Tonight I write this post after enduring a very trying day, maybe my most challenging yet. One where nothing, no one, not even the weather cooperated. A day I have been getting ready for for four years, and working towards since last May, and planning for weeks. Working for a week every month on the home I grew up in in Illinois; cleaning it out, sorting and organizing, packing and clearing... getting it ready to sell. This work has been so mentally and physically and emotionally challenging, I can't even begin to describe it all. It has been by far one of the two hardest things I have ever had to do. And, I have forgotten to mention that this task has fallen on me to do alone. Which has made it all the more work, but perhaps all the more rewarding, and in many ways all the more beautiful.
I was talking to a friend recently about letting go, this idea, this thing, this lesson that keeps showing up in my life over and over. I was describing to him the difference between a kind of letting go that happens through accepting, these are the circumstances where I have no choice in how things go, or if things go, like in the case of my mother's death. That is a challenge in itself, but there is a different kind of letting go that I almost think is harder. One that is more active, one where I can't just sit back and let it happen to me. It's one that requires me to steer the ship, to be the driving force, to pave the way, to be the change, to be brave enough and say, "yes soul, I will follow you!" even when it's painful and sad and heartbreaking, I will not back down and take the easier path. And this, this kind creates something magical.
I have been on a very step learning curve, as I have never sold a house, but in a bigger way, during this process I learned so much more about who my mum was, and I learned about myself: who I am, where I come from, and what I am capable of. I have been grateful for the many gifts this experience has brought me.
Tomorrow I will say goodbye and walk away from this house and towards my future.
And in the spirit of this day I wanted to share some excerpts from some writing I have done during this time. It's been a while since I have shared writing here, but thought it was fitting in this moment. (I have previously posted about it here, and a little about it here.)
writers group check in:
worked hard yesterday on the house, wondering how i will get it all done alone
i kept telling myself "you only have three more days, and then you get to have YOUR life, and freedom!"
realized, i only have three more days left, sadness came over me
caught in the center of two opposing emotions
with the past on one side and my future on the other
last night i collapsed in the shower
kneeling on the floor of the tub i cried until i couldn't cry any more
the next two nights i will be sleeping in my mum's bed
last night i went to sleep in my bed, in my room, for the last time
with the moon light pouring in creating fallen shadows
i had dreams about my future child
a little girl
Mum's Bed
Every time before I leave I throw
myself down onto this bed
A few tears fall onto the silk
quilt. I let out a sigh
I close my eyes and colors flash in
their darkness
Alizarin. Teal. Emerald. Black.
Mustard. Olive. Black. Peach. Red.
I think about when my mum used to
let me sneak up at night to sleep with her when my dad was out of town, which
was a lot. She would put both my brother and me to bed, and she would give me a
wink. I snuggled up in her big bed laying next to her, feeling special as the
one that got to say goodnight and dream with her. I used to have these visions
in the dark. I was so young I never questioned what I was seeing.
Laying in bed under the heavy
blankets. Staying home from school with a cold, the flu, chickenpox. She tended
to me lovingly.
Taking care of her while she was
sick. Bringing her little bowls of food to try to get her to eat. Standing next
to her while she lay in bed, watching her as she took a sip of water with the pills I brought to her.
Spreading out her beads and
gemstones on the dusty pink quilt, putting colors and textures together,
planning what we would make the next day. Watching her hold the stones and
strands in her hands, examining them, moving them around, feeling them
thoughtfully. I loved the way she held things.
Spending six days with her in bed
as we said goodbye. I hardly left the bed at all. Watching her body quickly
change. Her skin becoming waxy and gritty. Her eyes opening less, becoming
glassy and dark. Listening to her breath. Watching her stare off, grappling with the truth and fate of her body.
Sitting next to her holding her
hand. Me and my brother and our dog all creating a circle around her as she
took her last breathe.
Looking at her body and not seeing her there. In just one
moment she was everywhere.
Laying here now,
waiting to be picked up to catch my flight. Feeling the healing power of this
bed, and of her room. This place of coming and going of people, of souls, of
energy. This place that holds the past and the present. This place of
timelessness.
As I lay here, my body finally
relaxes, it’s heavy as it sinks deeper. I feel true peacefulness and comfort,
feeling grateful but with a sense of longing for what was, feeling years and
years in one single moment.
Saying
good bye and good bye again and again until soon when there are no more good
byes to give.
photo by me, of our dinning room
