really my child. And sometimes I think that is exactly what happened, our roles reversed. And even when thousands of miles separated us, I felt an ever present "guilt" or whatever it is that I wasn't closer, that currently I'm not THERE to help take care of her as she becomes even more and more like a child needing constant care and tenderness.

Before I left home, a dear friend who recently lost her father gave me a big hug and said, "You know, it's a grieving process not only for letting go of your parent-- but it feels like you're losing your child, too." She explained how sometimes it winds around that those who once cared for you are now the ones you have to care for. And that made so much sense to me. Why the mourning takes on such a deepness. It's a double whammy. Parent/child. 

I'm so thankful I am currently here with her. Her small child state. I can hold her hand. Try to make her laugh. Soak in her innocence and pureness. And shut out the rest of the world and simply "be" with her.

I think the biggest thing I am gaining is feeling ok about the blessings and the curses. They all dance around each other and become the backdrop of life. And all the negative spaces and positive spaces create the unique design that is ultimately who we are. Dark and light. 💜

No Food... Fear... And Empty Space

My brain is trying to find words that encapsulate an emptiness and experience that hover in the shadows way beyond description. But I know that words tumbling outward help me get through the inward battle where my fearful child self is fighting off the demons that keep tearing away fragments of the woman my mother was. Piece by piece they have torn her away from herself, away from her children, husband, friends, grandchildren... And losing her in little parts seems the most cruel form of life punishment there is. Here I am for a few short days, trying to allow my stepdad some much needed "breathing room" time. And while I feed, clothe, wash, calm, clean up accidents, I find myself in that "nothing" zone. I can't feel anything, not joy, sorrow. Not even that familiar feeling of "numb". It's a place more than any emotions or lack of emotions and I find myself wondering if this is normal. I feel like I am just an empty locust shell with all the stuff that makes me real-- gone. Missing.

Mom keeps getting upset because she thinks the refrigerator is empty. She is in fearful panick that there will be no food for her next meal. That there isn't going to be enough for dinner, let alone tomorrow and the next day and what is she going to feed us all? Around and around I follow through her loop. And we go look inside the fridge to find reassurance and we create a plan B together, working on problem solving the imaginary emergency her thoughts have created that feel more real to her than reality around her. We've talked about how maybe it stems from her brain being triggered and taken back to other times when she was so worried about lack and never knowing from where answers would come. A cleansing on a cellular level. But pure hell for her to be trapped inside of. A part of her realizes she's caught in a warped thought pattern, and tears stream out of her eyes. 

I keep thinking that what I can take from my current interaction with her is--- a sense of peaceful knowing that everything always somehow manages to work out in this life. Bills get paid. Food is provided. Clothes keep us warm. Jobs find us. We never end up completely alone. And even when we think we are at our darkest hour, some little or big thing happens to turn it all around. All of that is who my mom used to be: a woman who even in her struggles and conflicts found a way around, under and through. So in her anxiety, confusion and angst, she's pushing me towards embracing a deeper attitude of trusting that everything will always be all right.

Maybe I have to be in the empty space for awhile, a space where I can see this disease as an objective observer. Maybe in that place, I am able to rise above the hurt and harm and see a bigger picture. But man do I ever miss feeling alive and vibrant.

I'm angry at Dementia/Alzheimer's for taking away her shine and for tarnishing my own light.... Or maybe? Like the food in the fridge, the shine and light are there, just unseen right now.

Meeting Mom For the First Time

In about a week I finally get to go see mom. I was so afraid of facing the experience, seeing how she has changed, I was waking up in the mornings trembling from head to toe. I felt like I was choking, literally, thinking about whether or not I have the personal strength right now to see her. Not a day goes by that I don't miss everything about my mom. I can't find her friendship, love and understanding among any other faces, no other smiles and no other arms. Middle-aged woman totally lost without being able to reach out to the one person who always knew me very best.

The past several weeks, my stepdad has been literally walking me through his daily journey. He sends pictures of him feeding her, her having a good day, feeding herself. He gives updates and anecdotes, stories and strategies. He has been more than amazing -- there isn't a word to describe his heroism in keeping my mother out of a nursing facility and in her own environment.

When I told him my son and I are coming, his response was, "you'll get to meet the woman your mother is." I am still blown away by his comment. He has made an incredible observation. One I believe we all need to take a look at more closely. He watches how doctors and nurses and those who have charge over dementia and Alzheimer's people - focus so much attention on what that person has LOST. They measure what CAN'T be done any more, what CAN'T be remembered. What CAN'T be completed. My stepdad has shown me the beauty found in meeting my mother every day exactly where she is. He meets her with newness and meets her all over again for the first time. His focus is on what she CAN do. And together they are magnificently helping my selfish ass out of the fearful trembling and the inability to face what lies ahead for my own self.

What more powerful lesson can there be? Are any of us the same each day? Are any of us really totally predictable or robotically programmed? Every single one of us rises each day a different person. We have to be. Life constantly changes our shape.

Instead of dreading my visit, I am opening myself up to meeting my new mom. Right where she is. Who she is--- now.

But I Wasn't Ready

But I Wasn’t Ready

This one sentence has been replaying over and over again in my mind. The Des Moines community recently lost a couple of beautiful women to cancer, two women who deserved much better than to go out in such agony. And sitting here this morning thinking about them, the words swirl; “but I wasn’t ready”. They both passed any way despite my not getting there one more time to see either of them.

Thinking back over tragedies, losses endured, losses facing me now; “but I wasn’t ready” is the only thing that seems to remain intact like a worn out vinyl record losing it's ability to make a sound.

