Today would have been my mother's 95th birthday. And this is the first June 5th since my mom's death nearly one year ago.
This morning while sitting in our sunroom with my husband, I experienced and shared my grief that once again was surfacing. Ron listened and then tenderly responded that he is grateful that things were able to change so dramatically that I am blessed with having something to now miss and miss so deeply.
Ron knows our story and was witness to both mothers who inhabited my mother's body. And it's true that I had thought for most of my adult life that I would only be left with missing the mother I never had. That was over the course of decades where there was no possibility of connecting heart to heart with this first mother, the one who was locked within the trauma that gave rise to her devastating mental illness, addictions, and cruelty.
And, yes, I do still grieve all those many years when my mother's birthday would come and I'd send her my love, a love that she could not open her heart to receive. Sometimes years would pass and there would be nothing ― no acknowledgment of birthdays, mine or hers or her grandsons, or holidays, or even that we existed. Just silence. A silence which pierced my heart like none other.
Then came the unexpected, the profound miracle of my mama's partial awakening and the birth of my second mother.
Weeping...
I cannot begin to express my gratitude for our last seven years together. Yes, the forced psychiatric hospitalization and antipsychotic and other medications were a vital part of the transformation of my mother. And certainly her move from the other side of the country to live by our family here in the Pacific Northwest was essential. There was also the memory loss ― just enough to not be able to remember much of what would have been too unbearable and traumatic for her to endure. All that said, and more than all else, it was love that again and again and again brought my mother back to life.
And so we had these seven years together. Over that time I witnessed both the opening of my mama's heart right alongside the many losses that come with Alzheimer's. It was such a paradox ― my mother's miraculous capacity to now be able to give and receive love and her ever diminishing capacity to remember, to be mobile, to communicate, to function without intensive care and support. Joy and sorrow were deeply intertwined.
Ultimately, as everything else was in process of being shed, there was one thing that remained right up until the very end. And that was Love.
As I remember my mama today, I reflect on the deep and wise truth of Francis Weller's words: "Grief and love are sisters, woven together from the beginning. Their kinship reminds us that there is no love that does not contain loss and no loss that is not a reminder of the love we carry for what we once held close."
I also reflect on the wisdom of Stephen Levine ― "The more we love, the more real we become." This is certainly true for my mama and me and, I believe, for us all.
Today my heart is full of cherished memories of the sweet, tender love that my mom and I found and shared together so late in her life. There is no greater gift that we can give each other and ourselves. And there is no greater example that I can think of that shines bright light on the power of love to heal and transform even the deepest trauma.
What I know in the depths of my being today is that under all of our illusions ― our flailing about, our unskillful actions and harmful beliefs, under all the obstacles and trauma which cause us to lose ourselves ― is the truth of our authentic Self. And even though this truth evaded both my mother and me, and so many of us, it is never too late to discover our holy, beautiful, sacred selves. This is the power of love, of compassion, of grace, of the journey of healing trauma and opening our hearts.
This is the journey I wish for us all. We are worthy of love. We are. And under it all, this is who we are ― Love.
I'm just really missing my mama. And I'm so very grateful for the love that endures through even our greatest trauma. This Love holds the potential to make the impossible possible and to transform us and our world.
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| Photo by Molly |
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