Forty days ago, I started writing about my mom. Posting each entry on Facebook, inviting you to read them. I wrote because I needed to relieve some of the weight of my grief that I felt stuck in. Twelve days ago, I saw a medium. I went for the same reasons I started writing. I hoped that it would help if I felt like I could connect with her in some way.
I called my blog The January Experiment because I didn't know what it would do for me or what it would become. It became a place to lay down a heaviness that you, my generous friends, were able to lift and hold for me, relieving me of a burden. I wrote about the things that were still painful and you read them and they became less so. So beautiful to me. Thank you.
I don't think it was the telling so much as it was the listening and commenting you offered that helped me. Topping that off with the medium visit was like a walk outside after being couped up for... well, years. The combination of the two has changed something in me.
I don't think it is because it is February and the January heaviness has turned a calendar page. I think something has really shifted. I notice it when something reminds me of my mom. I was in the book store yesterday and I saw a new young adult novel written by one of my mother's contemporaries, someone she knew. I used to feel a bitterness, an envy, a feeling of unfairness, anger, sadness, an ugly beat in my day. But yesterday I felt a pang of something other than pain at the thought of my mom. It was not a jumping for joy but something like a pleasant music note in my heart. Followed by a sense of relief. And that was all.
I do hope that these feelings will last and even grow. I talk to her now, even though it still feels goofy to me. I mention her to Desmond without feeling sad. Imagining she really is around us and that she is happy, feels comforting to me. I think my grandfather has had it right all along. He talks to my grandmother all the time. He says, "How'm I doing, Dotty?" I think this is right. And so I ask, "How'm I doing, Mom?"
I feel like I still have a lot of questions I'd like to ask her. If I had lots of money, I would spend lots of time with mediums. Until all my questions were answered.
I have thought about whether of not the medium was "for real". And whether or not I can "let go" of the heaviness I've felt about my mom. Here's the thing. I think it comes down to a choice. I can choose to believe or I can choose to be a skeptic. It feels better to believe. Do I wholeheartedly believe it is possible to contact people who have passed? Yes, I do. Do I wholeheartedly believe that Christopher Allan was talking with my dead mother? Maybe not, but I strongly believe it is very possible that he was. There is no way to know that for sure. But if I chose to have faith that he was, I can do a lot more with all that he said. I can use what he told me to let go of the emotional muck that has been holding me down in ways.
The letting go of the sadness and grief feels like a choice now too. I don't know if it always was. But in this moment in time, it does feel that way. I'm choosing to take the meeting with Christopher, keep it in my pocket and take a turn off the road I've been on. Try another path. I don't want to feel bad about my mom. I want her dying to feel like something that happened, not that it was all that happened. It was a small piece of her life and of my life with her. It was a small piece that happened a long time ago.
Who was it that said, "You are as happy as you make your mind up to be"? Ah, thank you Google, Mark Twain said it. I thought it was George Washington or Abraham Lincoln. And somewhere along the way too, I have heard that faith is a choice. We chose between faith and fear. It's not always an easy choice but it's there for us to make.
I don't doubt there will be moments that are painful and sad when I'll think of my mom and miss her. But I hope they will be fewer and far between.
The things you've written back to me in emails, comments and even the phone calls a few have made have moved me. I was surprised by all the reactions and responses you've had. How my writing has helped you in some ways too. I love that you let me share these things with you and that in turn you shared things with me along the way.
I want to tell you, I feel different. I think I can do a better job of this. A college friend wrote me a note and said he'd been reading my blog and that I "really suck" at the whole grieving thing. He said he did too, since he had lost his brother in an accident. He was being light hearted and joking but I thought, yeah I do suck at it. I think I've done something this year that will help me handle it all with more grace and gratitude.
A lot that came up with my women friends were their relationships with their mothers and daughters. I have no advice for my mom friends on how to be close with their daughters or with their own mothers. My own sister was not close with my mother. I think it has a lot to do with personality. And maybe circumstance.
I wish that my sister and mom had been close too. I wish that my mom had been better able to give my sister what she needed growing up. I know she tried. And I know she loved my sister very much. I think it was a great source of pain for both of them, not connecting with each other in ways they wanted to. Maybe more so for my sister than my mother, especially now. We don't always get what we want from our parents. Knowing that they love us, even if they can't be who we want them to be is sometimes all we get. And making the choice to believe in their love is our own.
I am making the leap from believing my mother had not been loving me for the last 16 years and had been mad at me (however illogical that may have been) to believing that she does still love me and is not mad at all. I feel like a daughter who is loved by her mother. It has been a while.
I can't imagine ever not loving Desmond, no matter what he does or what I can or cannot do or be for him as he grows up. I hope he will believe I love him no matter what. Whether I am here or not.
My mother wrote something to me when I was in high school, getting ready to go off to college. It was something like "May you always feel the warmth of a mother's love." It is interesting that she wrote "a" instead of "your". A mother's love does not have to come from your own mother. But I guarantee your mother loves you, wether you feel it or not. She may not have what it takes to show you. In the end, we get what we get. And love is where we find it.
