Mountains

It’s a weird feeling to be home… There a void in my heart. A fear I can’t quite identify. I miss my mother in a way I have never before. It’s interesting I was gone from MY life for over five weeks and I think I preferred the mountains to the ocean. There was something spiritual every time I looked into the large Rocky Mountains. There something I avoided in those mountains. There was a distraction from my own self. And now I am home I have to face the bells that are ringing. Only 10 days away from sitting for a large certification exam and I feel as though it’s all out of my control. I’m allowing myself to be pulled in so many directions. What would it mean to sit? To really sit with myself and look deep within my own soul? What would I see? What would you see?

I can tell you, you would see pain. Pain of all levels and a determination that meets no other. I am survivor at the core but you know I am tired of surviving trauma. I am only 30 and have already been diagnosed with a learning disability, sexually abused, emotional abused, seen tragic death of an intimate family member, seen serious illness in myself and others. I have yet to really learn how to move on after this. My mother almost died and I can’t get beyond the words. The images flood just like when my father died. I sit wondering how how can this happen? The feeling of aloneness overwhelms me. Because there are no words to describe the moment I walked into her hospital room after a 4 or 5 hour flight. Flying over oceans and mountains to arrive ungrounded, scared, and basically alone. Unsure at how I should react because I haven’t been here before. I’ve done death, but I’d never done illness and death. And I truly could not get that out of my head. And thus trying my best to cope with the worst week of my life. I arrived, I was finally by her side and yet looking at her my psyche immediately rejected the fact that this was my mother. This woman in this hospital couldn’t possibly be my mother. Where was her vibrant smile, where was her sarcastic grin, where was the love in her eyes, it was as if all life had left her. She was paranoid and I didn’t know how to react and so all I could do was laugh, cry, and hide behind anything. The phone calls were rampant from family members and close friends. And most of all I was scared that she didn’t even know I was there. I’d flown over three states to see her, I’d given up my job to see her, and I didn’t even know if she knew who I was. It became apparent the following day she did remember when she uttered one word: my nickname. That was enough for me. But the fear, the inability to express what it means to look at your critically ill mother and feel as though even her spirit was gone. The miraculous moments were those when you could see the light literally filtering through her eyes. The moments when she uttered the words you had been waiting on the edge of your seat to hear “When did you get here”. In those words she knew who you were, where she was, and that she had lost time. Relief flooded through me.

Though it appears that she will be okay and without many complications. The clamp inside of me somedays will not let up. I want to scream “NO you do not understand what I have been through”. Part of it is the rip in my inner world when my father was ripped out of my life, when he disappeared from existence. And some days I struggle recognizing that we are all interconnected because I feel as though God has decided that I have to face all these crisis. What am I suppose to be learning? How not to freak out? Well haven’t really learned that yet. That life is fragile? Well yes I get it. And I just truly wish I could reach inside to the scared little girl that doesn’t understand any of this and letting her know that it will be okay. Instead I see myself escaping and finding it impossible to trust in myself. If only my father was here life would be so much easier. Its hard to describe to someone who wasn’t intimately a part of this situation to understand how difficult it was to transition through the details when we had no other parent to lean on. And it breaks my heart that we struggled through 24 hours before realizing what the right action was. I struggle with guilt that I wasn’t there sooner.

Then there are the days where I see so clearly. I see how greatly this situation has changed my relationship with my mom. After my dad died there was such a rift and divide between us. And now I feel closer to her than I have ever before. Perhaps truly the lessons stems from love. How do we do what is right and what is just? What happens when we let go of our expectations and do what is right? What is right is to step up to the plate when family needs you. I can’t say I always feel this called within my chosen family. But I am learning where to step in and where to step back and make space for people to be themselves. For the first time I saw my mother as a woman in need. In need of my help specifically and I feel honored. I wouldn’t change it for the world.

