Tacos and Tiaras

I'm just being all-zen-and-shit

Mindfulness

Now is All We Have, But Love Never Dies

Family, Hope, Kindness, Love, Mindfulness, Perspective, Reflection, Warrior Woman Wednesday

“It’s being here now that’s important. There’s no past and there’s no future. Time is a very misleading thing. All there is ever, is the now. We can gain experience from the past, but we can’t relive it; and we can hope for the future, but we don’t know if there is one.”

– George Harrison
March 2018. This is one of the last pics I could find of me and my mom before she was hospitalized in December 2018. I was in Virginia for the weekend, for the life celebration of my bestie-Beth’s father, which was the first time our families were together in many years. I took a selfie with my parents before I headed home. You know, the typical “let’s get a picture before we depart” but in the moment, you aren’t fully thinking of how much the memory will mean to you in the future.

I have a more recent picture from April 2018. Both of my parents were in the hospital unexpectedly, and she was released before him; I took a picture before we went to pick up my dad. Pictures from that visit were much more fueled with feelings of “I feel thankful things weren’t worse” and “I feel grateful that my parents are still here”.

I visited my parents again in July 2018, but we didn’t take any pictures. I can only guess I was thinking we had more time even though I knew my future visit would be in December for the winter holidays. Between July and December I would be traveling for work or for other celebrations, and those trips took me to Madison, Detroit, Parris Island, Orlando, and Bangalore. We cannot put life on hold. We will always have things to do in our work and life balance, but I took time for granted.

Dear Mommy,

I wrote more than I expected to in the caption for the picture, and it’s for the reader, not you… not that you’re reading this, haha… but sometimes it’s still easier to have the imaginary conversation with you. I miss when we had daily calls and no real news because most of the “necessary” phone calls were not fun or pleasant things, such as hospitalizations and deaths.

When I was growing up, you always knew that if I was making time to talk to you instead of a friend, then I must have needed you. You. I placed absolute trust in you, knowing that you would keep it between us. You used a loving heart and did your best to listen and advise me. And now, as an adult, I feel the blessing of friendships in which my closest friends have shown me their care comes from the same love you have for me. I can probably count them on one hand, but quantity doesn’t matter. You were my only mother. Sometimes one of something is all we need.

I know I am luckier than some… those whose mothers left them wishing for a better mom. I know at times I was one of those daughters, thinking that this friend’s or that friend’s mother was more understanding or more fun or any kind of comparison we often find ourselves making, often only knowing what we perceive and certainly not knowing at the time how each of us is on our own unique path… each of us received what we need… every experience, feeling, thought, or life lesson to contribute to the mission and purpose of our own lives.

Today is your 89th birthday, and this time last year I noted that it was so fitting that your first “birthday in heaven” was 88, like the keys on the piano. Music was one of your passions, one that you passed to your children in the simplest way that we share with those around us by making it a regular part of every day life. Your background was more formal and professional as an accompanist and teacher long before I was born, and as I type this, I realize that when I’m playing the ukulele and singing, it probably comes from the same space in your heart when you felt inclined to sit at the piano and play some of your favorite recital pieces, like Nicanor Abelardo’s First Nocturne. I would not have known this nocturne if it weren’t for you, and if I ever put together a show-don’t-tell short film, this will be the only sound to communicate the essence of visions. Perhaps a six-minute modern dance…

This past year of 88… I hadn’t thought about 88 as an angel number until it began repeating a couple of weeks ago, and I told Huck about it. I had seen a pair of 88s and realized another 88 that had come into my life. I recalled how abundance isn’t always in the way we expect to see or receive it, so I stayed open to the opportunities presented to me through another 88. When I looked up the meaning of angel number 88, the first search result states: “The angel number 88 is a number with a powerful vibration. This number signifies achievement, progress, abundance and success. It is also the number of Karma and the Universal Spiritual Laws of Cause and Effect. This angel number signifies abundance and prosperity in your life.”

