Day 54: Reflection

I've found myself in a state of deep reflection lately. I have mentioned to a few people that I feel a transformation happening inside of me. It's not something I asked for. I wasn't looking for it. I didn't feel like I needed a big transformation. But it's happening. And perhaps it's exactly what I need. But I anticipate it won't be a quick transformation and that there will be a lot of learning to do in the process.

As I mentioned a while back, I had purchased a couple of books about Mother loss. The first couple didn't really do anything for me. They were okay, but nothing special. But a friend recently recommended the book "Being with Dying", by Joan Halifax to me so I purchased it off of Amazon.com. As Amazon always does, it gave me other recommendations based on that title. One of them was "Grieving the Death of a Mother" by Harold Ivan Smith. Based on the reviews, I decided to order that too. That turned out to be the book that came first and I started reading it right away. I found it hard to put down. It was exactly what I had been looking for. There are so many good things in this book and I'm sure I'll share a lot of it down the road, but one of the things that really stuck out to me was a quote by Patti LaBelle that said, "A girl never really becomes a woman until she loses her mother." And that's the transformation I feel like is happening to me.

I find myself making my decisions differently. I suddenly "feel" like the mom. Maybe it's because my mom and I are switching rolls and I'm beginning to actually mother her. Or maybe it's just that I know she's never going to be able to mother me anymore and I'm having to buck it up. Or if it's just simply the idea that when my mom dies, I move up a generation...just like that. I realized a while back that I had moved up a generation without really noticing. I was at the funeral of my uncle and watched as my mom and aunts and uncles all sat in front while myself and my cousins all stood and either were holding toddlers or had children next to us. I remembered being one of those kids at funerals of my grandparents' generation. And suddenly it occurred to me that my mom was now part of the grandparent generation. And myself and my brother and all my cousins had moved up in to the parent generation. I don't really know that I can move up to the grandparent generation just yet...but when your mom dies, and you are the only daughter, you somehow become the Matriarch in the family. And somewhere, part of me, is preparing myself for that role.

I've also recently found myself wrapped up in the story of Farrah Fawcett and her battle with cancer that seems to be coming to an end. I saw a quote from Ryan O'Neal today who is preparing to lose her. He said, "It's insidious, cancer. It thinks - it lets you think you're ahead." He went on to explain that for quite a period of time Farrah Fawcett was doing well. She looked good, she was up and about, she was eating. And then about 6 months ago, things turned.

This hit me hard. I feel like that's exactly what's happening with my mom. The cancer is letting us think we're ahead. And I've actually been believing that. Even as this strange transformation is taking place inside of me, a part of me has started to believe that maybe mom could be the one that beats the diagnosis. Maybe she's going to prove them all wrong. If anyone could do that, it would be my mom. But perhaps this is that good period where the cancer is letting us think we're ahead. And that scares me. I look back on the past 54 days and I think of where I was on day 1. I was lost. I was terrified. I couldn't stop crying. Along the way, there have been very down moments...those 5 days I spent driving back and forth while mom was in the hospital were very likely the longest and hardest 5 days of my life. But since then, things have improved so much. I don't find myself randomly breaking down like I did then. I still have my moments, but they are fewer and further between. Mom is doing so much better.

But my brain knows she still has cancer. And she is still dying. And that any day could be the day that the cancer makes it clear that it is still in charge here.

And so I live my life. I buy groceries. I teach childbirth classes. I go to the library. I make beds. I clean bathrooms. I take out the garbage. I join families as they welcome a new baby. I work out. I smile and laugh.

But always in the back of my mind, I hear something that draws me back to the reality of my mom's situation. It is always there. In "Being with Dying", Joan Halifax says, "As death draws near, a dying person may hear a still small voice inviting her to freedom. Sitting with the dying, sitting still in meditation, and sitting at the edge of cultures different from my own, I have also encountered that still small voice. It is there to speak to us all, if we can give it enough silence to be heard." Maybe that's what I hear. Maybe that small voice is preparing me for my mom's freedom. Maybe it is preparing me for what my mom's freedom means to me.

I'm not sure about it all yet. I just know it's there. I am transforming. I knew I would not come out of this the same woman I was when I went into it. But I didn't expect the physical, emotional, and spiritual transformation that is slowly taking place. And there is something out there guiding my way. Is it God? Is it a spirit? Is it the voice of death? I don't know what it is. And I just have to let it be. What I know on some level I don't quite understand is that when that voice is gone, my mom will be gone too. And she will take over for that voice. She will guide me. She will watch over me. And as painful as that thought can be at times...at other times it gives me a sense of peace.

There is still a journey to be walked here. I don't know how long this path is that I am following. I don't know where it leads. I don't know what I'll find at the end. But I know that it will be (and already is) a transforming journey.