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