I was never ready for divorce or for empty nest. Never ready to be swept off my feet “in love”. Never quite on my toes and ready to hear the news, “he needs surgery and may never see again” or “your mom has suffered a severe stroke” or “your dad is in the hospital, probably dying” or “your grandma was calling your name right before she passed on”. My mind and heart have never been ready for “come to Maui and learn” or “would you like to house sit and spend time at the beach?” or “let me buy you a plane ticket so you can come see your mom”. No matter what the circumstance, even when I try to prepare for what lies ahead, what is coming around the corner, I am never quite expecting what presents itself, both bad and good.

And now, knowing my mom is on such strong medication, knowing her condition is deteriorating to the point I can no longer keep running away from the emotion that it all brings to the surface, I find the mantra in my head spinning out of control again. But I wasn’t ready.

There is a helplessness in life that teaches us we are never in control of anything. We spend a lifetime trying to convince ourselves and others that we are. But simply? We are never really prepared enough or brave enough or weak enough or strong enough or able enough to cling and hang onto anything. We never have enough foresight to say all the right things, feel all the perfect ways there are to feel, experience anything deeply enough or widely enough. And that helplessness can either sink us or free us somehow. Or maybe, a little bit of both all at the same time.

I am realizing how often I spend my precious time worrying about what is going to blind-side me next. Or planning and strategizing for “the perfect life” that I want to be creator of. But day after day I utter the words “but I wasn’t ready”.

I’m feeling rather small in the shadow of my mom’s disease and my stepdad’s brave journey as her caretaker. As my mother shrinks, so do I… and I am not ready. I don’t know how to deal with all of this and I have had no words for months now because I simply can’t find my own footing any more. No matter how you try to mentally prepare, how much outer armor you try to construct, how much you guard your heart against any more brokenness, nothing prepares you to lose someone like you mother, your best friend, the part of you that will always remain buried in your DNA and cellular memory. And yet here I am now, being forced to face the kind of life shattering loss, the kind that feels like it has destroyed my inner compass and made me shout a never ending “BUT I AM NOT READY”!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My beautiful niece reached out to me in the midst of my tears last night and sent the following words and I hope she doesn’t mind my sharing them. I truly know I am not alone in the shrinking… I know others are going through, have gone through or will go through similar. So it is with the intent to share her view of strength to offer something soothing, pass forward her gift to me in a feeble attempt of me wanting to make some ripple wave outward from enormous amounts of “weakness” and “vulnerability”.

My niece’s words that launched words (finally) in me this morning:

“People misunderstand and mis-describe what strength is.

I think 98% of strength is showing up to stand with/sit beside the people we love, even if we’re a weeping mess, who hasn’t showered in 4 days, wearing sweats and a t-shirt from 1994 because it’s the last clean thing in the closet. Strength is rolling on the grass and yowling in agony because you know that’s the last best thing you can do to keep your sanity. Visible emotion isn’t weakness. Tears aren’t weakness. Pain isn’t weakness. Exhaustion isn’t weakness. Self-care isn’t weakness. Our patriarchal society tells you lies about your strength – but it’s not gonna break you because you are strong in ways it is blind to. You always have been and you always will be.”

***this coming from a young woman who lost her mother years ago to breast cancer and who has been my pillar of strength for a very long time

I don’t think I can ever offer a comforting sentence again of “stay strong”. I think rather than that sentiment I will forever just sit quietly or offer a tissue or humbly whisper, “I know you weren’t ready. We never are.”

 

 

 

 

 

I'm 50 Years Old and Miss My Mom

I remember when it REALLY hit me that my grandmother’s Alzheimer’s disease had changed her and there was no going “back” to “once was”.  My aunt had snapped a photograph at my wedding, and in that picture, I couldn’t help seeing. I could no longer deny that life would never be the same and that I had lost Grandma Rose. From that point on, I remember thinking, “I lose her over and over again” as she weaved in and out of being partially who she had been in her healthier years. I would get glimpses of her, only to lose her again a few hours later, a day later, maybe even minutes later. I kept busy then. With a farm, with animals, with my son, with my husband and family. I dove into life and ran as fast and far emotionally as I possibly could, visiting grandma daily, checking on her, helping her, but able to keep some sort of emotional distance or disconnect to what was happening in front of my face. My very last image of her is horrific. I had gone to visit her, turned the corner to her room, and saw nurses holding her down while another tried to force feed her. I am pretty sure things have changed a lot since then. I believe at that time, it was required to try to make the residents in the nursing home eat, even when they didn’t want to or couldn’t. Hearing her choking and seeing the way she was acting like a trapped wild animal instead of the woman who had been almost like a mother my entire life, sent me running even more. Only this time, out of the nursing facility’s door, into my car and as far as I could manage to get away. I didn’t let her know I had been there. I didn’t say “hello”. And sadly and regretfully, I didn’t tell her one more “good-bye”. She died within the next two days. And it all haunts even now, years later.

Fast forward to the other day. I received a photograph of my mother. And I’ve been crying off and on since. Because even though she still looks beautiful, still looks like “mom” in most ways, I recognized a similar expression on her face and in her eyes. That look that seems hollow now instead of a look saying, “I’m alive and mom”. And her smile seemed rehearsed or overly forced as if I could feel the confusion and disorientation hidden behind it. And that image knocked me to my knees. Again.

