Life. Death. Rebirth.

It is difficult, actually impossible for a woman to accurately describe the childbirth experience to anyone who hasn’t been through the process. The mind relinquishes itself to the body that somehow goes from resisting and fighting against to accepting and allowing. The lungs grasp for air in a way never fully known prior to that moment. The muscles begin reacting and moving seemingly without any prompting from the normal places in the brain. When you have a baby naturally, without the standardized epidural or pain relievers, you can’t shield yourself or protect yourself from the sensations of pressure, bones being forced apart, ripping, tearing and slicing. While at the same time a feeling of complete and total release. A letting go of everything known and familiar. Everything safe. I remember thinking it must be similar to dying; surrendering into some life force that we all own, we all respond to, we all come from and go back to and that circles us while we are awake and while we sleep. And that energy takes over and takes charge and there is nothing that you can do anymore; simply experience it.

A child letting go of a mother. Life. Death. Birth.

A mother letting go of a child. Life. Death. Birth.

A place where endurance is a must. Where strength has to be present because there is no other choice. A hovering between life’s first breath and life’s last. That sensation of absolute “not knowing”. I sometimes wonder if we don’t all walk death’s edge from experiences we go through. And through it all, one HAS to believe in something bigger. Someone greater. One has to believe it’s all leading to some kind of new life, even through tears and sometimes screaming out loud from the pain.

I’m glad I’m a daughter and I’m glad I’m a mother. From inside my heart I know what true love is. What can take it. What can break it. What can tie it up into knots.

And sometimes it's about stepping away, stepping back and allowing something else in.

I surrender.

Again and again.

The Human Condition of Always Wanting More and Not Seeing What We Have

A patient was waiting in the front area where my desk is this evening and we ended up talking “philosophy” more than we had ever talked with one another before. I’m always amazed at moments like that. Times that seem perfectly designed and dropped into my existence at just the right minute, bringing with it a feeling of "reason" or "purpose". Somehow I’m reminded, gently, to re-evaluate, re-think and re-establish.

Out of the blue this gentleman stated the obvious. “Have you ever noticed we always end up wanting more, even after we get what we thought we wanted? Ya gotta be careful what you wish for and appreciate what you have.” We dissected his statement back and forth for awhile, talking to one another, yet talking out loud (I’m certain) to ourselves. How often do we wish for, chase after, long for, push towards, pull, tug and twist trying to receive something or someone into our realities? Only to find after unwrapping the gift that is given that it doesn’t quite measure up to our expectations? And quite often leaves us emptier than before and once again seeking out the next, and the more perfect thing?

The conversation led me to a memory I have. One I can’t really shake, even though I’ve tried.

For three years I spent hour upon hour with my grandmother who had to be put into a nursing home against her will. I hated that she had to be there. And she reminded me over and over how much she hated it. One day I was particularly tired and she started speaking her familiar loop again. “Everyone I love is gone. Everyone who mattered is dead. They’ve all left me here all alone.” I felt like an invisible six year old, neglected and forgotten. Inside I was screaming, “But I’m here, grandma! Open your eyes and see ME. I matter. I love you. I’m here. I’ve never gone anywhere and I’m standing right beside you.” I would even sometimes give her a gentle nudge to think that direction. “Grandma,” I would say light heartedly, “Look! I’m here! Emaleigh’s here with us! You have so many people who care for you and come and visit you and take care of you.” But no matter how much I reminded or spoke to her, her own Alzheimer’s infected mind couldn’t see what I saw. Couldn’t experience those who surrounded her, who were there holding her hand and sharing her space and time. Present with her in her here and now. I remember talking myself out of being devastated and hurt by her lack of being able to see me for who I was and for what I offered and gave to her.

I’ve decided over the years we spend hours and hours, days and days training our brains how to think and how to connect with our emotions. And unfortunately, so many of us don’t really see. We don’t see the gifts that are right next to us, placed directly in front of us, so close we stumble over them.

I love that the patient at my office reminded me to stop. Breathe. Open my eyes and be thankful for all the people and things that completely enfold me, wrap me up in the arms of life. I would like to be more appreciative and less worried about whether or not I need to keep pouting to try to “get my way”.  Let go, Rhonda. Let go and trust the universe more. Just learn how to be and exist and open up spaces for what I already have that can add to my life the most if I simply take a peek a little deeper inside…

A Portion of Our Brain Power

I was hanging out with my niece last night, watching a movie together. Ended up talking most of the way through it instead.

She’s nine.

And when she was only a toddler her mother committed suicide while my (step) niece and nephew were in the other room. As an adult, I can barely find a way to process that entire situation. I don’t know how to explain it, how to rationalize, how to “be with”, how to accept the reality.

But here was this young child, sometimes seeming years older than she really is, telling me last night something that totally blew me out of the water.

She told me she has decided something and wondered if I wanted to hear.

She started talking about how we all only use ten percent of our brains. And in turn, we only use ten percent of our potential. She believes her mother, free from the restrictions of a human, physical form, a form that only actualizes ten percent of all potential during an eighty year lifespan, is now completely free to use all the potential that ever was and ever could be. Nothing holding her back. So she can give herself to Audrey in a way no one else can. She can do things that Audrey can’t “see” because her mom is “behind the scenes” and working beyond what she could have done trapped and locked in a body that was racked with pain and swallowed by addiction. Her best friend now protects and guides and helps her more than she could have if she were here. She ended her little speech by saying, "I really do think everything happens for a reason. Everything."

I’m impacted hugely every day by the family I’ve been gifted with. Amazed sometimes. Rendered speechless often.

