All Hallows Eve reflections

I love Halloween. This year, John and I went to see Shannon and Josh in northern Illinois on Saturday and stayed overnight, which always allows a little more "hanging out" time than a hit-and-run visit. Josh's family (mom & dad, sister & boyfriend, brother & girlfriend) joined us and we all walked about a mile to see the town's annual display of carved pumpkins. Then back to Shannon&Josh's house for potluck and pumpkin carving of our own -- always fun!

Amy and Mason had less fun -- Mason's been getting one cold virus after another, and spent most of Saturday night sleeping only about 45 minutes at a time -- so Amy was pretty beat by the time we got home on Sunday afternoon. And last night we were all up from about midnight until 2:30 because the little guy woke up screaming, wheezing, crouping, and vomiting.

As I attempted to fall back to sleep, I was reminded of my friend Julie Ann's earlier comment that the veil between the two worlds is thinnest on Halloween ... and I believe I experienced my very first inkling of any "communication" from my mom since she died a year and a half ago.

I was dead tired by the time I finally hit the pillow, but I couldn't get to sleep, so I found myself marveling at how all 3 of us had taken our roles to work as a team in our little crisis; me taking Mason from Amy (covered in vomit) so she could talk to the phone nurse without him wailing in their ears, John helping me get Mason out of his pajamas and handing me wet washcloths, then cleaning up the floor and sink while I cradled and comforted the diapered baby.

I was wondering whether Amy had found it helpful or irritating that I was humming and singing almost constantly (it seemed to calm him, and he often sang along) as we attended to Mason -- cleaning him up, turning the bathroom into a steam room to see if it helped his breathing (it did), and waiting for an hour before he could have anything to drink again (to see if he had a stomach virus, as well).

Upon reflection as I lay in bed, I found myself thinking, calmly, surely, "I am a GOOD grandma." And, further reflecting, I thought, "I am a GOOD MOM."

Anyone who knows me understands how revolutionary this is -- I am always doubting myself, especially in those roles. This was such a flood of certainty, accompanied by an undefinable, indescribable flow of *something* that I can only say seemed to give an impression of my mother ... the mom I grew up loving and adoring and spent most of my adult life missing ... and I found myself teary.

My mother's most significant gift to me was her absence from my life, which allowed me the space to become the good mom and the good grandma that I have grown to be. I am also very grateful for the perspective that allows me to finally, unreservedly, acknowledge these accomplishments.

My True Inheritance and My Legacy

I'm convinced that, no matter the circumstances, losing our mothers is never easy. If she was ideal (who is?!?!), we mourn the loss of that relationship; if she was less than ideal, we mourn the loss of that which was supportive and the hope of ever filling the gap left by that which never quite met our needs. In the end, we all just do what we can, as daughters and as mothers, and hope it might be enough, I guess.

I am so grateful for the circles of women I have been a part of, all these years. Without that deep sharing of all the separate stories that have intertwined in my heart and mind -- I'm certain I could NOT have unraveled and resolved as much of my "mother-stuff" as I have over the years. There is a tendency in my family of origin to BURY things rather than to resolve them; I have had mentors and role models who have helped me to shun that tendency, to bring feelings and fears out into the light, to take a stand for what is good and feels right for me and my immediate family, and who have supported me every step of the way. For all of you -- I am grateful to my core.

Thank you for your amazing, thoughtful, insightful and very helpful responses.

You hit the nail right on the head: I did lose my mother -- if I ever "had" her -- long, long ago. I have been trying not to judge my own heart connection, all these years yearning for the affection of a woman who could be so mean and selfish ... not just "in the end," but apparently -- if I'd let myself acknowledge the truth -- throughout her life and mine. But I wanted to believe that the mean and selfish things were not really her choices, but the influence of others ... my dad, my sister, my brother. Intellectually, for most of my life, I have known and acknowledged that even if they WERE influences, it was still HER decision to allow them to shape her interactions with me and others in the world outside the "safety zone" she fashioned for herself, where her mythology of victimhood could survive. Part of me always wanted to believe that "if only" I could sit and talk and spend time with her -- away from them --then I could set her free to enjoy the world of beauty *and* truth that I have perceived. But the prisoner didn't want to leave -- she was her own warden.