Difficult situations happen that we have to kick into “fight or flight” mode in order to handle. I’ve come to realize that over the years and I respect it. I’m thankful for the innate ability to cope and deal by the choice of “fleeing”. But sometimes what you are running from comes crashing down around you and you can’t help LIVING it. Feeling every ounce of EXTREME emotion that oozes out of your pours and down your cheeks in the tears from your eyes. The kind of emotion that you feel is powerful enough to shatter the heart, to send it racing, to bend and twist and re-shape it somehow. And no matter how far you’ve been running or how fast or how long, you come face to face with the hurt.

What I’m learning now, I think, is that it’s all good. Even the darkest of dark is GOOD. Because it somehow elevates energy. It carries us into a new direction, either without or within. It stretches us. It changes us. It sets our course and becomes part of the wind that guides our sail. And in turn, somehow, it adds to the collective whole. It alters the total consciousness of a giant world, one tear drop at a time. And pushes my children and grandchildren forward, and hopefully further than I’ve been able to go. So in turn the ripple effect builds a better future for who and what lies ahead.

It’s all bigger than me. Bigger than my fears and my discomfort. Even though during the times of crying, I feel and wallow in “it’s all about me and how this all affects me”.

I’m allowing myself space and time for awhile to just FEEL. To allow the pain to enter in and take hold and teach me what I’m supposed to learn…. Or maybe not what I’m supposed to learn, but rather what I CAN learn if I keep my heart and mind open.

Losing my mother over and over again. Added onto a lifetime of loss. It’s time for Grief to be recognized for what it has become; one of my greatest friends and one of my amazing teachers.

I miss my mom.

You Are Me and I Am You, Songs My Mom Sang

"He handed the phone over to your mom. We said 'hello' and we both just talked about how much we love each other and how wonderful we are (every time I say something loving to her she claims it's ME who is that way!). Then she said something that changed the conversation: 'Oh I can't tell who I am and who you are.'  And you know Rhonda, at that moment I couldn't tell either.  I have had the flu all week or I would have jumped in the car and driven over to hold her. Of course she was weeping. And I began to weep also. It was a deeply moving moment where reality shifted for me and our one-ness was the reality. The feeling has stayed with me." ~a beautiful (gift) email from my mom's co-worker and friend, Lori (and it says in one paragraph all that needs said, but of course I can't stop here!!!)

Mom has always had a way of making you re-connect with the concept that we are all connected... and not just tied together because of being human, but a real part of each other. And in her current state without all the walls we build while traveling through life, she recognizes we are so much more. You are me and I am you. What I do to you, I do to me. How I feel about you is how I feel about me. Wouldn't the world change drastically if we all had that understanding?

I was reminded the other evening of how powerful my mom was during a time in my life when abuse that trickles down from a parent with alcoholism is a constant factor. Her songs she sang taught me that there is a beauty in everything, especially in love, that rises above anything else and holds us together when it feels like we're falling apart. The memory flood gates have opened this week as I remember songs, one by one, silly little nonsense songs, goofy songs that she HAD to have changed the words of, songs of inspiration, songs about rising above pain, songs that remind you to not take anything for granted. The list keeps going on and on. And over the years, those songs somehow reach out and find me again, this time with adult ears and a heart that has been knocked around a bit, but grows stronger and wiser with age.

Value the gift of TODAY.
Value our connection to ourselves, to each other and to this planet.
Value the sound tracks of your own life.
And value the memories that consciously or unconsciously motivate and captivate and propel us forward.

Make more memories that matter.

I just saw the newest version of Cinderella with my granddaughter last night who visited with me throughout the movie, asking questions about the plot, then connecting them with life in general. The movie was great... but the memory made is so much greater. In the words of the main characters:

"Have courage and be kind."

I can still hear mom singing this one, in fact, I woke up today with it spinning in my brain:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ra-VH1FAPZY

Gravity Love

I'm pretty positive love and gravity are made out of the same stuff.

I've always wondered how gravity can pull so hard that planets stay aligned and even the lightest and heaviest objects fall into it. Yet here we are, able to stand and move and not be flattened by it. And no one can really truly tell you what it is. How it works. Of what it's made.

Kind of like love.

Maybe the best love is that which gently holds you in place. Supports you but lets you feel the freedom of movement. Lifted, while held into its form. Invisible but always right there. Large enough to flow outward into the farthest reaches of space, but so close it goes into your nostrils and fills your cells with what it is. It can be identified, but it can never seem to be properly explained. It can be experienced, but not duplicated.

Thinking about how my mom's gravity will always pull me in and push me out all at the same time. Holding near. Letting go.

Gravity Love.

Prosperity Has Been Here All Along

No secret. I've preached about how poverty stricken my childhood and my parents' adulthoods were. Often times at the end of the summer, I would find myself in a panic over whether or not I would have shoes for my summer-hardened, stained bare feet. I've spent a lot of energy focusing on the sense of what was missing or what was lacking or what was wrong.

Then comes along a "smack me in the face with a board" eureka moment. And suddenly I realize poverty is an attitude. Prosperity, too, is an attitude. But not only an attitude. It is a spiritual RITE or "RIGHT".

From the book "The Dynamic Laws of Prosperity" by Catherine Ponder:

"Obviously, you cannot be very happy if you are poor, and you need not be poor. It is a sin. Poverty is a form of hell caused by man's blindness to God's unlimited good for him. Poverty is a dirty, uncomfortable, degrading experience. Poverty is actually a form of disease and in its acute phases, it seems to be a form of insanity."

In my quest for healing the past or for mending conceptual "hurts", part of my journey has led me to a deeper understanding of the energy of "money". Or, a deeper understanding of what it is to have enough, to have PLENTY, to have an excess, to have around you what you feel inside you. Abundance. Wealth.