Shaking Off a Little Dust

Today I found out someone I care a great deal about is losing her great grandmother.  I have watched all of my grandmothers leave this world, unable to cling onto the ones they love most... their granddaughters and grandsons, their own children.... their "familiar loves".  It breaks my heart, knowing now that I'm on the flip side, never going backwards to the place where unconditional, loving embraces wrap around, hold and protect and where life holds a certain untouchabe innocence.

I also know that I have several friends whose lives are at a crossroads.  And as much as I would LOVE to try diving in and rescuing them... I know they have to go through the fire, to a certain extent, alone.  Unable to hang on to any one else's securities.  Unable to hold onto hands to pull them out of the quagmire.  They have to somehow figure out where to go from "here".  Like we all do when life throws its curve balls and road blocks our way.

We can support and love and encourage each other, but basically, we each have our own paths to walk.

I remember once, I was so worried about one of my sons.  So I called my mom, asking for advice.  I'll never forget her saying that we are all on our own path, all of us walking our own journeys, even though we share the same space.  No matter how hard I try, I can't shelter my own flesh and blood from the frailties and the pitfalls of "life".  I can't keep them from experiencing pain or failure, trauma, disappointment.  I can try to soften the blows, lessen the punches.  But basically, there comes a point where I have to surrender and trust that they are strong enough, capable and very much able to  rise above.  We all come out on the other side.  Somehow.  Even when it feels like we'll never be able to inhale again without help of some kind.

I'm inspired daily.  By those who could easily stop trying.  By those who could choose to give up on life, on themselves, on love..... but they somehow manage to find a way to pull up their bootstraps and show the rest of us how to be brave.

I'm feeling blessed by life's tragedies and how they are sometimes the most powerful ways to find connection and common threads running through our lives.  Threads that tie us together, weave us into something better, more beautiful.

"Cheers" to a brighter day.  And may we all be lucky enough to recognize the pearls that can be dusted off through hardship and trial.

Complexities

I can’t imagine it.

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the glass and think… “Who is this?  Who is SHE?” I don’t recognize her anymore. Tired eyes. Sagging skin. Eyes more dead than alive. Crow's feet. Thinning hair.

Age seems to be taking away rather than lending to. And I’m lost within myself, unable to find a way back out or at least “through”.

I can’t imagine it.

What my mother must feel. Waking up each morning and looking inside the mirror. Does she ask… “Where did she go? Where’s the young girl I used to be?” Does she recognize who she is or does she see beyond the image staring back?

I can’t imagine it. 

Twenty three years from where I am. Did she struggle as I continue to struggle? Did she walk precariously close to the ledge while contemplating what things time dragged her through? Did she wrestle with the demons who whispered in her ear, “Your good days are gone. So are the qualities once deemed pretty.” Youth… a shadow on the ground stretching out further and further, getting lost in murky shadows.

I can’t imagine it.

Knowing my own transition through the middle years. Is she fighting it all again, for the second time around? Or has she surrendered to grace? Has she accepted the beauty she emits in the here and now? 

Maybe it’s time to stop looking beyond what I see. Go deeper. Dig through the skin, the muscles and bones and to the very center…. Into the place that is real. That has always been real. The part that continues to stir my soul into action, into love. The part that keeps me placing one foot in front of the other. Maybe that holy of holies inside my mother’s soul is where she manages to remain intact, unchanged by changes. Far removed from the desire to be young and attractive again. 

I can’t imagine it.  But I try.

Falling From the Sky

I hate to admit, but in a way, I proudly admit it.  I sometimes want to jump off this carousel ride.  The logical me tries to remind myself of all the good.  The great friends.  My children.  My family.  Those who are constant reminders that life is so much more harsh to them than it is to me.  Who am I to whine?
Yet there I sit.  Alone in the dark, crying.  Wishing I could dive off a cliff or bridge and be done with a world that hardly ever makes sense to me.
I won't.  I know I won't.  But I admit I'm human and I have the thoughts.  But I also know I have the kind of love that somehow, mysteriously fell from the sky when it was least expected. 

In particular, I'm thinking about Little Miss Em, my very own Strawberry Shortcake.  Life was just going along being life when all of a sudden a new little person entered my world and made me aware that there are these incredible moments that happen throughout all the dips and curves and bumps we endure.  Within one day, life becomes something completely different than what you've known, what you could possibly imagine.
I was reminded, gently "nudged" today that quite often, people come into your life completely unexpectedly and feel like they've always been part of your make-up, like they just appear - falling seemingly from the sky.  Part of your bigger whole.  But nothing inside your brain cells ever gave warning that they were on their way in through your door and into your heart.
What a difference a day makes.
I've been so wrapped up in feeling alone over the holidays, without my kids, without my granddaughter, without my friends from back home...  I hope I learn someday how to master my darker thoughts.  How to ride them like waves of the ocean and then arrive safe and sound on dry land, seeing life with a bit more freedom, perspective and a lot more optimism.

Wearing Triple Ds

Dear Disaster, Disappointment and Disease,

I wear you well. You've tried to destroy me.
No.
You can't take away my eyes that see what it looks like; clouds clinging to the sky while hugging the earth-like me. You don't rob me of feeling my heart flutter in awe at the mountains when I look down on them through white light of morning from an airplane seat. I'm above you.
I see and I feel what can't be torn or ripped away or taken against my will. I soar above the highest peaks... Propelled here by you, but floating by my own grace.
I wear you well as I keep ascending, while I watch from my vantage point tens of thousands of miles above you. You're only experience; nothing less, nothing more.
I am so much more than what I wear.
I can take you off... Exchange you for a different size, shape, color, style. Thank you and no thank you. I can take you with me or leave you. You're nothing without me. But everything with me.
I hold up my head, stick out my chest, and flaunt you.