You are also so very correct that I am stronger *because* of the things I have experienced. I'm also a better mom because of what my own mother did and did not choose to do or to be. Difficult as that road has been, I am grateful; I take very little for granted when it comes to love and mothering and family.

And, again ... speaking of family ... you are again on target with the observation that family is more than biology. I am grateful for the spiritual family I've been blessed with, including all the sisters and all the circles!

Now that it's all over, and I've had some time to adjust to the idea that my IDEAL of Erika apparently was no where near the REALITY of her -- I'm sad, but also relieved I didn't get what I wanted so badly all these years: to be back in relationship with her. Because, to be honest about who she really was ... NOT having her in my life allowed me to nurture and grow within mySELF those traits I cherished about her:

• joy,
  
• play,
  
• childlike delight and awe,
• appreciation of beauty and music and art and creativity,
  
• a sense of adventure and culture,
  
• being strong and knowledgeable about medical and legal issues,
  
• seeing the bright side of things

-- without having those ideals clouded and diminished by her other strong character traits of pettiness and self-interest, and neediness and small-mindedness that (sigh) were truly a reality.



I'm looking outside at our new little quaking aspen and I am reminded that there is so much beauty in the world, so much to be excited about, and how much I am loved. When our tree was planted on Wednesday, I couldn't contain my delight. John said, "so ... another wish come true! I'll be running out of them soon!" I told him that the only other wish I need him to fulfill for me is to stay with me the rest of my life.

Life is good. The rest is just plot, setting, characters ...

My Inheritance

Yesterday, I got an envelope addressed by my sister, with my mother's initials as the return address. Inside were 4 items:

1. A printed card with a quote: "There is only one happiness in life, to love and be loved."

2. A printed slip of paper with some prayer ... I think it said something about St. Francis ... which was wrapped around

3. A one-dollar bill, folded twice

4. A two-sided photocopy (same on both sides), cut top and bottom with pinking shears. The text is in my mother's handwriting, and says, roughly "To my other children [and she names four of us], they have made their choice for their life, and for my life, and so I leave them each a token of $1.00 to make it legal. My mother-love is undying, and lives on for my children, my grandchildren and my great-grandchildren. Like the sunshine and the black velvet of night, it surrounds you and each raindrop that touches your skin is a kiss from me. God bless you all, Your mother"


And all I could think was -- huh. I'm glad I didn't make the effort to go see her. Apparently, she died as self-absorbed and self-centered as she lived ... which would explain why she didn't make any effort to close the gap between us (despite my efforts for the first many years).



And then I thought: what a mean and spiteful way to leave things. Petty, and mean, and spiteful ... and totally unnecessary.



And sad.



I'm okay ... I'm just mulling.



And hoping with all my heart that I inherited none of her pettiness (I have) or meanness (I have) or spitefulness (I have).



And, in the absence of any hope that I escaped that inheritance, I am relieved that I am certain I also have a sense of deep connection with those I love, a fierce protectiveness that would subordinate my own self-interest for the safety and security of my loved ones, and empathy and compassion, which my mother apparently completely lacked.



I will be working on mindfulness -- carefully extracting and mindfully highlighting for myself those characteristics I cherish about myself that may have had roots in my relationship with my mother. I need to separate the gems from the slag ... but right now it all just seems... very ... sad. And distant. Like it's not mine. Except to examine. Later.

Dear Mom

In the mirror
I see flashes of you.
You were young, once,
And beautiful.
Then you were my age.
At thirty-eight
You already had six children.





In the mirror
I see flashes of you
When the sun strikes
My made-up face
And shadows the lines,
The pores,
The pouches of extra flesh
Dragging my face
Toward the earth.





In the mirror
I see flashes of you.
I am aging, mother.
And you won't see me.