I've had monetary wealth and along with it the tortured restlessness, insatiable empty space in my soul, a never ending need for collecting more stuff to stuff down an ache. And I've had moments where I've been so hungry I felt faint, so challenged I couldn't afford necessities like toilet paper and laundry soap. And in THOSE moments, I've learned the beauty of being eternally grateful for the tiny, taken-for-granteds that surround us and swirl in and out every day.

I'm beginning to see what goes out and what comes in. How what the internal dialogue of negative energy does. It acts like the end of the magnet that repels. It invisibly draws into itself that which is being focused upon. Example: I've seen my granddaughter get all moody and grouchy because when in a group of three girls, once in awhile she gets "left out" (according to her internal observation). She fights back tears, crosses her arms, whines, pouts, stomps a foot when her other two buddies say, "no we want to go over here!". And the more she acts grumpy, the more they distance themselves. And so it is with the valuables. If we stay concentrated on the "wrongs", the "shoulds", the "lacks", the "impoverishment", there isn't room for anything else to enter in. It's as if an invisible force field is created to block the endless positives from flooding in.

So another story re-write. I am reminded through a friend's eyes of what we were surrounded by as kids. Trees. Pastures. Animals. Ponds. Endless skies. Butterflies. Friends. Connections. All of a sudden through his eyes, I realized the bigger picture. I "got it". I saw how prosperity had always been mine. Even during the dark times and the trials and the struggles. In the bigger picture, all those hardships created the perfect back drop for where I am today, for what I can offer into the world. And it has taught me how to do something so simple yet complex --- change how I THINK. And in response, limitless possibilities begin opening up and I see life through a much clearer lens.

"There is gold dust in the air for me...." ~an un-named salesman

Thank you, mom, for the things I didn't see that you were able to give, even when there was no money. Things that really made me rich -- prayers, laughter, hugs.

The Next Door Down

I've felt pretty helpless being so far away from mom. But she taught me something through her own actions. The power of prayer.

I know my mother has said prayers for me almost every day of my life.

Alzheimer's has gifted me with a nudging to be in continual prayer in return for her. It might not be words expressed out loud or internally. But each and every day I feel my heart wrapping itself around her somehow. I feel it creating words when I can't find any to whisper. And in much the same way as how she has nourished my life, I feel myself returning in kind.

The last time I visited my parents in their home, I heard stories about neighbors who caused some discomfort and nervous energy in my mom. Little kids unattended outside as they play and cross over boundaries into my mom's private spaces. Grown-ups who seem a bit threatening to someone who no longer has the same filtering systems and rationale. And that concern became a point of focus for my prayerful state.

So when I got a call from my stepdad telling me about their new next door neighbor, a lump grew in my throat as I listened to the details. And I recognized immediately how beautifully my prayers had been "answered". A woman close to my mom's age and height moved in next door. Small in stature, mighty in spirit, just like Flo. Someone who latched onto my mother's stories, someone who enjoys spending time and checking up on her newly found friend the next door down. Someone who can offer us all a sense of peace and joy that mom has someone nearby.

I never could have even imagined this would be in the "works". And it teaches me something very powerful. During our moments when we can't figure out what to do or when we feel like we can't come up with solutions or when we feel like we're groping for answers, learn to trust that there's a power in the universe that moves with massive force and can bring in more than what we could have ever hoped for. The outcome might not be anything like what we designed or thought of, but in the end, it's utterly perfect.

My boys used to go around the house singing, "Don't worry, be happy" with Bobby McFerrin's voice. And their childlike joy always erased any anxiety or temporary worry I might have been experiencing. I'm reminded that we have the power to "give it up". Step away from ourselves, step away from what we expect and anticipate, and create space for other, more appropriate answers to come flooding in from that abundant energy that always has our backs covered. Sometimes it's a matter of stepping out of the way and allowing it entrance in.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d-diB65scQU

I'm Still Here

I thought when I first started “Dumpster Diving” that this would be easy. Just write. Write the process of dealing with, watching my mom, experiencing Alzheimer’s, again. Seeing the disease in my grandmothers, close up and personally, as I helped care for them as they transitioned out of this lifetime.

I’m miles away from my mother as she copes and lives her life, her stages.

I had no idea the words would be so difficult. They’ve always been easy for me to find. Words have always been a magic carpet that floats gently beside me and all I have to do is reach out and hold on and they flow through. I just ride the ride. But as time goes on, I realize my mother is ok. I know she has her moments of fear, moments of tears and confusion. But she’s ok.

I’m the one who is feeling the ravishes of this disease. The fear of not knowing what lies ahead, selfishly inside my own life. The stuffing down of emotions of feeling left alone when I wasn't ready to be left alone. Feeling small again. Childlike and weakened because the shadow of my mother's image seems just that ... a shadow.

I’ve spent years and years trying to heal myself from the inside out. Similarly to my mother’s journey. Chronic pain leads to answers in alternative therapies and crossing paths with healers who aid as a bridge into a pathway strewn with self-motivation, self-reflection, self-searching, self-discovery intertwined with Divinity reaching down to bless and to guide and to sustain.

But all it takes is a single “set back”, a minor car accident, that sets an intricately arranged pattern of dominoes into a falling down motion that leaves me feeling like I’m at the very bottom again, trying to pick up pieces. Line them back up one tiny blackened piece at a time. Set them up slightly differently this time. Rearrange. New design. But a task that once again seems like a “task”, a burdened job of picking up pieces and beginning again. And under it all, I feel once again the nagging sensation of complete and utter loss. A separation that seems it will swallow me up and go on forever.

