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.