The Day

My mother told me a story of her delirium. She was being taken for an MRI possible the one before they decided to do emergency surgery. She thought she was in the kitchen and the "cooks" aka anesthesiologist tried to get her to sign a consent form. Of course this was highly upsetting. But what amazed me was that she was with it enough to understand to ask for her brother, her power of attorney, to take over.

I remember the calls that night. Just like the night my father died. I was on the phone with my brother when my uncle began calling my brother so we hung up. He quickly called me back and said that she was going into surgery "NOW". What can you think about those moments? I had no other information, I didn't know why. I was freaking out. What else to do but call my aunt who's also my godmother. There was a lot of sighing. And I was hemming and hawing about whether to get on a plane. I so desperately wanted to be there. Not just because my mother was in critical condition but because I'd promised my father I would do this for him and he left before I could care for him. I missed the opportunity. My aunt called me back after speaking with my uncle and told me he recommended that I get on a plane tomorrow. All that was going through my head was shit, shit, shit... okay, okay, okay. I called my uncle, who is by the way one of the top neurologists in the country, he explained the situation and told me "You are going to want to be there when she wakes up." To me that told me that even my uncle, a topnotch doctor was scared she might not even make it through surgery. Luckily, she made it through better than expected. And for me when your uncle the top notch doc tells you to get on a plane you do. I called my brother and told him I was on my way. The relief in his voice was so real, he began crying. It was such an emotional time and all I could feel was the adrenaline pumping through my veins. The lack of sleep from days of worrying and not understanding what was wrong. When I landed it was not much better the next few days were flooded with family and family friends. Though I was grateful to speak to them it was utterly exhausting. And now I sit wondering where do we go from here? Perhaps it's a silly a question. But I've been stuck in crisis and stepping out of my crisis manager is no easy task. My answer from here I go live my life. I build a stronger bond with my mother and I own that I did the right thing.

Golden Thread

Most days I struggle with the idea of why I am here amongst the mountains. What is the reason for such hardship? And I catch myself feeling a bit dramatic. On the other side it always feels less scary than when you are sitting in the hospital room holding your mothers hand wondering if she even realizes you are there. Only to discover later that she doesn’t remember it at all. Was it important for you to be there? Did it really even matter? I remember my brother saying to me well what’s the point she probably won’t even remember that you were there. The experience I can’t describe the numbness that traveled through me like a virus when I saw her blank stare, her ability to only mutter “hi”. And it wasn’t even clear if she knew who I was. It was too painful to feel in the moment. It was so surreal that I don’t have any words to describe it. I’d been itching for DAYS to get on a plane. But I couldn’t comprehend how bad things were. My brother kept telling “she’s fine she’s just in a lot of pain”. In the aftermath, she wasn’t fine. And I can’t get this detail out of my head… she almost died. And I had everyone telling me it would be fine. What would have happened if I had not called my aunt who then called my uncle who is my mom’s power of attorney? I don’t want to think about it. But I can feel the trauma of losing my father has overshadowed my experience of crisis. Yes naturally this is where I run too. I fear everyone and anyone could drop off in a second. And I don’t expect anyone to understand my fear. I don’t expect anyone to understand what is like to stand vigil by your mother’s side not understanding what you can possible do for her. I gave her water in those first two days. That was about all I could do. I asked questions. I took care of her the best way I knew how. I know it was enough. But these are the unspoken, unseen pictures of my life. The things that will forever be held close to my heart. The things that I do not know how to vulnerably share with anyone else. And I am coming to the conclusion they are not really meant for anyone else. Bathing my mother in the shower is for me and her alone. The details are for us alone. But what are the feelings? The rawness of feeling that I was being abandoned once again. The feelings that these are the things people don’t want to hear about, don’t want to sit with. I saw friends run the same experience I had when my father died. I saw people run back into their lives as I sit seeped in crisis. But you know, there a lesson here for me. It is okay. It is a deep lesson of remembering at the end of the day we are all we have and that is precious. And the most beautiful gift I can give myself in these states of crisis is not necessarily calling anyone but sharing the deep, vulnerable, raw feelings with myself and owning them.