I just want my mom.

I want her safety. Her comfort. Her arms wrapped around me, reassuring me everything is all right. Miles away. Neurons away.

So I search inside myself for that one thread still strong enough to bind me to my positive attitude. The thread attached to me from heaven that winds itself through me and into those around me who assist in fixing body, mind and soul.

My most recent visit into the healing realm invited me to journal after the experience. Again. The words have escaped me. Until today. I heard the swoosh of the magic carpet fluttering.

A Letter To Myself, From Myself and From My Mother's Voice Within

Mother: Once again, child, arise. And stay the course.

Me: I know what’s being said: trust, surrender, relax, feel safe. Supported. Loved. Guided and directed. My logical mind gets it. But my little child heart continues to be scared.

Mother: Let go. Completely let go. Walk through the valleys, head held high with confidence knowing “all is well” and “all is Divine”. Spend time each day working on YOU. Hands on heart. Work on One, and you work on ALL. Shed all that doesn’t serve the Inner Happiness, Inner Peace. TRUST.

This is all so temporary and is leading you to deep, rich understanding – a deeper empathic knowledge so others will be bridged into ME (the universal energy, God, Jesus consciousness). One step at a time.

Go the speed limit – for your own protection and safety. Go MY speed posted, NOT the speed of despair, desperation, sorrow, depression, heavy-heartedness, hurt and fear. Go the speed limit of LOVE. I’ll have the signs posted for you. Just see them.

Keep trying to raise your frequency into where FEAR is just fear, a lower level…. But LOVE is KING and resides higher than clouds.

Keep changing the dial until all your cells follow. It takes time, it takes healing of other sounds; the frequencies absorbed environmentally, past life noises, echoes and traces left behind or coming forward – all trying to drown out your natural order, your Divine Righteousness.

Me: Thank you for my path. For my journey. From poverty to abundance, from abundance to poverty back to abundance. Each time gaining. Each time growing and stretching me further and closer all at the same time. I’m trying to climb, but Mother, I need your help. I know it’s there, but I’m asking for specific help. I question whether I still hear your voice whispering. At times I have no doubt, I hear. But sometimes my compass needle gets caught spinning wildly in circles. And keeps spinning. I need you to pull with more clarity your magnetic field so the needle knows. So it stops twirling and shows the clear way to go.

I’ve once again had a reoccurring dream, one that terrified me as a child. Walls were falling down in huge chunks, people were screaming wildly and out of control, the ground was opening up and swallowing those who chose to frantically run. I heard you say “stay still, stay calm”. And in that moment all became quiet inside and everything around me was just motion waves. Peace kept me safe.

There’s a moral story that says once you aim for the target, you must pull back the arrow, then release it to find its mark. If you try to hold onto it, there’s no way it can fly and end up where it’s supposed to. I’m trying. Trying to let go of the arrow so it can go where it is sent. It's so hard for me to let go of that arrow and not try to force its direction, speed and force.

Mother: Talitha, Cumi. (Damsel, arise/stand.) And keep rising. Keep standing tall.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U8TsAh-zYFI

I LOVE ALZHEIMER'S!!!!

I’m not going all religious on you… But I am using a familiar story and sharing its current impact on me.

In the Christian faith many have prayed the mantra over and over known as “The Lord’s Prayer”.  I see this being similar to a monk who chants sacred words and sounds. Both containing layers of metaphysical powers many never unlock or fully recognize. But lately, another Jesus prayer has seemed extremely significant to me, and it’s one that isn’t mentioned that often unless it is during the time that pays homage to his death and afterlife.

“Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.”

“Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.”

“Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.”

In my Lomi (traditional Hawaiian healing/massage) practice, part of what I’m discovering is the act of “ho-oponopono” or shortened in my interpretation “cleaning house”. Not just a physical house, a mental, emotional and spiritual home(s).

The Parable of a T-Shirt That Says : I <3 Alzheimer’s

Several years ago, my mother and my brother hurt one another deeply. She thought she was surprising him with a long over-due unannounced visit and he was busy trying to make a living for his family as a professional artist. Because of the distraction of my mother’s arrival, he suffered a monetary loss and reacted with blame and frustration and negative emotions unleashed upon my highly sensitive mother. Her journey brought her to my house afterwards where I spent the week hearing her cry, listening to her sorrow and pain. Later, another incident happened and my brother made the choice to disconnect from most of us in our immediate dysfunctional family unit. Years of processing and trying to understand and replaying words and images in my own head… all taking me on a journey that has ended in Hawaiian house cleaning.

“Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.”

I look at us all, in all the situations that have occurred and I see people who have been reactionary, emotional, self-absorbed, unable to wear another’s shoes. The list goes on and on.  People unconscious. Going through motions without enlightenment being their guide. Spewing into the world instead of intentionally moving with love as the format. Wild animals caught in their own traps, prisoners bound by their own chains. All of us, including myself.

No words spoken for almost a decade. Mother broken. Son broken. Sister broken. Brother broken. Family broken. But all developing strength through the consequences of life playing itself out in one another’s lives.

And then suddenly an opportunity arises and son meets with mother again, only now, mother’s brain is being softened and re-shaped by Alzheimer’s. Her daughter miles away was worried about how things were playing themselves out, how mom was going to react; whether or not her body and mind could withstand the stress of facing what was and what had transpired.

“Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.”

