Last night I attended a memorial gathering for an old friend of mine from my early days in Detroit.
There are people you meet who, for good reasons, linger with you for the rest of your life. There is a magic about them that resonates with the universe and adjusts our molecules and energies in just the right way to change us for the better, if even we only spend a very short time with them. Chase Chapman was one of those people. My friend Andy Swan was another. Both of them were bright stars, snuffed out too soon.
We laugh, we smile, we talk for a while and then we're off to our own worlds. Before we know it the manufactured stuff of living overtakes us and that bill that you can't pay pushes away a caring word, the overdue report squashes a friendly hello, and the actions of an evil world pauses a confident gait.
We are more than those things. People like Chase and Andy, and countless others buoy us to be better... to not let those manufactured things pull us away from the magic of people, of living, of each other.
Showing posts with label remembering. Show all posts
Showing posts with label remembering. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 19, 2018
Tuesday, February 14, 2017
Desperate to let go, remembering my mom today
Last year at this time, Valentine's Day, we were in the final weeks of my mom's life.
We didn't know that at the time, but we knew that she wasn't strong. During my final stay with her in the hospital they tried to get her to stand and to walk but the most that she could do was shimmy to the lounge chair and sit up to look out the window or watch TV. The last photo I have of her is one of those moments. Her sitting in her chair in the middle of her big, windowed, hospital room. Small in the chair, eating lunch, bundled up in a hospital gown and blanket.
It wasn't until months after she passed away that I realized her silent desperation leading up to those days. I had been struggling with something - knowing my life I'm sure it was a financial issue - and at the end of the day, after turning off the TV, before going to bed, I sat on the couch and feeling defeated and desperate, and held my head in my hands. Exactly the way my mom had done during the last year of her life. She would silently sit on the couch, holding her head - not sharing with us the struggle she felt inside.
I crumbled when I realized that. I think I sobbed for a good hour.
I'm crying now.
I don't think it was until she saw the end on the horizon that mom let go of that desperation. When she was at home in hospice, letting us take care of her, she talked to us about how she felt about us, about herself, about moments in her life. We really didn't talk about the end, about was was coming. We didn't have to. We only had to talk for the moment. There was a gentle light in that - it sort of made the difficult time to come softer, easier to handle.
For whatever reason mom held onto her desperation. I'm sure that she didn't want to burden us, but in not letting go of it, she kept us distant from her. When she let go of feeling desperate she brought us in and we were able to take hold of what lied ahead together. And even in its darkest hour it was not heavy with burden, but full of peaceful sadness.
Desperation should never be carried alone. Others are there to help us let go, to hold our hand, and to bring joy and peace in difficult times. Together we make the way softer, peaceful, and easier to tow.
We didn't know that at the time, but we knew that she wasn't strong. During my final stay with her in the hospital they tried to get her to stand and to walk but the most that she could do was shimmy to the lounge chair and sit up to look out the window or watch TV. The last photo I have of her is one of those moments. Her sitting in her chair in the middle of her big, windowed, hospital room. Small in the chair, eating lunch, bundled up in a hospital gown and blanket.
It wasn't until months after she passed away that I realized her silent desperation leading up to those days. I had been struggling with something - knowing my life I'm sure it was a financial issue - and at the end of the day, after turning off the TV, before going to bed, I sat on the couch and feeling defeated and desperate, and held my head in my hands. Exactly the way my mom had done during the last year of her life. She would silently sit on the couch, holding her head - not sharing with us the struggle she felt inside.
I crumbled when I realized that. I think I sobbed for a good hour.
I'm crying now.
I don't think it was until she saw the end on the horizon that mom let go of that desperation. When she was at home in hospice, letting us take care of her, she talked to us about how she felt about us, about herself, about moments in her life. We really didn't talk about the end, about was was coming. We didn't have to. We only had to talk for the moment. There was a gentle light in that - it sort of made the difficult time to come softer, easier to handle.
For whatever reason mom held onto her desperation. I'm sure that she didn't want to burden us, but in not letting go of it, she kept us distant from her. When she let go of feeling desperate she brought us in and we were able to take hold of what lied ahead together. And even in its darkest hour it was not heavy with burden, but full of peaceful sadness.
Desperation should never be carried alone. Others are there to help us let go, to hold our hand, and to bring joy and peace in difficult times. Together we make the way softer, peaceful, and easier to tow.