My mom passed away somewhat unexpectedly last Thursday.  She had been frail for  years and yet, I had such a wonderful visit with her the day before and  I had not expected her to go quite so soon.  Letting go of her is such a mixed bag and I haven’t spoken much about it.

Dementia steals someone slowly, yet profoundly.  So, I have been letting go of my mom for years now and  when you’ve watched someone succumb to the disease, the end to their suffering can be a relief.

It was hard being my mother’s daughter.  She used to speak so loudly in the dressing room…”It’s too tight in the crotch.”  Yep, that lady you heard clear as a bell was my mom.  Or her unsolicited review while filing out of a musical at the Kennedy Center, “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.”  You knew where she stood. 

Her mothering—not so much.  Her grand mothering, magnificent.  She doted on her grandchildren with a softer touch than I knew—it was her do-over and it gave me pleasure to watch.  She softened and my girls nestled into her.  I was glad she had a second chance to get it better—she lapped it up and it was probably her best life role.

My last visit with mom was truly good.  Her green eyes were unusually bright and her skin look more luminous and relaxed than I had seen in years.  I told her so and she glowed a bit more.  Her speech was fairly unintelligible and I felt her huge frustration.  So we sang together…and the last song we sang was Jingle Bells. 

When a wave of sadness settled on her face, my daughter suggested I do a guided meditation with her.  As I talked her through relaxation, her face did ease up and then the panic returned quickly.  I whispered to her to try to be in the moment…and her speech clear as a bell said, “It won’t last.”  Her last profound words to me…

No it won’t.  This moment slips away.  People slip away.   Moods come and go.  And perhaps my mother knew she was slipping that day.  Nonetheless,  I want to pause on that moment.  I learned some hard lessons from my mother and losing a parent when the relationship was complicated seems even trickier.  But I remind myself that all relationships are.  We stand to learn so much from every single one, if we can keep our minds and hearts open and be present.

It was painful for me to be present often when I was a kid.  And in moments of anguish—seeing someone suffer—being present can be all the more challenging.  But without that awareness of who we are in the moment—who we are with—what we are with: in feelings, sensation, beauty, challenge—we sell ourselves short.  We don’t fully live.

The skies opened with intense rain on Sunday when we laid my mom to rest.  We placed her favorite orchids over her casket as she returned to the earth.  My niece led a beautiful graveside service and then it was done.  And the rain stopped. 

As noisy as my mom was in the dressing rooms and Opera Hall lobbies, she led a pretty subdued life.  It was her choice.  I have learned much about living from her—much of it about making choices and living a bit more IN the world—a bit more out there. 

I feel nostalgic today, but solid.  Alone, but a part of everything. 

I do know the last thing she said to me…”It won’t last.”  I will count on that.  I will take it all in, until the next thing and the next.  I will try to taste a little more.  Inhale more deeply.  Listen better.  Hug tighter.  Laugh louder. Judge less.  I will try to be my best “be-er”…

So I dedicate this moment to family, loving fully, appreciating what is…Namaste’

In the matter of 10 minutes yesterday, I went from the peace of savasana to referring to a guy as a “freaking idiot” as I watched him nose his car in front of mine and take a coveted parking space (okay, I said it only to my husband and the word I used was a little stronger).  Not the energy I intended to bring out of yoga.

And while my reactiveness was short lived, I’m starting to realize…how we see the world is so influenced by how we decide to see the world. 

I think of people who have been so wronged and yet, so courageous—Nelson Mandela, Dalai Lama--on my short list—and despite suffering exile, imprisonment-- they continue to see and create beauty around them. Who doesn’t want that kind of energy? 

So my parking space response is not what I aspire to.  Awareness of how I frame the world feels like an important first step:

What’s in my lens right now: mitochondrial Eve (mt. Eve).  The concept of connectedness.   A huge reframe.

I learned about mt. Eve several months ago—I was fascinated.   For the uninitiated: scientists in the late 80’s traced the DNA of every single living person to a single human being.  WOW.  Consider the implications.

Buddhists have been telling us this for always—we are all connected.

And now science echoes this thought.  Some 200,000 years ago (give or take) there lived one woman -- not the first woman,--but one woman who started the lineage that is modern humanity: mitochondrial Eve. Our exponential GRAND mother.

And the ultimate reframe:  if we are all connected…truly related…from mt. Eve…how does that affect how we treat others. AND how we treat ourselves. Can we all create the kind of light in the world that I see in Dalai Lama’s face?  The possibilities are infinite.

That thought just blew me away—so I looked to mt. Eve to find joy on my canvas this week.