Speaking on the telephone with mom afterwards, I found not only reassurance that everything was good, healed;  I also discovered the ability to laugh at the ugly, to laugh at what once seemed so overwhelming and enormously IMPORTANT. I asked her if she had a good visit. She replied, “You should see how many apples are in our yard… I know something happened a long time ago, but I don’t remember what it was. I don’t remember anything bad anymore, honey. I just live today, kind of moment to moment. It was like laughing and talking and visiting with new people. YOU SHOULD SEE ALL THE APPLES IN OUR YARD!!!!!”

The power of forgiveness and the power of forgetfulness. What really matters in the end?

When we feel  “wronged” by someone, when someone reacts and then we react and then they react and a cycle becomes a whirlwind becomes a tornado becomes a hurricane – when it becomes difficult to forgive and let go and move forward – in the end maybe all that matters is a simple little statement concerning all of us, from both sides meeting in the center: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

Clean your own house first. Forgive yourself first, for hurtful reactions, for allowing others to destroy your inner peace, for words said and unsaid, for deeds done to others out of fear, frustration, anger or hate, for not loving yourself enough, for not KNOWING. Forgive others, even when you aren’t able to see what they see or feel what they feel. Forgive circumstances, situations, events, frailties, imperfections.  “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” I'm not saying to not have a backbone. I'm also not saying that I think we should allow ourselves to be used or mistreated. I'm thinking we simply need to keep trying our best, in every situation, and maybe more especially during the heated moments.

I really really really want to make mom a t-shirt that says: “I <3 Alzheimer’s”….

 

“In the end we're all just chalk lines on the concrete

Drawn only to be washed away

For the time that I've been given

I am what I am.”

“If there was no Tomorrow

If there was just Today

Would you make different choices

Or would you stay the same.”

“I'm begging for forgiveness, everything I've done, If God is listening, He knows I'm not the only one.”

― quotes from Five Finger Death Punch

 

 

First Day of My Life

No secret that my mother instilled in me a love for the arts; creativity in all flavors whether music, art, nature. I adopted a lifestyle that includes seeing beauty everywhere, even in the darkness. It's also no secret that my son underwent brain surgery when he was 16 years old, something that drastically changes anyone going through anything similar. I've written several things about that time frame and won't revisit it now, but wanted to call it to the forefront because of my thoughts and gratitude today.

My grandmothers and aunts and even a grandfather or two gave me their favorite tunes. Songs that when I now hear I am immediately transported back in time.

My mother gave me the gift of her songs. And they've built up my life and kept me sustained during moments when I thought I wouldn't be able to put one foot in front of the other.

My children have given me the gift of their songs. Throughout their lives they have introduced me to the melodies they have found. The lyrics that have meant the same to them, words that provide an ability to appreciate, define, surf and move through this life.

And my granddaughter brings me hers. Usually wrapped inside the package of dancing or twirling or tumbling.

A common thread tying past to present, a thread bringing love when there is absence, and a thread of hope.

A couple of things happened this week. I was at a venue, listening to music with friends and had begun making my way out after the show. I was stopped in my tracks. No one EVER plays this song, but it came over the loud speakers there. "I love little baby ducks, old pick-up trucks, slow moving trains... and rain." An old Tom T. Hall country song that my dad used to sing all the time. Life wasn't easy as a kid in his household, but upon his passing, after years of seeking out and finding forgiveness and understanding with my adult eyes looking back, that song came to me as if announced over loud speakers at a circus, almost audible as I watched his soul leaving his body and I realized in that moment I would never hear his voice sing that song again. And there it was, crystal clear being played at a venue in downtown Des Moines, in the middle of nowhere accompanying me to my car and reminding me that after all the hurt, after all the pain and suffering spattered with more moments of joy and happiness, all that matters in the end is love; who we love, how we love, what we love. It flows before we arrive here, it carries us through and it takes us further once we are finished with our time here on earth.

And last night something happened that I know would embarrass my son by my sharing, but moms are born to embarrass sons, right? I've heard bits and pieces over the years of my son singing along to the radio or quietly humming something to himself. But I've never heard him sing a complete song, loud and proud with an audience. We were sharing time with friends (and luckily I was invited) and after dinner began "jamming" together. There are no words I can begin to describe hearing "First Day of My Life" sung with so much emotion and power --- coming from the voice of my son who spent his 16th year recovering and rehabbing from the removal of tumors from his brain. I will let the song say it all:

This is the first day of my life
Swear I was born right in the doorway
I went out in the rain, suddenly everything changed
They're spreading blankets on the beach

Yours was the first face that I saw
I think I was blind before I met you
I don't know where I am, I don't know where I've been
But I know where I want to go

So I thought I'd let you know
That these things take forever, I especially am slow
But I realized how I need you
And I wondered if I could come home

I remember the time you drove all night
Just to meet me in the morning
And I thought it was strange, you said everything changed
You felt as if you just woke up

And you said
"This is the first day of my life
Glad I didn't die before I met you
Now I don't care, I could go anywhere with you
And I'd probably be happy"

So if you want to be with me
With these things there's no telling
We'll just have to wait and see
But I'd rather be working for a paycheck
Than waiting to win the lottery  (Bright Eyes)


I truly believe LOVE is all that matters.
Let the songs carry you to heal your own past, to comfort your present, to enhance and guide you into where you need and want to be. Sometimes I think the greatest thing a mom can provide is an appreciation for music and for the gorgeous gems that lay buried waiting to be found by the one who can see through the dust and dirt.

