I planned on trying to mostly ignore Mother’s Day again this year. It’s hard enough some days dealing with the grief of losing Mom. But my lil horoscope app had a different idea.
“Healing comes when you are able to hold grief, love, anger and sadness all in the same container.”
Since my plans of ignoring those feelings are now sunk, I thought I might try and use this outlet as that container and write about each of these emotions today.
Grief:
Really super glad we get to start with the emotion that I understand the least. In fact, let’s come back to it.
Love:
I love my mom. I loved my mom. I know I was loved by my mom. I love the life and support and understanding she gave to me. I love that at the end she was ready and at peace with her next soul’s next step.
I love how she impacted the lives around her. I love that she continually forgave me for my antics, mistakes, mean spirited moments and outright bratty attitude.
Anger:
Now this is in my wheelhouse. I know a lot about anger. Had a short temper more then not in my life. But the anger that erupted in my after my mother died has been the hardest to control. My mother gave her life to others. As a teacher, as a friend, as a mother - she continually gave to others. Sometimes to her own detriment. Far too often, I know she put the needs and comfort of others first.
Yet when it finally came time for her to retire and have some freedom and comfort for herself, cancer took that from her. It was exceedingly cruel of life and proof that karma and god either don’t exist or really suck at their duties.
Sadness:
As kid, a therapist once told my parents that my normal level of happiness was naturally just a bit sadder than everyone else. That me at normal or base status would be sad to most people. I’m not so sure that was a great thing for me to internalize but I did.
If normal me was just a bit below, each death in my life has knocked me down another tenth of a percent or two.
I get sad when I can’t call my mom. I get sad at all the times I didn’t call her when I could. I am sad that she can’t see me doing something I really enjoy as a job again.
It makes me sad she can’t see her grandkids grow and be there for them. I am sad how much my relationship with the kids has deteriorated and sad that I can’t talk to her about it. I’m sad that I believe things would be different if she was still here.
I’m sad every time I hear about someone missing their mother or getting to spend time with her. I’m sad that my faith has eroded to the point that I’m not hopefully of a magically reunion and pretty sure that if that is an option we might be in very different spiritual zip codes.
The sadness hits without warning and while anger might get the blood boiling, the sadness has the greatest impact on me, in the moment and over time.
Grief:
Well shit. Time to try to define this one. I think that is the hardest part of death. I don’t really understand grief. I struggle with it daily and especially during holidays or anniversaries.
I can’t really define it. I value love. I feel anger. I am engulfed in sadness. But grief. Grief feels like an action word, like a verb. I’m still learning how to do grief. To have grief. To experience grief.
I feel like it’s a combination of the other three but somehow unique in and of itself. Yet the app tells me that if I somehow hold all these in a container I can heal. Like Corningware? A ziplock bag? Or does my heart count?
I haven’t really thought of my heart as a vessel or container. And my thoughts and memories are too polluted and chaotic to be something that can contained or be contained.
To me grief is best described as that container itself; that place I hold my love, anger and sadness about losing and remembering my mother. Yet it’s also supposed to be inside.
Maybe it’s like putting Pandora’s box inside Schrödinger’s cat. Chaos wrapped in paradox.
Yeah. That kinda works.