I had grand plans for art that was complex and layered, but this piece screamed for simplicity and pure celebration.  I resisted the temptation to overwork it and instead let it stand.  Simple.  Interconnectedness.

And that’s what I’ve been saying.   How in a flash things can become complicated—how the silliness of someone stealing a parking spot can steal you…but only if you let it. 

It’s in those moments when we choose to reframe our experience that we can change the energy of our being.  It’s how Mandela could invite his jailers to his inauguration or the man that sought his death sentence to be his dinner guest.  He shared their humanity.  He felt connected.  It’s just that simple. 

So here we are on the verge of a new year. In my life, in my art, in my relationships, I hope to take risks. To laugh more. To take a breath when I go astray. To continue to reframe.  To connect.

For this new year, I wish you peace and joy in your world.   And that in moments when you are challenged – that you think twice before relinquishing that peace.  Decide how you frame your world and and know even in the smallest changes, you create ripples through the universe. 

And  I wish for us all that we take the time to notice the beauty that surrounds—the Mandelas and Dalai Lamas and all the sweet people that make us smile— and remember we all come from mt. Eve.  We share the same potential.  And the freewill to use it.

Namaste’




 

Growing up, my parents made a terrible mess of our family.  I felt the impact most from my mother who lived a very tortured life.  She was depressed  and disconnected—occasionally abusive.  It left me confused, hugely empathic and feeling very helpless.  There were times being a kid in my family felt unbearable.

For the last several years, my mother's dementia has stirred many complicated feelings in me.  In working through those feelings,  I decided to create a piece of art about her.  So, I knew a lot would emerge, but was unprepared for how much would leap from my soul so quickly. 

For starters, I pulled out an old photo of my mom at about age 17.  She was rowing in a boat with the sweetest smile on her face.  It was hard to believe.  My mom—hugely afraid of the water, not very athletic and not much for lightness—looked serene—angelic even.  She was being playful and happy—I didn’t know this part of her well.

The photo was a “before”.  A “before,” as in taken before her life changed.  A few short years after this photo, my mom’s life took a downward spiral—her sister/her  best friend died tragically and my mom felt forever responsible.   She could never forgive herself for encouraging her sister to visit the place where tragedy struck.

In her “after,” my mom’s serenity ceased, as did her friendships and her sense for any sustained joy.  Her sister’s name was unspeakable.    So, I learned to protect my mom, to cheer her and to mother her.  I mothered her for most of her life and learned to raise myself.   I grew to be a very strong, independent woman.

So beginning this painting was no lighthearted task.  The first day of my work, I started shaping my mother’s eyes.  My works are not realistic, so I was trying to recreate the innocence in the photo rather than work that resembled my mother—yet when the eyes took shape and I looked into them—tears poured out of mine.  The emotional connection was shocking.  It was as though I was looking into my mothers eyes—her soul—and I felt her innocence.  And yet,  I knew of the impending loss and sad life she would choose to live—I felt this all from looking into rather primitive eyes that I created on canvas.

I have never created a work that has made me cry.  I have felt joy and wonder, but never pain.  The tears flooded me for a good 40 minutes as I worked.

I felt the 80 wasted years of my mother’s guilt-filled life and the mired mess she created.  When the tears stopped, it was as though I had let go. 

With this art, it was time to make it stop. 

The end of my protecting her and instead, the beginning of my forgiving her-- I can’t change how my mother did her life.  It sucked being her kid—that is past.

And the truth is, I am a happy person today both in spite of and because of what occurred in my past. And, how I have decided to do my life.   Perhaps I am more full of feeling, a better mother, a more compassionate being, a better artist?  Who could ever know.

Yes, I forgive. And I can also counsel.  I have seen how secrets and guilt destroy—don’t.  Don’t hold them in---especially if they are not yours.  Someone else’s choices are not yours and you cannot be responsible.  Set yourself free and choose your own path. 

And if you live with guilt, regret…don’t.  It has done enough—you have served your time.  You cannot change what has passed, but you can change what you do from this moment forward.  It is that easy.  Forgive—yourself or others.  Whether they are alive or not.  Just let it go. 

Because letting go is a gift for yourself.  It doesn’t mean to be stupid and to let people close that will hurt you—it just means don’t keep letting yourself hurt for things that have passed.  Gain strength from it—grow—create art or music about it.  Write.  Use it to be the best partner or parent or boss you can be. 

I am reminded of Mary Oliver’s words:

“Someone I once loved gave me a box full of darkness.  It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift.”

We don’t always get want we want, but we can always learn from what we get and grow to be our best—that is truly all we can control.  Namaste.’