Early yesterday afternoon, while driving to visit some friends, I suddenly experienced this incredible sense of lightness—as if a huge weight had been lifted from me, and a feeling of jubilation—the sort one feels when one has won a big prize one didn't expect. I was, for a very brief time, positively giddy, as I searched within myself for the source of what I was feeling. It didn't take long for me to recognize both as feelings that would appropriately come with my mother's death, but I pushed them aside hurriedly; in that moment, they both felt inappropriate as, for all I knew, she was still alive. What I didn't know was that she was already dead.
This morning I was talking with Dawn about calls she was going to make on my behalf to let "friends" know to not call me with any information/details about my mother, and I got an inkling to look at the obits Baltimore Sun online. Presto-magico there it was.
I noticed that in the obit, among the "loving wife of," and "beloved sister-in-law of," and "lifelong friend of" stuff that was written, the reference to me shows up only as "mother of." No happy phrase to describe the quality of our relationship. And while "mother of" is accurate, it was simply stark to see it. I realized that if the obit writer (my aunt Kay, I'm assuming) had called to ask how I would have wanted our relationship memorialized, I don't think I could have come up with anything suitable. "Missing mother of," or "abusive mother of," or "narcissistic mother of," simply wouldn't have made anyone happy—including me. So characterizing her as the vessel that gave me life is really ok. And stark.
The viewing is on Wednesday; the funeral Thursday morning. Both are going to happen less than a mile from my home. I'm sure there's no coincidence that I'd already planned to be about 100 miles away visiting LE. Being nearby would be energetically difficult for me--I don't know why I know that, but I do.
But back to the sense of lightness and jubilation I felt yesterday. I feel quite certain that that was the Universe sending me a message about her death (albeit some hours after the fact). I'm just way too new at all this intuition stuff to have recognized it for what it was. And I'm sad, too, now that I can see it clearly, that I shut it up and pushed it away. I'm sure it was an experience I would have liked to have had, and deserved to have.
JC did tell me that I'm not to try to control my intuition or the messages that come with it. Instead, I'm to accept it all—as is—without judgment. My not being able to do that cost me something, I'm sure. My sense, though, is that the lightness and jubilation are real, and I'll be dancing with them both, soon enough, and then often. And I look so very much forward to that.
For now, this is done. Her demons are finished, as are the possibilities for good and for wretched—for both of us. Now is the time for me to put all of it, including my wounds, aside, and see what the next part of this journey brings me. I wish her only peace. I wish myself that—but also love, and happiness, and incredible growth, and the ability to finally become fully and wholly me.
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*Photo taken of my parents at my wedding to D--October, 1990. This is how I most/best remember my mother. I don't think I'd ever before, or after, seen her look so serene.
I wish I could say that I knew nothing of your pain, or rather, your sense of jubilation. But I do.
The more distance that I get, the more that I realize that my growth has only recently started to really and truly happen.
Stacy, I prayed last week that my mother would die.
Last night, all night long, I had a dream about her passing. With her death came an unearthing of secrets that I never knew.
I know there is so much that I don't know, that she has never shared with me.
Somehow, I knew you would understand my pain. Somehow.
Thank you for being so honest. I would have never been able to admit the resentment that I have for the mother that I will never have.
Posted by: Mia | 02/26/2008 at 08:04 AM