On Mom’s 65th birthday, June 9 2021
- How great it would be to stay in this half-dreaming morning state just a bit longer, anything to stop this day from actually starting.
- It’s just a day, right? I’ve gotten through all the other days so far, I can’t build this up too much. It’s just a day.
- Wow, does my whole body ever hurt today.
- I pour a little hot tea into a cup on my altar, in front of a picture of her radiant smile. I wish her a happy birthday and say how very much I love her and my heart feels warm. I hold every detail of how she would react to a birthday wish within me and it makes me smile, maybe even laugh a little bit. Ok, first sweet moment of the day down.
- Yeah, there’s still this distinct pain just radiating off my body, covering every inch of me. It’s ok, it’s not a new feeling. It’s like that most days actually, at least in moments. My heart still feels warm.
- I read a few more of the stories and tributes our loved ones have sent us to mark this day. I look at a few photos we were sent of her playing piano with her trio, and I see her concentration, her wonderful grace. It feels impossible that I won’t ever see her play again. Ok, first sobs of the day down.
- The point is to feel everything, right? To let every feeling enter and move through me, no matter how hard, no matter how intense. Being human as a guest house and all of that. This day might just continue to have a particular onslaught of visitors, and that’s ok. That’s ok.
- I wear one of her dresses today, of course. I can’t remember if she gave it to me directly or I just took it at some point, but she never cared much either way. I think about how very much I hope that I keep on looking like her more and more as I age.
- I walk over midday to spend some time with Dad. We chat about politics and sit around the house like usual. It does sort of have to be just another day.
- The roses are blooming in her garden. They always bloom just around now, around her birthday. I gather some of the petals from the ground, just to have.
- After dinner we all shift into something more intentional. I sort of insist we have to, because I have to, because it seems to be easier if someone insists. Lynn brings out the blueberry crumble she made and I pick some of the roses, arranging them next to photos of Mom. We light a candle that I found in her things upstairs.
- We go around reading some of the stories that people have sent us out loud, with some tears and some laughter. The same words keep on appearing: gentle, wise, kind, caring, curious. I never knew how many people she introduced vegetarianism to; I think she would be surprised by that too. I definitely did know how much people loved her, how naturally she made everyone in her life feel special and cared for. I hope she wouldn’t have been surprised by that.
- I read my current favorite John O’Donahue blessing* and remember the truth of what he writes — that she now dwells inside the rhythm of breath, as close to us as we are to ourselves, and that we must continue to find her in presence, in all that is beautiful and kind. (I’m trying, I promise I’m trying.)
- Wow, it really just sucks that we have to keep moving forward without her. Do we really have to keep moving forward without her? Surely not, that can’t be right. That can’t be real. Why does time just insist on relentlessly moving forward?
- We all say good night, eventually. I walk back home, thinking about presence. The pain doesn’t leave my edges, but neither does the warmth around my heart. I’m ok. It’s just another day.
*On The Death of The Beloved, John O’Donahue
Though we need to weep your loss,
You dwell in that safe place in our hearts,
Where no storm or night or pain can reach you.
Your love was like the dawn
Brightening over our lives
Awakening beneath the dark
A further adventure of colour.
The sound of your voice
Found for us
A new music
That brightened everything.
Whatever you enfolded in your gaze
Quickened in the joy of its being;
You placed smiles like flowers
On the altar of the heart.
Your mind always sparkled
With wonder at things.
Though your days here were brief,
Your spirit was live, awake, complete.
We look towards each other no longer
From the old distance of our names;
Now you dwell inside the rhythm of breath,
As close to us as we are to ourselves.
Though we cannot see you with outward eyes,
We know our soul’s gaze is upon your face,
Smiling back at us from within everything
To which we bring our best refinement.
Let us not look for you only in memory,
Where we would grow lonely without you.
You would want us to find you in presence,
Beside us when beauty brightens,
When kindness glows
And music echoes eternal tones.
When orchids brighten the earth,
Darkest winter has turned to spring;
May this dark grief flower with hope
In every heart that loves you.
May you continue to inspire us:
To enter each day with a generous heart.
To serve the call of courage and love
Until we see your beautiful face again
In that land where there is no more separation,
Where all tears will be wiped from our mind,
And where we will never lose you again.