For in these times of loss. There are no words, there are no real comforts. I find myself turning to food to mend my broken heart. But it only takes it further from me. I find that though I feel the earth beneath me and the sky above me. I am alone. I find that this is something society and people are frightened of. And yet I feel as though I am being beckoned to surrender into the void. The void filled with fear, uncertainty, grief, loss, and so much more. In there I will find myself. I will not find elsewhere, I will not find it on a friend’s shoulder, it’s in the void with the emotions I fear that I will find my true golden thread. The one I have been searching for.

Walking in the Forest Alone

I sit wondering how my words will flow onto this page. There is so much inside me, I can feel myself running from it. There is sadness, fear, anger, hatred, grief, and feelings I don’t even have names for. I sit engaged with what is easy. Studying for another certification exam. But I notice myself indulging in food and tv shows that have no real meaning to my internal world. Its as if I just cannot face it. The fact that my mother almost died and my father is died. That in this experience I am alone and yet I know I am not alone. I know there are thousands maybe millions who are facing similar circumstances. And yet it doesn’t matter how many times I speak to someone it doesn’t take away the pain, the anguish I feel inside. Of losing one parent so suddenly it rips the very center of your being out from under you. It proves every negative belief I’ve ever had about people true. And I am tired of that being true. I am tired of being right, because in actuality I am not right. People live their own lives, they get absorbed in their own lives, and it difficult to reach out to those experience a crisis. Though we want to we’ve all experienced the pull. But how do I react differently? How do I respond in an empowering way to crisis? What if the lesson of this crisis and tragedy is that truly at the end of the day we only have ourselves. It doesn’t matter how much hurt or love we have towards others if we cannot give the love and forgiveness to ourselves. I am scared to sit in this seat. Especially, without my father. He was my rock, the one place I knew I could receive support and guidance. And now where do I get them from. I try to pull it out of other people, but they aren’t my dad. And I see that I must dig inside, I must dig inside myself and find the wisdom and guidance I crave. In essence I must walk alone. Though knowing myself I cannot walk alone without sharing about the experience. I want people to know how I feel, I want people to know what I see, and how I see it.

Tonight I leave with an image of my mother and I laugh crying about all the crazy things she was saying. And taking a breath and acknowledging how deeply scary it was for me when she was not lucid and how scary it was for her to realize she has lost five days of her life. That though it is not important to drill into her that these doctors saved her life. For me it’s an important realization for me to make. Through the laughter I can see my avoidance. I am avoiding the fact that my mother almost died, that I almost became parentless. Though I may be an adult I feel like a child in the regard that it feels too young to loose both of them. And I tell myself you didn’t loose her. And though I fear loosing her there is something deeper. That I fear people won’t understand. I remember hearing a friend telling while this was happening “You’re mother will be fine. She’s not going to die, she will one day but not now.” The anger that rips through me is huge. You do not know. That’s just it you don’t know when a loved one will be gone. And the likelihood that my mother would have died from this is quite high. And though I am grateful I am also scared. I am feeding the fear with food. I can feel it. The same grief surrounding my father surrounds me now. Envelops me and I turn my back. Because it feels so scary to face this alone. But I see no other way through the forest. Perhaps there is some gray area I am missing. But I look around and see surviving parents of all my friends. And truthfully I do not want to be told that you understand my pain, my experience, or how I feel. I don’t even want you to imagine it. Because I am angry that you still have a father, I am angry that you offers yours up on a silver platter, I am angry that yours left you early in life so you don’t know the pain of my love, I am angry because I am too young. I am ashamed of my anger. I hide it. My body shows it. More shame I wish I could have my athletic body back. And yet I am realizing that these truths are what will eventually set me free. The truth there is a portion of this that must be faced alone. And there is a portion of this that must be released and I must trust that someone will catch it. Someone will hold it sacred in their heart as I cry, scream, and release all that binds me. That there are deep learning pieces around surrender, acceptance, and forgiveness. And I am the only person who can allow myself those pieces.