March 25, 1996
from journal entry dated January 26, 1995

My Grandfather

Curt Albert Walter
had almost no hair.
And almost no genius.
Except the ability
to make a comfortable living
as a banker
and to remain gentle
amidst the war.
And to choose a wife
of exceedingly strong will and character
to lead them to safety
through the mud
and winter cold
and danger zones.



January, 1996

My Mother

Marriage

to a man who placed her
on a pedestal --
in a glass box
whose key only he possessed --
must have seemed to her
a haven
a place with thorns among the roses
and only a small price to pay
compared to
fearing for her life in Nazi Germany
where her mother's mysterious heritage
COULD have been construed as "undesirable"
and the whole family whisked away
like so many others ...

Or compared to
running away from the advancing Russian army
on foot
across Czechoslovakia
where German citizenship put her at risk,
a despised refugee ....

In a world, formerly comfortable
and privileged,
now torn by guns
and bombs
and hate ... a world of fear,
mortal danger,
deprivation, scarcity, and
uncertainty,

perhaps

the fact that her rescuer
was also her jailer
seemed only a small price to pay
for security.



January 11, 1996
from journal entry dated October 31, 1995

"I'm melting ...."

Well, I'm not made of stone, after all. I'm crying for the loss of hope that my mom will ever be "my mom" again ... since she died this morning ... without ever really wanting to speak with me again.

As I have expressed elsewhere, I feel as if a door I have been trying to push open for 22 years has suddenly been removed. Not opened, just gone.

Grief sucks, but it paves the way for truly moving on.

indomitable

So ... I was thinking about how "down" I've been today. And that reminded me of my favorite Garfield cartoon of all time, so I put in some keywords and found a reference to it in Wikipedia ("early 80's" they said). Then, I found a reference to a Garfield archive someone put online. I cannot believe it took me less than a half hour to find it. I can't believe I spent a half hour finding it. I can't believe I found it! And I can't believe how it cheered me up to look for and find it.

Sometimes, my spirit is indomitable. And sometimes the answer to "who cares?" is to change what I care ABOUT.

So here's my cartoon. To give credit where credit is due, I found it in this online archive. And I am very grateful for the refocus of my energies!

P.S. - it was published in October, 1983. My second-favorite Garfield cartoon references a chocolate chip cookie. I'll have to find that one, next!

Sometimes the question is "who cares?"

Emotionally exhausted.

Replenishing our Oxygen -- and adding some fun to our front yard!

We decided that we need to plant something in the maple's place -- it's already been a few years since one of the mature American Maples in our front yard choked itself to death (the roots were left wrapped around themselves when it was planted), and it's time we planted SOMEthing. If it's going to happen THIS year, it needs to be at the beginning of the growing season, so the tree has all summer to establish itself, and will weather the winter okay.

We started out looking at Japanese Maples; John really likes them, and I think they're pretty. But they want filtered sun, and they don't handle the wind well. Wind might not be a problem here, but the sun in our front yard isn't going to be filtered.

We saw some nice Magnolia trees (not what people around here call "tulip trees" -- real magnolias) -- but I'm just not sure how hardy it would be here in Wisconsin. I've never seen one blooming, which means either they're not popular here -or- they don't survive. At $130, that's not a chance I want to take, I guess.

We looked at a Newport Plum, with nice red leaves, but the leaves aren't very big -- it's more of an ornamental than a real tree.

We looked at a Honey Crisp apple tree -- it appeals to me to actually have a fruit tree with a crop ... but I'm not sure how much upkeep (spraying, pruning, rotting fruit if you don't harvest in time) it might need. We might think about that for the back yard, though. It still appeals to me. One problem with an apple tree in the front yard is I don't think it would be quite what we're going for.

