QTIPS and Caring Enough

It hit me once again this morning.

Many of our patterns of behavior run deep; generations deep. So many of them aren’t even in our conscious mind. We move through them not realizing what we’re doing. Or not doing. A great grandmother always puts others before herself. A grandmother doesn’t take care of herself, always gives to others. A mother is so busy taking care of everyone outside of herself, she misses the symptoms that wreak havoc with her body later on… Too busy on the outside to care for the precious commodity on the inside.

I used to get so mad at my mom for not taking care of herself. As a child I’d watch as my dad would lay into her, verbally, too many times physically. Shoving her off a bar stool onto the floor, kicking her with his cowboy boot. I couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t fight for herself. Why she wouldn’t stand up, run away, get out, give up and make changes. I didn’t realize until my high school years how much resentment I had because of that one thing about her. I used to be unable to sleep at night, worrying. Thinking it was my job to protect her.

I’ve come a long way from that little girl who watched in horror. I’ve learned to love a dad who used unhealthy substances to try to mask his own pain, his own mental anguish. I’ve learned how to practice a deep, deep well of forgiveness and acceptance.

Without all of it I wouldn’t be me, here and now.

Mom eventually separated from my father, went back to school to become a teacher, and moved to Arizona where finally, she found ways to heal. She found ways to feed her own soul, to recharge her batteries, to find her own passions and joys and discover who she was. I remember loving our talks on the phone. She would tell me about alternative health therapies she had been trying. She would tell me about experiences around campfires with friends. She told about dancing in the middle of her living room while holding onto a long, flowing scarf. How free she felt, how uninhibited.

My mom went from being what I thought was “weak” into being the strongest person I know. Actually, now I know she’s always been the strongest person I know.

It’s just now dawning on me, after years of dealing with my own chronic pain that my mom fought even longer with her own chronic pain. But unlike me, she didn’t really talk about it a lot. I’m sure she didn’t want to bother people or dump her problems on anyone. But as her daughter, I saw it. I felt it.

For so long I misunderstood my mom’s inaction from abusiveness and later her action of moving away. For a long time, I felt like she went away from me. And at that time I was a single parent, so I felt like she went away from my son, too. I took everything about her actions so personally. QTIP = “Quit Taking It Personally” Now I see how she left FOR HERSELF.

What dawned on me today was the beautiful gift she gave in her absence. In her own way, she showed me that in order to be best for others, you need to be best for yourself. You need to take care of yourself in a way that honors your entire life – a life borrowed for such a short while. No one else can care more for you than YOU. And sometimes, as I’ve known, it’s difficult to even rise in the morning and brush your teeth, comb your hair, take a shower, get dressed. Those tiny bits and pieces of feeding your soul seem horrifically hard.

Care enough for you.

Care enough to take the little steps necessary to keep you safe, warm, healthy, balanced, more whole and less stagnant and LESS STRESSED. Keep finding ways to fill the soul. Big ways. Little ways. Any way that gives back and puts back in what has been depleted. Guard yourself wisely. Make adjustments. Rest. And sometimes, as I’ve been told by a healer in the past, “rest, rest, rest and then rest some more”. Listen to what every part of you is saying. And then take action and direct your steps where they need to take you. Care enough to give the best you can be to those who are counting on you each day. Do it for you, not them. Benefit from your own self love so it spills over onto others. Do it so you can live out your truest potential, serve your highest calling, find your purpose.

Care enough.

Memories In E Minor

It gets harder to write, to try to put into words what takes place when you know your parent is battling with severe memory loss.

I answer the phone and my stepdad tells me mom is crying.

Why? What happened?

She heard piano music and was reminded of me, her daughter. And as much as I loved hearing that she misses me, that she remembers the sounds of my songs being played, it broke my heart to feel and know her sadness. Her tears then took her to her own hands, hands that once knew how to play in C Major, E Minor. Hands that no longer fit the keys because the left is all twisted, shrunken and atrophied because of Dupuytren’s Contracture, a disease she forgets she has. “I don’t understand what happened to my hand…”

How do you find a way to comfort the pain someone has kept bottled deep inside until now? Until life’s ugly little game of the brain drying itself out comes along and steals away everything most rational and what was once “real”. I’m convinced the pain eventually rises, eventually spills over and out from cells that once tried to hang on and stifle emotions and fears. Sometimes I think that is what Alzheimer’s is; an extreme purging of the shattered and tattered heart.

I wrote this in 2010 after looking at some pictures I had taken of my mother’s hands. Today I’m remembering her at her piano, playing old hymns, sometimes singing loud enough for me to hear. And remembering my response to run into the music room, sit by her side at the piano bench and sing along while watching her fingers dancing over black and white keys. As much as she misses my piano playing, I miss hers….

