Remembering My Mother On This Third Anniversary Of Her Death

 

Remembering My Mom

It was three years ago today that my mother died. And, as I often do, I find myself reflecting on her lifetime, all that we shared and didn't share, and especially on the miracles of my mom's last seven years of life. 

These pictures ― which always tell a story, but not always a true one ― are but a glimpse. There are many smiles here. And often behind the smiles was a deeper story of pain and trauma. This was especially true up until these last years of my mother's life when trauma and loss became balanced with connection, tenderness, compassion, and love.

What I find myself returning to again and again is consciousness of my mother's courage. To come back and emerge from the depths of a lifelong disconnection from her heart and all those around her is a profound miracle. It is one that was supposed to be impossible. Yet, at the age of 87 my mama began the journey of opening her heart to vulnerability, connection, and love. I will always be absolutely blown away by the courage and the grace that it took for this to ever happen. But it did.

My mother was such a great teacher for me. And, in the end, what she helped me to know in my deepest being is the truth of who we humans all are at our core. My mother confirmed for me what I had sensed and believed for some time, but not fully. Not until my mother's partial awakening demonstrated for me that under it all ― and even with those who are totally lost to themselves and who, out of this disconnect, cause great harm and suffering ― is the love and the beauty of our true nature.

This is a good thing to know, to remember, and to hold in deep awareness ― and especially in these times where hate, polarizing propaganda, endless "othering," and addictions and depression and violence and other symptoms of trauma are epidemic. If we lose sight of the sacred thread woven through all of life, we humans can so easily be swept up and stuck in bitterness, rage, judgments, fear, and hatred. 

Which easily could have happened to me. I could have bypassed all the hard lessons that emerged through so much hell. I could have never forgiven my mother. I could have forever hated and blamed her. My heart could have hardened and stayed that way.

Instead, the power of miracles and grace and love happened for me, too. And the ever deepening path of heart that I rooted into made the impossible possible. And those last seven years of my mama's life were spent with my mom and me loving each other. It is indescribable to go from having a mother who screamed that she hated me to a mom who would gaze deeply into my eyes, soul to soul, and call me her "precious darling."

I miss my mom. And I hold her in my heart with the deepest gratitude, compassion, and love.

May the power of Grace and Love bless us all,

Molly

Three generations: Nine years ago my mom with Ron and myself, my 3 sons and Marita (pregnant with great-grandson Oliver), and mom's 1st cousin Bob Dean and his wife.

As so much is slipping away, what remains is love.

My mother truly overcame so much...