The Slide Show of Crisis

At the age of 30 I have already experienced the tragic death of one parent and the serious illness of the other. It's a bit a surreal, like there's no way this could be happening to me, to us. We've already been through so much and it's so early. Both parents hit the crisis marker at age 59. And my brother and I only in our late 20s to early 30s. So young to be dealing with such crisis in our lives. And yet here we are. Here we are struggling through the confusion, the fear, and the practical details the best we can. Calling everyone and their mother to tell them how our mother is fairing. And yet the pictures that run through my head is miraculous. I would have never thought in a million years the small moments amongst the moment of crisis. The other day I was sitting in the hospital wondering what would a slide show look like. If I were to return home what pictures of this adventure would I share with my friends. These are the images that come to mind.

When I arrived last week on the panic flight I took the day following my mothers massive risky surgery to remove a staph infection from her spine. I arrived anxious to see the woman I love dearly, but had been unable to take phone calls since she was not very responsive or aware of the world. I walked into a room sterile and white. I took in the walls, tables, and chairs until my eyes could fall onto the woman whom I recognized but was not there. I saw my mothers body wounded, wrapped in wires from every angle. Her eyes vacant but able to recognize and only mutter a hello. She was clearly there in body but not in mind or spirit. It's a scary moment when you see the woman who gave birth to you barely there. As we stood to leave for why stay. She asked us "who is going to stay". I slowly replied that "we must both go". She replied, quite seriously, "you are going to leave me with these people". I was shocked, to the point I almost broke in the biggest hilarious laughter. In her delerious state she was parniod, not herself and it was so hard to hear, to watch, and keep the containment on my laughter, my stress that was begging to be released. Next my brother and I sat down quietly. He whispered softly "wait for my signal". I did, once we heard her snoring we quietly left. As soon as we were in the hallway we lost it. It had been the most stressful four days and neither of us had the capacity to contain the ridiculousness of her comment or the stress that was bottled up.

When she started to come out of it. She asked when I had arrived, I said two days ago. The look of shock in her eyes was palpable. You could feel it. As my brother and I stood on each side of her bed. She held our hands and simply said "my children". She was still too out of it to express more. But is there more to say. Is there more to express than that. She had all she needed. This moment reminds that sometimes that is the crux and I don't need to explain further. Though I want to, everyday I want to tell her how much I am willing to do for her, how scared I was, and how frightened I still am. How I am struggling for balance... but does my mother need to know this. No she doesn't. She only needs to see my brother and I standing strong by her side. There is nothing more to be done.

 A few days after being here. I unpacked my altar items and discovered my father's ashes had come along. I did not pack them. My father choose to be here with us. He showed me once again that indeed he watches over all us. Even if we can't see or feel him, he is there.

She was home for a few days when she began having close falling episodes when she returned from getting her IV antibiotics. It got worse a few days ago. We came home and she got ahead of me I couldn't get her the walker in front of her, she quickly said I need the chair NOW. So I grabbed it but she was going down. You could see it happening in slow motion, as if on autopilot I grabbed the chair and her hips at the same time and pulled her to safety. I got her seated just as I did so she was so lightheaded she almost fell forward straight out of the chair. I grabbed her and said "I've got you, I'm not letting go." The moment itself is hard to describe in words, in fact it's one of those moments in life that is so intimate and scary all the same time. It reminds just how much I love my mother. No matter how much anger I've had over the years in that moment all of it dissolved into helping her. Into doing what is right.

Though this is only a snap shot. It my way of understanding, it is my way of sharing, it is my way of being vulnerable with the world, without having to send this out to anyone in particular. But reaching out a hand. Life is not easy, balance is not easy, but there is a lesson in this family crisis. I get to give something to my mother I never had the chance to give to my father. It is at the end of the day a blessing.