Six Degrees of Seperation and Finding the Yin and Yang in Music

My mom had an old Gulbransen piano. In a dark room back in the farthest corner of the house. Tucked away with a hoarder's fair of other things in piles all around, items shoved in the closet, stacked in heaps; clutter and chaos seemingly organized and purposefully placed. I loved that piano from the earliest point of my life that I can remember. Not only did I love it, I felt like I was a part of it and it was a part of me somehow. Metal, wood and strings, golden letters, mahogany finish, ivory keys, some chipped, some a little crooked. Mom played hymns for weekly church services on Sundays and I would watch and listen any time I heard her practicing. I would sit beside her, watch as her hands moved, watched her looking at the notes out of an old hymnal that never left the piano. Eventually, she started showing me a few things; how to identify the notes on the page "Middle C, you can find every other note from Middle C if you just know where IT is." Middle C became my home base for everything else that layered thereafter. Center of the piano. Great place for both of your thumbs to lightly lay, ready at a moment's notice, either side left or right, to strike that familiar, comforting sound that only Middle C can vibrate. She didn't teach me a lot of things, because as was typical, the more she tried telling me what to do, the more I resisted her telling me what to do. Defiant to a fault. Independent. I wanted to let my own soul figure it out. I felt like somewhere deep inside I already KNEW. The piano had somehow told me about everything I needed to know about the language of music and its beautiful voice that speaks across waters, through the universe, from one culture to the next. I didn't need it "explained" to me.
She lovingly let it go. Let me just fumble and bumble and try to sort it out on my own. I kept watching my hands, watching how they could be efficient in their movements on the keys. One way leads to too much effort, another way seems easy.
Over the years, I received six months of lessons as a gift from my grandmother and aunt and learned to love a woman named Mrs. Wanda Derry. She gave me books. She gave me patience and understanding. She gave me a sense of calm and quiet peacefulness. And she challenged me to push myself to new levels and to keep going even past those points and plateaus. Six months wasn't long, but it was long enough to be a foundation that has never cracked, moved, or faltered.
I eventually came to where I am today. I no longer have my piano, but instead a guitar or two that has the same ability to take me into another world, away from pressures and worries and fears. During my last lesson, I figured out one of my missing pieces in my understanding of music. I know there are several missing pieces in music theory that I have totally missed that if I knew, I think I would have a new sense of empowerment and an ability to arrive at yet another peak. I'm getting there. I can feel it. During my last lesson, the teacher showed me major keys (the sounds that make "happy" noises) and the relationship to their relative minor keys (the sounds that make "sad" noises). He explained the way to find the relative key is six units (notes) away. Just like the theory with people... being separated by six degrees. We're all inter-connected in a web so close, just as musical notes are bound together. Within those two keys; a major and its relative minor, you can play the same notes within any chord combination and nothing you play is "wrong" or sounds as if it doesn't fit. I don't know if I am explaining it properly or effectively, but all of a sudden I saw something, FELT something I hadn't felt before. Yin and yang, beautifully portrayed in sound. Happy and sad are the same, they just begin and end in a different place, six degrees away from one another. Nothing is "wrong" inside either, it's simply part of the music, part of the sound of a song. We have this complex matrix of different options, different choices, different directions we can take, maybe... just maybe no matter what choice becomes the right one in accordance with our lives, with what has gone before and what is coming up next. It's beautiful. And it's grace, knowing that if you are doing your best, (and aren't we all?) whatever step you take next, whether up or down or sideways, as long as you're carried on a wave that is part of your authentic self, the choice is perfect.
I'm so thankful my mom didn't force her knowledge on me. I'm so thankful she simply opened up a door and then let me go and let me explore what is beyond, waiting for me to discover and uncover in my way and in my time. I don't think it would have been so hugely impacting being told to a young me who hadn't yet experienced what the older me has.
"Life is a song. Love is the music." ~ unknown

The Good Heart

Quietly and joyfully living each day

In a way

As it should be.

Free.

Unencumbered by abuse, misuse, trials and piles

Of things that maim the tenderness inside

The Kindest  Heart.

She walks in the valleys while soaring above the clouds

Proud.

Laughing loud.

Finding calm where others don’t see

Peace.

She projects an understanding that says

It’s all right to find the best.

Leave the rest.

A mess, time and time again.

The climb to better health only to be beaten back down again

By forces inside ravaging her cells

By forces outside.

Cowboy boots kicking, voice screaming, shoving, shouting, pushing anger of one she loved with all of her Sweet Heart.

Above and out, destroyed, rebuilt

Over and over again.

Nothing can touch the eternal light given.

She knows. She loves.  

She lives the secret of the Good Heart.

Erase and Replace; Everything Is Temporary, Even Me

Sometimes life takes you directions you had no idea you could ever go. I’m feeling really raw right now. The loss of a former student to suicide, the loss of a childhood/young adulthood friend, the loss of a musician friend who I’ll never be able to hear again on this side of the tracks. And the losses of dreams, of an expectation of how life will play itself out. And under it all is this silent constant – a mourning for the mother that I used to know and the realization that she can no longer surf facebook, that she is changing more and more and I’m having to learn painfully how to let go of the one person I never ever want to let go of.

It’s all causing a lot of self-reflection. Even more so than usual. And in the mix, sprinkled in, are other life circumstances that keep pulling me and trying to twist up my heart. I’ve thought how ultimately? Yes, we’re all individual, but mainly, we are REPLACABLE. We like to think we are special. That we are different or unique. And granted, I believe we are to some degree, but there’s this common thread of insignificance that also remains in play. Each of us is simply a number. Here for such a short period of time. In each other’s lives temporarily.

