A Tale From the Other Side
TRIGGER WARNING: This post is about grief and loss.
Have you ever seen the movie, Kung Fu Panda? I “heart” that movie. I think its adorable. SPOILERS AHEAD: Master Oogway tops my list of favorite characters. He is the embodiment of wisdom and peace that can only frustrate one prompted to “act” rather than “observe”. Not too far into the movie, that person was revealed as Master Oogway’s assistant… deputy… co-leader, idk. His name is Shifu. Shifu learns a bunch of stuff that freaks him out and he decides to hatch a plan to avoid a potential outcome. Oogway, in all his unbothered turtle glory, answers Shifu’s crisis alert with, “One often meets his destiny on the road he takes to avoid it.” This quote came to me on Sunday after I allowed myself cry. Sunday was Mother’s Day.
Somewhere, mid-April, it came to my awareness that May was coming. It didn’t leave a totally happy vibe; but since I lacked context for the odd mix in the moment, I let it pass. May is Spring in hyper-drive. May means flowers, sunshine, and more time for music and breezes with trees-es. May means I could finally begin a meaningful countdown to both my vacation and my birthday, no clear reason for anything remotely related to a sad thing.
I believe there is no question a soul can ask for which the Universe will not provide an answer. A part of my soul wanted to account for that dull, yet nagging, feeling of sadness. Sometime after this curiosity arose within me, I came home to find my oldest daughter happily creating on her laptop. She is a loving mother, and talented and gifted in ways that can only grow more beautiful as she does. I may be a bit biased in my opinion, but I stand by it.
I came into the house and greeted my grandbaby with cuddles and what passes for conversation with an 18-month-old. Before my foot hit the stairs, my daughter shares, “Hey Mom! Wanna see what I’m making you for Mother’s Day? Oh yeah, when is Mother’s Day?” I responded almost reflexively, “The 2nd Sunday in May.” AND THERE IT WAS, a name for my pain. Mother’s Day was in May.
Ordinarily, I’m thrilled when I get answers to my inner questions. This one, however, I was not immediately happy to have. Being able to know and name, specifically, that which ailed me meant that I could no longer enjoy the bliss, however unrecognized at the time, that my prior ignorance granted. Now that I knew I had a “thing” about Mother’s Day, I had to figure it out.
My mom’s been behind the veil for seven years now. I’ve learned since she’s passed to have a plan for the day, some way to distract me from her absence since it can’t be minimized. The past few years, that’s worked out fine. This year, however, not only did my plan and backup plan fall through, but the longing for her was very present this year also. Amidst the offerings and acknowledgements of Happy Mother’s Day from friends, family, and kids, the only thing I wanted was my mommy.
Yeah… that was a super heavy and sad acknowledgment for me. Meditation has allowed me to explore different ways to practice my inner alchemy, the process by which heavy emotions become light in form and weight. I tried everything I knew to do in this healed and evolved version of myself to effect the change I needed and wanted, both for myself and the people around me. I went to worship, meditated, spent time with friends/family. I even took to the porch, my happy place, to try and enjoy the weather – such as it was. Each attempt was met or interrupted with this intrusive emotion I did not want to feel.
The actions weren’t avoidance for comfort’s sake, but because I couldn’t justify the sorrow in the moment. Joy was present in the faces of loved ones, and some even showed empathy or sympathy. Yet, all I could feel was sadness. At some point, I must’ve exhausted myself internally and metaphorically cried “Uncle!” by allowing myself to say the words aloud, “I miss my mom. I really want my mommy.”, and actually cry.
There was no small release of tears in that brief period. It did not need to last any longer than it did. As I let it come, I could let it pass. In resisting it, I only prolonged its presence. When I finished crying, Master Oogway’s prophetic words sounded in my memory, “One often meets his destiny on the road he takes to avoid it.” What I received for my efforts to: not be sad, look on the bright side, or just plain thug it out was additional pain in the forms of frustration and anger towards myself. I became frustrated, angry, disappointed within myself for not being able to keep it together. …for wanting to tuck myself away to avoid infecting happy people with my sadness. … for not being able to just enjoy my kids and their love (I felt ungrateful). The day that began with a small ache now held a paralyzing tangle of emotions that once kept me bound to my bed or room for weeks at a time. I DID NOT WANT TO GO BACK THERE, respectfully.