Written in 2010:

My mom has disliked her hands for years.

She hates all the wrinkles. The way her veins stick out and her students used to ask "why" or the way in which they wanted to touch them to see what they would do. She despises the lack of elasticity.

But my mother's hands have always looked and felt beautiful to me.

She has suffered from a disease known as Dupuytren's Contracture which has robbed her for years. She lost almost all function of her fingers on her left hand as they locked closed and began their process of atrophy; the petrification moving slowly up her arm, shrinking tissue and making her so self-conscious.

She hides it.

Keeps it tucked away behind her back or in her pocket as much as possible.

Once in awhile I catch her tugging at her fingers. Making faces like they hurt. But she doesn't say much. Just endures.

I always pay close attention to her hands, both of them.. the healthy one and the one that seems lost. And I feel like I have learned so many valuable lessons from them.

I have learned that life is about surprises... good and bad. And about coping, dealing, and reacting as positively as a person can with the way the dice is rolled. I've learned some surprises are nice... like holding hands.. brushing of fingers across the face... or her hands reaching out to me to tuck hair behind my ear. It's about surprises like being blind-sided by things totally out of our control... like pain... like disease... like heartbreak.

But her hands continue to show me strength and courage.

I love holding them. Even the one that can't really "hold" in return.

I've learned that hands, whether they are whole or broken and bent have the ability to heal.

To nurture.

To uplift.

To ease and comfort.

To hang on or let go.

To tug.

To touch beyond the surface of the skin and into one's soul.

There's an old saying that a mother holds her children's hands for just awhile...

But their hearts forever.

I'm lucky that I have a woman like my mama holding onto my heart forever.

Aunties, Vikings and Mom

Several things draw me to the Hawaiian culture; the Aloha spirit (the actual word meanings of “Aloha”), the beauty of the natural setting and people, the way their islands produce a “laid back”-ness, but one thing I love most? No matter what the color of your skin, you immediately become known as “Auntie” to any child with which you come into contact. And with that simple little word comes all these huge emotions within me. All of a sudden, I feel instantly connected, instantly recognized as someone of value, instantly honored, instantly responsible for playing a role or part in that child’s life, even if it’s just a few moments of interaction. And any time I hear that word… “Auntie”… I am brought into the love I have for my own aunts, my own nieces and nephews, the ones who have helped shape and helped guide me, who continue to do so. Just like the word Aloha, and all Hawaiian words, there is a layering of meaning and not just meaning, but EMOTION under every word, every syllable. Intentional, like Sanskrit words. And that intentional flow holds energetic power and grace.

I spoke with my mom last night. I’m pretty sure I woke her up so maybe she felt a bit more disoriented than usual. She has struggled with pain most of her life and I’ve often wondered if that genetic link is part of my own cross to bear. During our conversation, she started describing her left arm, her left hand, and couldn’t remember what was “wrong” and why it is crippled up the way it is. I reminded her of Dupuytren’s Contracture… that darned ole “Viking’s Disease” that has made residence in her body. I’ve learned a valuable lesson from my stepdad, that somehow being light about heavy and dark things brings about more space for acceptance, healing, understanding… it brings joy into sorrow and light into darkness. So I played my humor card and made mom giggle at her own ailment. And through the laughing, we stumbled on a thought; maybe she was predestined to host that disease… a disease that can be traced back in time, a disease that only certain people with a certain blood line contract… maybe she has that disease because through her and through her experience, our family tree is being “healed”. Let me explain further; part of my training in Lomi Lomi has included the recognition that as healers we are challenged to be a bridge not just for other people, but for our own families, sending prayers of healing, energy and love into our heritages to cleanse and heal and make whole. Mom had the “eureka moment” of feeling THAT was why she suffered, why her body suffered; for the benefit of those who went before, for those who will come in the future, a physical manifestation of a way to purify. Then she laughed and said something like, “if that’s not the reason, at least it makes me feel better about it.” That way of thinking seems so simply profound to me and so hope filled.

So what do the two have in common? Being called “Auntie” and being called to heal our families? While meditating on both this morning, I find myself linked into the feeling of complete connection. We make a difference. Our choices, even the choices we make of how to spend our time THINKING (are we thinking on things that bring peace and love into the world or are we caught up in tangled up strings of panic, confusion, frustration, disappointment, etc?), our choices deeply affect one another. Our thoughts deeply affect one another. And I’m starting to see that we not only influence one another during this time and place, but we affect those in our past and those in our future. Oprah once quoted I think someone else… and I love this quote, “Take responsibility for the energy you bring into this space”. When being called Auntie by other people’s children who are trusting you with that name given, when caring for a mother and trying to gently be present and supportive, when contemplating whether we can make huge changes not only in the present but beyond, life’s energy - God’s love - encompasses me, sings to me, breathes new life and freedom into me. And I hope somehow I can take that gift given and pay it forward.

