Gotta Love Insight

There’s a warmth in the air around me, as if transition is happening once again. It feels radiant and clear. 

Celebrating my mom’s birthday this week has somehow released more fear, sadness and anxiety; replaced with renewed hope, peace and an extra dose of gratitude. I seriously believe I would not be where I am today if mom hadn’t died over 2 years ago. And it wasn’t until this week I feel her with me. Sincerely feel her embrace me. People kept telling me “she’s right there with you” but there was nothing. I talked to her yet couldn’t feel her presence. This new awakening has made me pause, reflect and become lighter.

Let’s face it, most of this journal is dismal at best. I write as I feel and at the beginning of my journey here, there was a women in such pain with herself, she decided to express some of her disconnect in words. Unfortunately, that pain was also directed in completely unhealthy ways as well. Once I was so determined to accept my unhealthy behavior of looking to other guys for validation when all along, it’s always been about me. Only me. Not my father, mother, ex-husband, children, long-term friends, family or any one man can make me feel I’m worthy and a good person. I was willing to accept that I could not change, that this part of me was truly broken. I believed I was broken. In many ways I was. I accept that. Though I was not broken, I was sick. I was depressed. I didn’t know how much deeper that depression would get, had no idea the extent of pain of what was to come.

Today, if I start sounding a little more like a Hallmark card, perhaps I’ll understand why. Pain is as real as breathing, yet so is joy. I have lived both in tandem and separately. Let there be more beauty to express, the yin to my yang, the joy to my sorrow, the sometimes cheesy platitudes to my over analytical mind and blubbering heart. I’m still here, in my journal. This is my story. I am alive.

 

Transition in Feline Form

Death, its meaning, questions raised, the symbolic dance of it reverberates throughout my heart, mind, soul. 

Upon the death of my Mom, awareness of life quickly rose.  All that was within me, heightened, propelled me to think more clearly, look at myself and take action. I began questioning what mattered, what my true beliefs, values and purpose was.

Ok, maybe because I’m in my fifties now. Maybe because I’m that much closer to the senior menu at Coco’s or Denny’s. Maybe because I’m now divorced, a freer thinker, allowing myself to be. Whatever IT is, something stirs inside of me and there is a new shift taking place….again. 

My cat died this week. Well, she was my daughter’s cat, though again, whatever, I loved the shit out of that sweet old girl. She was 16 years old. 

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I write about her, as her death has changed me.  Just as with Mom, the cat represented love.  And like Mom, the cat is gone from this Earth, though the love continues through me. I can feel it. What transpired upon the cat’s death is what has caused me to take pause. I am listening once again.

To grieve a death, one must never be alone. It came to light, through my dear girlfriend, that upon the death of my mother, neither of my girls were there for me. Her celebration, six months after she died, a most glorious day for me, full of love, joy, loss and pain, that day brought me to another level in life, the beginning of what true legacy means. I have honored that legacy ever since.

The girls had come to know of their parents’ divorce only a month after the death of their Nana. They too, so close to the magnificence of who she was; we were all devastated by her death.  During this time, the estrangement was new. By June of 2012, all communication was gone. I had endured 2 graduations; one daughter from college, the other, high school. No photos taken with their Mom (their choice).  I rose above that, kept my public tears at bay and stood with grace during those joyful yet painful events. Then my Mom’s celebration within days of graduation. At no time did either girl come to me, embrace the loss of such a wonderful woman. At no time did they approach me, make eye contact, none I could see. I stood onstage with my brother, both he and I loving this night, a time to not mourn but to celebrate the wonder of Mom. How I longed to embrace my daughters that night. To let them know how much their Nana loved them, how much I loved them. My older daughter sang, like an angel, the purity of her voice so beautiful. My youngest, her humor interjected, balanced with poignancy, so expressive in sharing what her Nana meant to her. And yet all the while, no solace between the three of us.

At that time, I was unprepared to cope. I was coping, yet my strength had yet to emerge. Looking back, as my friend reminded me this past week, where were the kids when you were grieving your mom? I had not thought of this, never crossed my mind, in fact.

My cat’s death brings forth new feelings. If not for my ex, his email, phone call, I would not have known of her death. I do not see the as heroism on his part. He is far too pragmatic; our relationship far to emotionally disconnected for heroism to me. He simply does the right thing. For that, I am grateful. But I digress.

I will write more soon. I am coming to a new understanding of myself. I am coming to a new understanding of the estrangement, all it entails. New feelings are arising and I’m listening with more abandonment. It’s loud, becoming more pronounced.  I’m dealing with it head on.  I believe it’s called anger. 

She Painted My Toes

Dreams can be totally wonderful. That’s the kind I had last night – simply wonderful!

Just as sure as tacit as this iPad, she smiled, we laughed, took turns, she painted my right foot, me, the other. Giggling, we spoke of favorite lines from her most loved television shows and films. Laughing hysterically, as in real life, her delivery made me laugh more heartily than the original show. Always that way. And at the end of the dream, one set of toenails, lighter shade of red, the other, brighter, more vibrant. We hugged, filled with joy.

She’s my younger daughter. We have not spoken in almost a year. Last I heard from her was last December when she emailed, asking I not contact her for another six months; no texting, emails, etc. unlike my older daughter, she has not blocked me from Facebook. We remain friends – bonded by wifi. As the six month mark approaches, perhaps my dream brings her to life.

My girls are different, both their own people. I love that about siblings. Beauty of individualism in the same family. And with that, my relationship with each daughter just as individual. Motherhood, equality in loving each child, the joy comes from each single relationship. As time moves on, I cope with estrangement differently than before, my ability to pull them apart, recognize that both relationships possess their own special qualities. Somehow I find comfort in this, more sense of peace, the unraveling of my pain, more focused, centered, less ginormous in scope.

The dream, so embodied in realism, brings hope. I need that for hope escapes me sometimes. I can feel self-pity continue dissipating, dissolving and I am glad. It’s taken time yet again, it’s happening. Life is happening. I’m living it, I’m learning it, I’m loving it. The pain, ever real as my dream, both reminders we all face our own journeys; each require the yin, the yang of experience. It is only then gratitude grows. I shall ever be grateful for my painted toenails. And I smile.

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