As the sad lessened and the tears slowed, realization crept in that in trying not to be sad, I was actually harming myself, internalized emotional violence. It’s one thing to politely smile outwardly and tell people, “Thank you. No, I’m fine. Thank you.” It’s another to deny the freedom of my emotions within myself. Grief is expected with loss. It’s a natural emotion. I fully understand that it exists in the spectrum we get to experience in life. It’s only my own pride, shame, stubbornness (and, dare I say, foolishness) that causes me to identify as the exception to R.E.M.’s song, Everybody Hurts. Besides, Jesus wept when his homie died – and knew he was about to bring Lazarus right back. Who am I to not cry because I miss my mom?
Having a plan to deal with anniversaries associated with loved one’s who are beyond our physical touch is a great coping mechanism and can be a part of one’s healing journey. Using this over the years for anniversaries connected to either of my parents has certainly helped. Unfortunately, I haven’t found any one method that’s a hundred percent bullet proof. Something always seeps through a crack regardless of my preparedness – a song on the radio, a social media memory, a salute from a well-intentioned person that says, “Happy Mother’s Day.” Mother’s Day 2022 was a sharp reminder that I also need to leave room for whatever shows up for me. This year I re-learned that “coping” is not necessarily “dealing.” It certainly isn’t feeling, and sometimes that’s the answer.
Feeling the sad, learning what it meant, allowed me to release it. Of course, it’s the times I shared with my mom that I miss, but these days the sadness is more closely related to the things I didn’t get to share with her: my son moving to Connecticut, my youngest daughter beginning to drive, my oldest daughter giving me my first granddaughter. It’s missing my siblings and me finally taking the family vacation we all wanted to so badly but could somehow never pull off when she was here. Damn.
Is it all mothers and daughters that have patches where they just don’t mix… not like oil and water, more like fire and Kerosene? No? Just us? Oh, well. It was those patches that likely got in the way of those fabled television “Mother/Daughter heart-to-heart” discussions. I didn’t get to ask a lot of growing up questions. There’s no need to lament that because, gratefully and mercifully, we found our rhythm. When she left, we were best friends. These days, I have other questions that will perhaps go unanswered, like: Was she as surprised as I am at how fast kids grow up even though it seems a long time coming while they’re young and less capable? How did she transition from parent to coach? What was her spiritual journey like? It had to be one of amazing transformation because the woman that left here contrasted so sharply with the woman I knew as a child and teenager.
As the relationship my mother and I shared healed and blossomed, I let her peep some of my writing from time to time. As mothers tend to do, she gushed. I challenged her biased opinion, but she stood by it. She always wanted me to write a book. Sadly, I never wrote anything for her, specifically, until she passed away; I wish I had. I wrote a poem for her when she passed that I read at her funeral. But if the Universe provides answers to questions the heart asks, then perhaps it also carries back messages the heart holds. If it does, then my mother knows full well that every word I write, every word I share, is fruit grown from the nourishment of her love and encouragement, and her undying belief in my success.
On the other side of the “Sad” I can see how my attempt to pave a road that would lead it away from me really only delayed its arrival, with company no less. From here, I have an expanded definition and understanding of “being” and what it means to be comforted in one’s thoughts. These are gifts that will keep on giving. I can sit with them for a while to see where they might be useful in other areas of my life where I am resistant to “feeling” as a way of “being” or embracing “feeling” as a means to achieve balance.
Now… does this experience mean that next Mother’s Day will come and go with nothing but smiles and joy for me, next year? There’s no way to know what. Also, Father’s Day is a lot closer and there’s that to get through… but I gotta plan, lol.
EPILOGUE:
There are two pictures below. One is a photograph of my mother, Alexis Jean Davis. The other is a graphic design portrait my daughter, Inez, presented to me as a gift. She hit me with it early in the day. Without the preexisting idea that her creative gift for me was somehow connected to my mom, it might’ve been the thing that finally broke the dam. But, like I said, I’m stubborn and to be forewarned, is to be forearmed. More importantly, I’m a mom – and how dare I let my baby think her present made me cry. So, I display it here – the closest I can get to posting it on a refrigerator for everyone to see.
I’ve also included the poem that I wrote for my mother on the Poetry page. You can find it there, or by clicking here.
ALSO… although I will always give Oogway dap for the gem about destiny and roads and avoidance, Google says it’s originator is Jean De LaFontaine - a Frenchman who wrote fables… sounds like family to me.