Mothers can become erased by time, disease, distance, miscommunication, misunderstanding. Another mother can walk in. A wife or husband can be disregarded, and another enter the picture. A child can go missing, either deliberately or not, and another can come in and melt one’s heart. A father can leave or be pushed away, another be introduced. A lover can be taken for granted or forgotten or mistreated, another walks in the door. Layer by layer, I feel life has forced me to LET GO. Let go of what isn’t really real. And one of those things is a fairy tale I’ve always held; that someday I would be the difference. I would be noticed as irreplaceable. I would be cherished as “one of a kind”. But I’ve had to put on my big girl panties as age and time and circumstances have played themselves out. And I’ve had to reach deep inside and find that nothing and no one remains intact and solid and concrete. We all cling to that notion. But in reality, we’re as fluid as the mist that creates the rainbows. We shine for awhile in each other’s eyes, but someday vanish into memories held. When this first hit me today so clearly, I literally cried. Then I searched further and found some kind of comfort in the fact that life is all about change and creating itself new. And the easier it is to let go of what we think we see and embrace that reality, the more complete is our own enlightenment and our own personal power. Only I have the ability to know every ounce of my own worth. And only I have the ability to recognize it in everyone else… even those who hurt, destroy or knowingly or unknowingly break me apart. And that is where I came face to face with the strength that is labelled “grace”. One by one we are a collective unit, held in place by gravity and time for maybe, if we’re lucky 85 years. Ever replacing and being replaced with the hope that during the process, we manage to make a slight difference in the life of another human being.

BaLANciNg AcT

I admit it.

I can’t call my mother. I’ve talked less and less often with her. And I’ve struggled with all kinds of guilt and all kinds of other emotions.

It’s painful.

It’s painful to be so far away from her. Painful to know she is trapped inside most of the time. Painful to know she might feel trapped inside her confusion and inside a brain that is drying out from the outside in. Painful to experience (for the third time) the knowing that the women in my family share the Alzheimer’s thread. Painful to feel the ominous understanding that someday my mother will be another huge loss. And selfishly, it’s too hard to deal with most days.

Painful to feel so helpless.

As is often the case, my work on another – my compassion for another - taught me something profound today. While in session, I had this sentence go through my mind, “For every healthy SAD, you need to counter balance with healthy JOY.”  And the bigger the sadness, the greater the need for heavy duty injections of joy. Sounds simple, right? But how many of us get swallowed by the things that are difficult? The things that make us mourn, sorrowful, sad? It dawned on me today, it’s so easy to know sadness. But it’s so crucial and so vitally important to find that same intensity of JOY. Intentionally find things, large and small, that even out the pressure your mind, body and heart feel when dealing with loss. And I haven’t proven it, but I’m pretty sure the AMOUNTS of joy, the number of occurrences that make you smile, laugh and feel warm fuzzies needs to be GREATER than the sad in order to bring about a homeostasis in the soul. All of a sudden riding on that thought, I realized we all need to give ourselves permission to find those reasons to giggle. Discover what things, from hobbies to warms baths to sky diving or whatever it may be, add to your well-being in order to stay healthy and balanced and “whole”.

Don’t just find joy. Seek it out. Live it. Become it and let it keep you upright and let it elevate you on purpose.

No Soliciting, No Proselytizing

A couple from a religious organization repeatedly knock at the door.

An elderly woman inside cowers in fear, hiding in her closet; shaking, tears in her eyes and down her cheeks, wishing they would just go away.

I can’t get this real life scenario out of my head. Nor can I ignore the lessons glaring at me because of it:

#1. Learn how to have a backbone and say “no” when it’s in your best interest.

#2. Stop trying to people please. There’s a difference between being kind, being kind to oneself and being kind to others. Be kind, but don’t sacrifice YOUr integrity, finances, body, heart or anything else that takes away from your own spirit, or depletes at your own expense or makes you fall behind to lift another.

#3. You don’t have to do anything that doesn’t fill you with joy and happiness. Walk away. Or go to the closet and stay until it’s safe to come out.

#4. People often try forcing their views and "good" intentions upon others. Don’t be like them.

#5. Only really open your door if you want to open your door to the outside world. And be cautious about who you let in.

#6. Listen to your inner voice. And don’t just listen… Follow.

#7. Too many times there is simply nothing that can be done. People you love are sometimes too far away to reach, whether physically or emotionally. Send love. It might not be felt or received, but it creates a bridge that keeps a connect when things out of our control cause a sense of loss or grief or disappointment. No matter what, love.

#8. Feel sorry for others, hurt for others, but it isn’t your job to fix them or to try to change their minds or bend their wills to match your own.

#9. Stand firm in who you are. Don’t be afraid to know who YOU are, to represent who you are every single day. Peer pressure is for cowards (both sides), unafraid to think for themselves and too afraid to venture out into unknown places or open their minds to explore the limitless “what if’s”.

#10. Free your mind from attachments to fear. The worst that could ever happen? In any scenario, the worst has happened somewhere, to someone and they’ve either survived or not. Chains are usually invisible. Everything usually is all right in the end. Breathe.

My mom trained me, along with other people and other organizations that it’s the “right” thing to give and give and give. I’m arguing today, that while it’s noble, it can also be so damaging. It’s not “right” to deplete yourself beyond the breaking point, past the point of “empty”. Too hard to repair damage done. I usually preach about having an open heart, being a good person. But today? I’m thinking in order to be the best at anything we choose to be, it’s vital to protect and take care of the most valuable gift given:  You. Care for your temple – your body, your mind, your heart, your soul.