 Aloha kakou.

Pixie Dust and Fairy Wings

My mom has never discouraged me from letting my imagination soar. Something for which I am so grateful.

 I was thinking this morning that I used to really truly believe in fairies, leprechauns, magic, little people, invisible people…. angels. I would take walks through the trees, searching for their hiding places, would feel someone with me even when I was all alone. I used to think they left gifts for me because I would sing them my made up songs or the songs I loved. (Yes, son. Your mother has always been a tree hugging hippy at heart.) I would have a butterfly land on my shoulder. I’d find a certain type of shiny stone or a flower that had been dropped by a bird, or see a squirrel staring at me, eye to eye and thank the fairies.

It’s funny, the more we age the more we sometimes return to those things that made us up as a kid. It dawned on me this morning that sometimes I think I was trained in the way of the pixies. Sprinkle a little part of your soul (dust) on others. Leave some little thing behind, even if it’s a silent and whispered prayer. Try to make the world a slightly better place just because you flew through.

We all go through such traumatic events; physical ailments, pain, heart break, disappointment in life, no job, not enough money, homelessness, emptiness. And then a door seems to magically open and all of the sudden your life has been added to, expanded …. through someone’s grace, someone’s smile, someone’s touch. I’ve been the recipient. I’ve been the giver. Both impact life in a way that I think ripples so far beyond what we can see.

I’m challenging myself with new resolve to believe again. In the magic that softly falls and dances and coats a lonely world.

I like to think that while hurricanes tear apart and destroy, while the earth quakes and quivers with its need to keep changing and forming and re-shaping itself, that there will be those who continue to sprinkle light particles into the dark, who shine a little path through the darkest places in order to bring about transformation unlike we as humans have ever known.

Hope

“Hope reflects belief.

Hope believes in the better, in the higher, in the possibilities. Hope rejects criticism. People with a higher level of hope believe that though events may not work out, they will not be defeated. Hope is the dream of a soul awake.”   (author unknown)

I’ve been struggling with so many things the past few weeks. Doing my usual questioning, my normal carrying of grief and sorrow for things that seem to be slipping away. Struggling with what I’ve allowed, what I’ve believed in that hasn’t served me as much or as beautifully as supportive situations and people would have. But I have honored the discovery and uncovering. Felt somehow comforted that I’m becoming “more aware” or something, even though often times that process seems so painful and uncomfortable.

Several months ago, my granddaughter’s little dog got hit by a car, fought for six weeks before a vet figured out her insides had been all shoved up into her rib cage, causing so much stress on her lungs that only five percent of one lung was functioning. Somehow she stayed alive long enough for corrective surgery. I firmly believe it was my granddaughter’s touch, her love and her blind faith that kept Bella alive during that period of time. Surgery was a success and our little soul was back to bouncing and being her full-of-life self again within another six week time frame. But a few days ago, the outcome changed drastically and our tiny fighter’s health plummeted. Seizures. Loss of muscle control. No explanation. Test results that expected a liver disorder or damage came out “normal”.

When everyone else was suggesting we spare her, put her to sleep, I’ve fiercely held on again. Part of me believing that I need to adopt my granddaughter’s determination, will and absolute knowing/faith.  I keep thinking, surely if she came out of it once, she’ll come out of this. Day after day the vets and staff have diligently tried, they’ve listened, planned and advised.

Last night I brought her home and realized how much she has been suffering, how much she is no longer “present”. After holding her all night, watching her in her misery, we allowed her to "go" this morning. Letting go of that little Yorkie opened up floodgates inside but I can’t help remembering all the blessings she gave to us all, the smiles and giggles, the orneriness and puppy breath in your face moments, kisses on the nose… As I was taking her to the vet this morning, it occurred to me that now her energy will be more free to move and maybe part of that movement will be a surrounding of my granddaughter that will serve Emaleigh better from another place, another dimension. Surely it’s that easy.

Yesterday as I was holding Bella; petting her, talking to her, it dawned on me that I am projecting everything into this situation. I’m transferring all sorrow for my mother’s stroke, for her aging process that I cannot control; for what it means to me as a granddaughter and daughter of women who suffered from Alzheimer’s. I’ve been placing the sorrow I feel towards things I can’t control with my sons… past hurts, past experiences with seizures, surgeries, past moments of panic when I was afraid I was losing one son or another for one reason or another. Lost love, lost home, lost livelihood. Things that have been lacking. Relationships that shattered and dissolved and disappeared without my complete understanding. The fear of not knowing where time is taking us all. Everything seemingly negative – all wrapped up in a little furry bundle that no longer was able to be her real self anymore.

