My mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s in 2006. She made her final transition last week, after years of inhabiting both this world and the world beyond. This poem is for you Mom:
Daughter of the Mother
I am the daughter of the mother who sees beneath
Raven’s eye shows me the way through
To the other side where down is up
And time can stand still
Until the time is right.
I am the daughter of the mother who sings in my bones
My dad passed away a month ago. He had struggled to hang on and stay here long past the point of misery, so his passing was a relief in many ways. But there are still days when I have images of him in my head all day, and I miss him a lot. And other days I don’t think of him at all. Grief is a strange beast.
This morning I remembered a time many years ago when my dad tried to teach me how to jitterbug. Tried is the operative word here – I never could hold my torso still and get my feet to do what his were doing so perfectly. In my defense, I am not known for my coordination. Besides, I had a glass of wine before the dance instruction began!
Dad loved to tell people the tale of how his Navy buddy taught him to jitterbug. I always loved that story; Dad had joined the Navy at 18 and shipped out to California for basic training just as WWII ended. He went from a tiny town in southern Illinois to suddenly being in the Navy on a ship with hundreds of other guys. I imagine that it was all quite a shock for a young geeky country boy. One of his older shipmates took my dad under his wing. He helped my dad settle in to life in the Navy. And he also taught Dad how to jitterbug so he could impress the ladies.
I love the image of my skinny 18 year old Dad with his baby face, dressed in baggy jeans and a work shirt, dancing the jitterbug with some big beefy guy in the tightly cramped quarters of a battleship! LOL Life truly is stranger than fiction. The dance lessons definitely paid off because 40 years later my dad was still an amazing jitterbugger. 🙂
I miss Dad. I wish I had danced with him more. This morning, as I flashed on images of the handful of times that we danced together, I heard Dad’s voice in my ear. He said, “We’ll dance again.” And I suddenly saw an image of two energies dancing and flowing together and then apart, together and then apart. And as the energies danced, they morphed and changed shape, but I could tell that it was still the energy of Dad and I dancing together.
I think that image of my energy dance with Dad is actually a great lesson about the rhythm of life and death. We are energies that come together to dance on Earth, then part in death. Then we will come together again in a new place and dance a new dance. Over and over, we dance together in one form or another.
Later in the morning, I hike up one of my favorite trails, still thinking about my dad and missing him. I stop on a mesa to rest awhile. As I sit under the pines writing, I am startled by a hawk’s cry above me. I look up and see two hawks soaring and spiraling just above my rocky perch. The hawks appear to be dancing together on the wind. It’s a beautiful dance,.
Another memory surfaces as I watch the hawks; I flash on the image of my dad dancing with my mom. In my memory, they are both in their late sixties and have been together for over 40 years. When they danced together, they were so closely in synch that it was like watching a single body move and flow to the music.
The hawks are gone when I next look up from my writing. But a pair of young deer soon stumble upon me. They freeze for a moment. But when they realize that I wont harm them, they relax and forage for food a few feet behind me. Life dances on all around me.
I love you Dad. And I miss you. I miss your wide open country boy smile. I miss your stories. I just plain miss you! But I know in my heart it was time for you to move on. And I am ok – I know that you and I will dance together again soon.
Last month, I took part in a class called “Getting Naked” that Julia Fehrenbacher offered online. Every day for 40 days, Julia gave us food for thought and creative writing assignments. It was amazing how much I learned about myself just from getting naked every day for 40 days. I highly recommend the class if Julia runs it again.
One of the first Getting Naked assignments that Julia gave us was to log 25 things we were grateful for each and every day. When I first received this assignment, my reaction was, “Ugh – that’s crazy! I don’t have the time or energy to do that!” I come from a family of pessimists; my parents were impressionable little kids during the Depression and never completely got over living on the edge of survival. Eighty years later, gratitude is still not something that flows naturally in my family. But I have been slowly working at getting more optimistic and more grateful. So, on second thought, I decided to try this gratitude log for a few days and see what happened.
Noticing and recording my gratitudes went smoothly for the first few days. It didn’t take very long and I actually enjoyed coming up with a list of things I was grateful for. But then, on about day 5, I hit a wall. I became completely and totally resistant to writing down ANYTHING else that I was grateful for, much less 25 items a day. So, I stopped. I stopped completely. And after a few days, I noticed how crappy my mood was. And how crappy it stayed. I was a complete whiny bitch!