I called my blog The January Experiment because I didn't know what it would do for me or what it would become. It became a place to lay down a heaviness that you, my generous friends, were able to lift and hold for me, relieving me of a burden. I wrote about the things that were still painful and you read them and they became less so. So beautiful to me. Thank you.
I don't think it was the telling so much as it was the listening and commenting you offered that helped me. Topping that off with the medium visit was like a walk outside after being couped up for... well, years. The combination of the two has changed something in me.
I don't think it is because it is February and the January heaviness has turned a calendar page. I think something has really shifted. I notice it when something reminds me of my mom. I was in the book store yesterday and I saw a new young adult novel written by one of my mother's contemporaries, someone she knew. I used to feel a bitterness, an envy, a feeling of unfairness, anger, sadness, an ugly beat in my day. But yesterday I felt a pang of something other than pain at the thought of my mom. It was not a jumping for joy but something like a pleasant music note in my heart. Followed by a sense of relief. And that was all.
I do hope that these feelings will last and even grow. I talk to her now, even though it still feels goofy to me. I mention her to Desmond without feeling sad. Imagining she really is around us and that she is happy, feels comforting to me. I think my grandfather has had it right all along. He talks to my grandmother all the time. He says, "How'm I doing, Dotty?" I think this is right. And so I ask, "How'm I doing, Mom?"
I feel like I still have a lot of questions I'd like to ask her. If I had lots of money, I would spend lots of time with mediums. Until all my questions were answered.
I have thought about whether of not the medium was "for real". And whether or not I can "let go" of the heaviness I've felt about my mom. Here's the thing. I think it comes down to a choice. I can choose to believe or I can choose to be a skeptic. It feels better to believe. Do I wholeheartedly believe it is possible to contact people who have passed? Yes, I do. Do I wholeheartedly believe that Christopher Allan was talking with my dead mother? Maybe not, but I strongly believe it is very possible that he was. There is no way to know that for sure. But if I chose to have faith that he was, I can do a lot more with all that he said. I can use what he told me to let go of the emotional muck that has been holding me down in ways.
The letting go of the sadness and grief feels like a choice now too. I don't know if it always was. But in this moment in time, it does feel that way. I'm choosing to take the meeting with Christopher, keep it in my pocket and take a turn off the road I've been on. Try another path. I don't want to feel bad about my mom. I want her dying to feel like something that happened, not that it was all that happened. It was a small piece of her life and of my life with her. It was a small piece that happened a long time ago.
Who was it that said, "You are as happy as you make your mind up to be"? Ah, thank you Google, Mark Twain said it. I thought it was George Washington or Abraham Lincoln. And somewhere along the way too, I have heard that faith is a choice. We chose between faith and fear. It's not always an easy choice but it's there for us to make.
I don't doubt there will be moments that are painful and sad when I'll think of my mom and miss her. But I hope they will be fewer and far between.
The things you've written back to me in emails, comments and even the phone calls a few have made have moved me. I was surprised by all the reactions and responses you've had. How my writing has helped you in some ways too. I love that you let me share these things with you and that in turn you shared things with me along the way.
I want to tell you, I feel different. I think I can do a better job of this. A college friend wrote me a note and said he'd been reading my blog and that I "really suck" at the whole grieving thing. He said he did too, since he had lost his brother in an accident. He was being light hearted and joking but I thought, yeah I do suck at it. I think I've done something this year that will help me handle it all with more grace and gratitude.
A lot that came up with my women friends were their relationships with their mothers and daughters. I have no advice for my mom friends on how to be close with their daughters or with their own mothers. My own sister was not close with my mother. I think it has a lot to do with personality. And maybe circumstance.
I wish that my sister and mom had been close too. I wish that my mom had been better able to give my sister what she needed growing up. I know she tried. And I know she loved my sister very much. I think it was a great source of pain for both of them, not connecting with each other in ways they wanted to. Maybe more so for my sister than my mother, especially now. We don't always get what we want from our parents. Knowing that they love us, even if they can't be who we want them to be is sometimes all we get. And making the choice to believe in their love is our own.
I am making the leap from believing my mother had not been loving me for the last 16 years and had been mad at me (however illogical that may have been) to believing that she does still love me and is not mad at all. I feel like a daughter who is loved by her mother. It has been a while.
I can't imagine ever not loving Desmond, no matter what he does or what I can or cannot do or be for him as he grows up. I hope he will believe I love him no matter what. Whether I am here or not.
My mother wrote something to me when I was in high school, getting ready to go off to college. It was something like "May you always feel the warmth of a mother's love." It is interesting that she wrote "a" instead of "your". A mother's love does not have to come from your own mother. But I guarantee your mother loves you, wether you feel it or not. She may not have what it takes to show you. In the end, we get what we get. And love is where we find it.
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