Begin it Now!
Mere mention of the word, grief, and most of us cringe. It's a topic to be avoided at all costs and I mean all costs. The initial inclination is to argue with the idea that "no, I have not argued with this thought of grieving." and yet, we find solace in statements like "the truth of the matter is that no two people grieve the same way; therefore, you really cannot tell a person (that person being me) how to grieve." Others say, "there is no time limit on grief, so let me be, and stop telling me how to do something that is personal (that I am resistant to) and individual (a pain that you don't share) in nature." I wish there were a better way to address this, but there is not. There is a deeper truth that resonates within me, and most people don't like it....no two people are the same; yes, we are snowflakes; however (however comma), all snowflakes melt. This is common to man and it is called grief.
Here we are, in the midst of Mother's Day week, or shall I say the week between National Bereavement Day for those who are now motherless and Mother's Day. When I was informed that we'd created a national day for motherless children to celebrate their absent (meaning deceased) mother's, on the Sunday before the Sunday in which we celebrate Mother's Day, I thought, well isn't that clever. And then, I said not really...it is just a grief stricken response to a major loss and a demonstration of the cycle of grief (in action), namely, the bargaining phase.
Please, do not misunderstand my truth, I am one of those motherless daughter's that half cringe and cry, as this day approaches. Only half-cringe because I determined long ago that my daughter's deserve an emotionally available mother, living and building a legacy of love and celebrating the life we have together. I too thought it cruel, initially, that I had to live through this dreaded season without my mother on Mother's day. But, further examination made me realize that my daughter's deserve the memories, that I cry about.
It has taken, extra-terrestrial strength to get through my pain and unbearable grief regarding this loss. I have waylaid my sorrows by understanding better the days of joy and celebration that I did have with my mother. I lament that I have taken time to lick my wounds and sometimes deprive my children of mother-daughter bonding because I do miss my mom and just avoid the sorrow, some days. And, yet I remember that grieving is a process of liberation. Or shall a say a process that leads to emotional freedom, hope, joy and love. Processing my grief allows me to accept that the death of a parent might be one of the most unfair truths that I will ever endure. While, simultaneously realizing that I was built for this and because of this loss, I understand the importance of loving my children while I am alive.
I write this blog with the heartfelt desire to connect with those who have allowed their wounds to embitter them and dampen their ability to celebrate love. Yup, this all boils down to and reduces to the practice of love. I hate to hear people excuse themselves from the pain they cause others because they fail to take responsibility for their sorrow. By calling our pain anything but grief, we give ourselves permission to be cruel, belligerent, and flippant in the name of martyrdom. Failing to honor our daughter's and the other women in our lives that love us and mother us. My pain is no excuse to dishonor those who have survived with us. I am an orphan. I have neither parent, and yet I seek to be joyful and loving toward those mothers that love me. Nope, there will never be another woman on this planet that could be who my mother was in my life. Yet, I am humbled by the women who would dare to love me anyway, as their daughter. and, let us not forget those women who honor me by willingly sharing me with my daughters. Calling on me, leaning on me and loving on me, as their mother. These women may have mother's that are passed or mother's who simply do not have the capacity to emotionally support them. And yet, they willingly share their vulnerability, letting me into their hearts.
You see, a mother observes and sees what other people don't see. A mother speaks on intimate thoughts and feelings, even when it's intrusive but walks the fine line of not being smothering. A mother's love reaches into the secret place and takes risks, but only for the sake of healing. My mother saw my truth and challenged me to take responsibility for my part. She never did this for the sake of being right or for the badge of knowing better than I did. My mother was strong willed and stubborn regarding me because she saw my best and wanted me to live into that truth. When there are women that show up for me and love me, giving me their best because they recognize mine, I honor them by calling them Mother with their name. I dedicate this to my mother's...Mother Sandra, Mother Patricia, Mother Debbie, Mother Zita, Mother Cynthia and Mother/Auntie/Nanny Day......for each of you have mothered me in the absence of my own. This is a gift, even in my grief, that I shall always remember.
With Love,
Alva K
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