About day 9, after days of no gratitude log and much complaining, a quiet little voice inside me began poking at me insistently. My little voice gently suggested that I focus on gratitude again. But I’m stubborn – very stubborn sometimes. It took my inner knowing 4-5 days to convince me to start logging gratitudes again. But I finally did. And I felt better! I actually felt a lot better every time I sat down and logged 25. So much better that some days I would log 30 or 40 or 50 items in my gratitude log.
And now, even though my Getting Naked class ended a few weeks ago, I continue to log gratitudes for at least a few minutes every day. So what happened? Why would I take the time to do this gratitude log every day? Here’s what I’ve discovered about gratitude; it can completely change how your life goes. Oprah was right. 🙂
I know it sounds trite and silly. And I don’t want you to think that I’m becoming a Pollyanna or anything (Pollyanna’s are definitely not allowed in my family). But focusing on what I’m grateful for softens me up in ways I can’t even put into words. For one thing, this gratitude log gets my mind out of the perpetual worry and whine track that I am so prone to fall into. It also opens my heart to what I love about the world. This one little thing helps my day just plain flow better.
Now when I wake up cranky, I find myself actively looking for something to be grateful for right away; I have learned that if I can “reset” my awareness to gratitude setting, my entire day will shift for the better. What I focus on truly does increase.
Here are a few little things that I’m grateful for today:
Brigit’s hurt paw is healing – no more limp! a wonderful vet in Lyons walking by the river with Brigit again talking with my friend JW yesterday time to write something to write about hummingbirds at the feeder Buffalo ridge outside my window hubby and daughter coming home tonight my spiritual ‘sister’, JP friendly checker at the market in Lyons finding gorgeous organic kale at the market thunder rumbling – a cool rain is approaching seeing the stars last night the lavender bushes in my yard smell of pine in the air every evening it’s still green here in July writing of Celtic mystic Tom Cowan watching my kids grow into adults cycles and rhythms of the seasons my husband David’s voice on the phone my daughter Izze’s laugh my son Henry texting me and telling me what’s up with him granite rocks – I love granite! hot chai in a mug little surprise cottonwood tree that rooted in the garden a sudden mountain rainstorm this afternoon Getting Naked with you
Ahhh, I feel better. It truly is the little things that make the most difference in my life.
My Dad passed last week. And this week I have many memories coming up about him; things he said and did, what I loved about him and also a few things I didn’t like so much. One of my favorite memories is hearing him call me Goldilocks. Goldy or Goldilocks was my Dad’s nickname for me. Even in his last days, when I would visit him, he would look up, smile and say, “It’s Goldy!” when I walked into the room.
I liked being called Goldy. No one except my dad has ever called me that. So, the nickname passes on with my dad, which is a little sad. But I had many years of being called Goldy or Goldilocks, and the name still makes me smile. Goldy actually referred to the golden blonde hair I had as a child. But Dad also used the name because he said, like Goldilocks, I would search and try out new things until I found the one that was “just right”. So true, so true! I still do that. Apparently I was picky and unwilling to settle even as a young girl. 🙂
I still search and push to find that one “just right” thing. I have found amazing houses to live in because of my constant quest for “just right”. And I love finding just the right restaurant, hiking trail, lawn chair or vacation spot. Searching for “just right” also led me to shift careers and try a lot of different jobs until I zeroed in on a profession that truly suits me. And my inner life is so much richer because of all the spiritual traditions I have explored over the years while searching for one that was just right for me.
But searching for “just right” can also be problematic. I have to be careful that my “just right” search doesn’t degenerate into a search for perfection. Yes, there is a difference between perfect and “just right”. Perfect has an obsessive-compulsive energy to it. When I get locked in perfect mode, it feels absolutely necessary to attain perfection. For example, when writing I sometimes get sucked into searching for the perfect word or phrase. And I feel compelled to keep trying and trying long after a reasonable person would quit. I can waste a ton of energy and make myself completely miserable when I fall into perfect mode.
The search for “just right” is more relaxed than perfection – there’s nothing necessary about finding “just right.” In the fairytale Goldilocks could sleep in any of those beds – she just wants to optimize her comfort! So Goldy takes a few extra minutes to try out every bed. There’s nothing OCD about it. “Just right” is about exploring all the options. “Just right” is nice to have, but not necessary.
My Dad is gone now, exploring in other realms. But while he was here with me, he taught me a lot about life and myself. I love that he found my “just right” quest interesting and amusing. Another parent might have turned this personality trait of mine into a problem. But Dad embraced me and my “just right” quirkiness. I love remembering that.