So today, right now because that’s all we have, instead of waiting until the end of the month to reflect on this past year, I look back and see that even with the shitshow dumpster fire of a year that it seemed to be for the collective, it was also my personal best year so far. The abundance and prosperity this year in my life came from feeling uncomfortable, taking risks, trusting nudges, traveling paths to find both success and failure, allowing instead of chasing (even though this one is still taking work on my part), abandoning old thought patterns, learning patience… but the greatest truly has been allowing love to guide me.

If your passion for music was part of the legacy you left for me and my brothers, then I hope what I leave for the Keets is my passion for love.

It’s mostly love for humanity, but I feel gratitude every day for being able to love the Keets, Daddy, my brothers, all the family through you and Daddy, and my friends. I’m too lazy to look up that quote, but it’s along the lines of “if one can hate someone they’ve never met, then I can love”.

I definitely am not a Mother Teresa of Calcutta, but one of her most cited quotes is one you lived, the example you set:

“If you want to change the world, go home and love your family.”

– Mother Teresa of Calcutta

This year afforded many of us more time with our families. Some families spent time together, and others spent time apart, like the ones whose family members live in retirement communities or healthcare facilities where they kept out visitors to try to reduce residents’ risk of coronavirus. I feel sad for those who couldn’t see the opportunity to learn how to adapt and find appreciation for what matters. And I still feel relieved that you and Daddy did so much that enabled us to honor Daddy’s preference to stay in your house.

Mommy, thank you for showing me how to appreciate the abundance of time as a gift. It allowed me to prosper in ways I didn’t expect and would have overlooked if I had not changed my way of looking at things.

I’ve joked a lot about how the days all seem the same, but when you’re mindfully in the present, the day of the week does seem inconsequential in the biggest of big pictures. The quote from Edmund Mbiaka fits: “When you start to do the things that you truly love, it wouldn’t matter if it is Monday or Friday; you would be excited each morning to work on your passions.”

Today is your birthday. Two weeks from today is your death day. Two years ago at the funeral home, I spoke about your life, the dash between your two dates. I’m still living my dash, and I hope that of all the Mother Teresa quotes, I’m following your footsteps:

“Not all of us can do great things, but we can do small things with great love.”

– Mother Teresa of Calcutta

I wish this could have been one of those phone calls when I was just telling you how well everything is going and meaning it. Everything really and truly is good. I may not have everything I want, but I have everything I need at the moment. And I feel grateful not only for what I have, but also for what’s come and gone. Even if you’re no longer in an earthly body, even if heaven doesn’t exist and you’re not an angel, you were, still are, and always will be my mother. And because you loved me, you will always be with me. Love never dies.

Luceat lux vestra.

Grieving But Grateful to Be At Home for the Holidays

Confessions, Family, Gratitude, Grief, Home is where..., Mindfulness

“If you concentrate on finding whatever is good in every situation, you will discover that your life will suddenly be filled with gratitude, a feeling that nurtures the soul.”

– Rabbi Harold Kushner
LOL I put up the Festivus Pole before Thanksgiving. 😉

Situations can change quickly. Without warning. We know this. Whether it’s from personal experience or being an outside observer, we see how everything can change quickly. We may have to change plans or cancel them altogether.

We can choose go with the flow or resist the change. To feel content or discontent is a choice.

With that in mind as I write this, at the moment while all is well, I feel grateful that my plans are to be in my home to celebrate the winter holidays. Chief Daddy is back in his house after a few weeks in the hospital before Thanksgiving, so I feel hopeful that he remains in good health and on the mend. The outlook is good.

As I was typing, in the midst of feeling happy about being at home, I realized I’ve arrived at a time of nothing to distract me from decorating this year.

And I feel more lost than festive.

I reckon it’s a part of grief, and I would have found myself in this spot last year if it wasn’t delayed by distractions.

The past two Decembers brought me to Virginia because of unforeseen events.