Maybe we're all just supposed to experience the moment. Allow cleansing tears and questioning so it’s easier to live inside a new day. Surrender to whatever is present and right in front you. Maybe hope doesn’t equate a blind faith. Maybe it’s simply the ability to step outside, feel the sunshine on your face, drive your car down the street and order a large chai tea latte with extra chai.

When Life Circles Back Around....

I just tucked my mother into bed.

I also just spent the past little while cleaning and scrubbing and tending and taking care of her after she became unexpectedly and suddenly ill.

All the time it’s been taking place, she has been teary-eyed and apologizing, saying she’s sorry.

I keep reminding her I’ve seen worse, dealt with worse. But it doesn’t ease her mind.

While she’s sleeping, I’m spinning thoughts through my brain. While I can, while my mind is whole. I'll never take that for granted...

I can’t help feeling like somewhere along the way, I became mother and she became daughter. Or maybe, life affords us the advantage of switching things around periodically. So we more fully understand what words like “sacrifice”, “respect”, “dedication”, “commitment”, “honor” and “caring” really mean.

I haven’t seen her for several months now. And coming “home” to her presence has ignited internal conflict that I wasn’t prepared to greet.

I have the comparison of seeing my nieces and nephews, three months later; three months older; three months changed. It’s funny how we see children maturing and we welcome and embrace the leaps made. Why is it so much different then, to see changes in someone who is aging, getting older? There is a certain beauty to be found. A kind of elegance I see in her that quietly states, “No matter how scary it is, no matter how hard it is to walk or to talk or to remember moments past, I am alive and I am present and I continue to care.” I sense she is more in touch with how to let go. In touch with how to love. And how to just blurt out what needs to be said. There is some kind of strength and some kind of grace that seems to be gaining momentum within her; maybe it's simply a return to complete innocence.

But it doesn’t make it easy to accept that time keeps marching forward, with or without memory. With or without reasoning. With or without rationalization. With or without logic. With or without control.

I’m watching her sleep. Wondering how many times in my early childhood she did the same thing… Stood and lovingly watched me with my eyes closed, soft breathing that let her know I was all right.

I keep thinking life is a process of letting go and receiving in. Both being so difficult at times, so easy during other times. And I keep thinking how life feels like it is circling back on itself somehow. Where the child cares for the parent. Yet there is a lingering, long-ago-and-hard-to-reach-back-for memory of the parent caring for the child. Folding in on itself until it’s hard to know who is the child and who is the parent.

I don’t understand it.

I can’t.

I can’t even try.

All I can do is experience and move through the circle….

Harmony and Balance

I took a walk this morning and noticed how all the plants, bushes and trees are suffering because of the heat and lack of rain. I remembered that even though the grass and flowers die and turn brown, their roots go deep into the soil and eventually, when the rains come again, they will return as beautiful as ever - if not more magnificent.

Recently I learned there are scientists who think they have made the discovery with the necessary proof that there is a perfect dimension that co-exists within our world. That we are the two dimensional image, living in an “unreal” place. We’re a reflection of something better, something more, something without the flaws that we make for ourselves.

As a body worker who constantly observes and notices and sees imbalances in human forms, I immediately start making all kinds of connections. When a person’s physical body is in perfect alignment, they are able to be fluid, to go through life and daily events with good health and a stronger ability to do what their passions and longings guide them to do. When we send out roots deeply into the spirit of creation that surrounds and resides in us, which supports our feet, no matter what adversity or hardship comes along, we find a way back to proper alignment, we eventually receive the water we need to nourish and correct our “posture”. I had an “Aha” moment this morning. I believe some people are incredibly successful and happy because they live their lives in perfect alignment with that perfect dimension. And the rest of us who struggle and feel tormented do so because we’re still trying to find the way, the path that brings about “lokahi”, alignment. We feel it calling us, we get glimpses, but for us it’s more difficult to keep our structure straight and tall – maybe because life or past lives have worn away at us and whittled away bits and pieces that are difficult to replace or regrow.

I’m thanking my mother this morning. For planting seeds in me that have carried me this far in life. For giving me roots that go so far sometimes it feels they reach the very center of the earth and the furthest corners of the universes. She placed inside of my heart the place in which I can always return, even when she isn’t present. Belief? Love? Passion? God? It can’t really be defined in words.

I’m finally learning how to listen to the voice inside of me. The one that tells me to stand with my shoulders back, my heart, eyes and ears open. The voice that says “get help from someone who knows” whenever I feel a shift happening that is taking me away from where I need to be.

Some moments, like this morning, I feel I’m swimming inside of “enlightenment”, inside that parallel dimension of the perfect us.

So grateful.

Thank you, mom.