So we looked and looked, and then we remembered that we had talked about Quaking Aspen. I love the shape of its leaves; I love how it looks shimmering in the breeze; I love how it sounds. Just for fun, we went to look at them ... and John remembered HE likes them, too. We looked at what they had at Minor's Garden center (Kathe recommends for good trees and shrubs, and it's guaranteed for a year). Tromped around for a good 2 hours, looking at different sizes in different locations. We narrowed it down to 3, then went looking for a shrub to put on the side of the garage ... then went to check out the 3 trees again. On the way, I saw MORE of the quaking aspens, which we hadn't yet seen. We found a really nice one, compared it to the 3 we'd set aside, and settled on the last one we spotted. Paid for it today, and delivery / planting by the experts. It should happen in the next 2-3 weeks, they say.

I'm so excited! Looking at other trees as we made our way home, I could only think "you are NOT a quaking aspen! Ha!" about all the poor trees stiffly swaying in the wind. Coming toward our house from LaSalle, I could imagine what it's going to look like to see it shimmering in our front yard, quivering with excitement that we're coming home. I'm so excited!

It will grow, ultimately, to between 30-50' tall, with a spread of 20-30' wide. And, I could be wrong, but I think it's a NATIVE!

Just wanted to share our excitement.....

Encouraging

What are the important things I need to do in my life?

Okay, that's a tall order. But I was just feeling melancholy that I don't see some people I love often enough ... and it occurred to me that we currently spend a lot of money to go to a summer camp each year -- where we see people we have come to care deeply for and certainly love. But maybe we ought to make time and money and put that effort into an annual or bi-annual trip to the west coast to see people we love, as well. Washington, Sacramento, Mill Valley ... little pieces of my heart live in each of these places, and I'm realizing I have the power to do something about following them more frequently than we have been doing in the past.

Likewise, and with much less cost and travel time, we could make annual visits to Tomahawk, Rhinelander, Green Bay, Homewood (?), and Merrill (?) -- my goodness, I'm not even certain of the town names of some of the places in closer proximity to us.

Okay -- it's a matter of making it happen!

Focused

Four days ago, it said I'd reach my goal in mid-March 2010. Thumbs up!

"Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom."
-- Viktor Frankl

1974, age 17

1978, age 21

1982, age 26

Age 10, 5th grade

Sophomore year of high school, 15 years old

Age 15

Age 16

Definitely not thin during this period. I wonder whether it has anything to do with the fact that our family had a little bit more money during this period of time.

Why did I grow up thinking I was fat?

Pictures from my mother

My sister called me Saturday to tell me that my mother, who is now 86, has been moved to the terminal wing of the hospital. Today, a greeting card box full of pictures arrived in the mail. The earliest pictures were taken shortly after my birth in 1956 and the latest were taken shortly after my daughter was born in 1986.

I last spoke with my mother in August, 1988. Since then, she has declined all my efforts to see her or speak with her. That hurt more than I can begin to express in words.

I hope she gets better and lives happily until she is 92, as did her mother. If she doesn't, I hope her passing will be peaceful.

I wish I could say I will miss her ... but I've already missed having a mother for over 20 years, now.

I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel at this point. I just don't know.

Smogasbord vs. Focus

Well here I am on the smorgasbord again. Not holding a single question, but exploring on several fronts. Sigh.

I started last week writing Morning Pages again (3 pages, longhand, first thing in the morning; doesn't matter what you write, only *that* you write) and began Week 1 of Julia Cameron's Walking in this World on Tuesday. Wrote Morning Pages 4 out of 5 days; took a longer-than-prescribed walk today with John, Shannon, and Amy; and need to plan my Artist Date to happen before next Tuesday. Might be best if I do it yet this afternoon, I think!

Aha! I didn't go anywhere Sunday afternoon, but I *did* realize I'd already done an Artist's Date in the first week: I went to Ace Hardware and shopped around for essentials to give Lauren in her high school graduation gift of a basic toolbox to take to college. Yea!

Visual Food Diary Study: How About THAT?!?!

I just received a tip from the RealAge.com people that says a study shows when people snap a picture of what they eat, they make better choices ... which is just what *I* was saying!

How 'bout that!!?!?

If you would like to read the article, please click this link to take you to the RealAge tip.