  • I spent most of December 2018 away from home. At the beginning of the month, I knew I would be away on business for a week (India Part 1, Part 2, Part 3) and planned to decorate when I got back. I didn’t know that when I returned, I would have a couple of days at home before going to Virginia where my mom was hospitalized. And when I packed a week’s worth of clothes, I didn’t know I would end up staying for a solid two months with only a short trip home before returning to Virginia to help my dad after my mom died.
  • Last year I dealt with a similar situation of being away from home for most of December because my dad was hospitalized in November then released from subacute rehabilitation five weeks later. I don’t remember much from last year except for Chief Daddy’s request that his kids and grandkids gather at Mommy’s grave to honor her on the first anniversary of her death. He wasn’t able to join us, but we gathered and my brother led us in readings and prayers.

Here I am in my house, two years after my mom died, and for two years I haven’t decorated the house for the holidays because I wasn’t home to do it. And even with as much gratitude as I have for being home and having looked forward to being home, I haven’t felt compelled to do even minimal decorating.

I feel good being home. I feel grateful to be home. “It is well with my soul.” But at the moment, no amount of gratitude will distract, detour, or stop me from traveling through another stretch of the path called grief.

The Festivus Pole is our annual pop culture humor and not really connected to celebrating the winter holidays. I usually hang our stockings from holders that sit on the mantle, but doing so means relocating my mom’s picture from the mantle; and I feel unready to make a temporary change even though I know I would take down decorations on The Epiphany in January.

I’ve grown accustomed to seeing her face every day, every time I walk through the family room. Mommy’s picture on the mantle has become a constant on which I can rely. I feel comforted from the visual that often conjures encouraging memories from when she would tell me what she liked or didn’t like about one of my poems or essays. I often look at her picture on the mantle when I’m searching for words while I write.

I remember feeling grateful to my mom for her understanding and being so accommodating when I asked that my little family celebrate the holidays with them in Virginia in mid-December so that my Keets could wake up in their own house on Christmas morning and see what Santa Claus brought overnight.

I remember feeling angry every time my mom called and said that my dad had changed and become more peaceful. She pleaded for me and my dad to reconcile after several years of not going up to Virginia to see my parents before Christmas. I remember feeling stubborn when I told her that if he couldn’t bring himself to call and invite me himself, I would not come to see them.

I remember feeling appreciated when my mom thanked me for taking the first step in clearing the slate with my dad. I remember feeling relieved that my dad was willing to let go, accept our differences, and let that be the change we needed in order to get along with each other instead of trying to make the other person change.

I remember feeling happy when my mom received her Christmas wish of having all three of her kids with her and my dad during Christmastime 2017.

I remember feeling protective of my dad on Christmas Eve Day 2018 when a waitress was impatient with him, but she would could not have known that only 12 hours earlier, his wife of nearly 52 years died.

I remember feeling strong when I went to speak with the waitress without losing my shit and asking her for her compassion when I explained my dad’s situation. I remember feeling connected to her when she revealed that her father died earlier in the year, and she and her mother were facing their first Christmas without him. Once we knew what the other was facing, we both showed more kindness and understanding to each other for the rest of that visit.

I remember feeling proud of my dad last year for making it through his first year as a widower. He adjusted and grew when I was convinced he was never going to change. But he did.

I feel grateful for memories… even the not-so-great ones. They led me to appreciate what I have in every way that one may “have” anything.

Our family has plans for a day trip to see Chief Daddy and visit my mom’s grave later this month. In the meantime, if I arrive at wanting to display the tabletop trees or hang the stockings or set out any seasonal decorations, I’ll do it. I’m going with the flow instead of trying to cram myself into others’ expectations that holiday spirit is reflected in decorations.

Whatever you have been through this year or even across the span of your life, may you give yourself peace this month. May you shine your light through compassion, empathy, kindness, and love for yourself first by finding gratitude for what you have, and it will shine for others who are having trouble with their own light.

Luceat lux vestra.