I’m trying not to get buried in this year starting off seemingly funky, as if any flow has disappeared and nothing is quit working right: getting caught in Summit County or Maddie being sick in Copper or D not coming up at all. I’m trying to see the bright side of barriers and the value in finding solutions and contentment in the moment. I’m collecting good moments, like the panoramic view of a lake from above as twilight sets in over the mountains, none of which I would have ever seen if we hadn’t got stuck.
Getting sick this week and not being able to visit my mom sooner, when we finally moved her into hospice last Friday, felt a little unnerving. Today I will go set my eyes on her and assess if now is actually the end of times I have been anticipating the last three years.
This year had already begun to feel like I’d be clearing out old brush to make way for new things to grow. I’ve also committed to embracing my mistakes, not to batter myself over wrong choices but rather to note and learn from them with a sense of grace I never could have mustered before.
For some reason, I’ve grown highly aware of all the versions of me that have existed like ripples through my lifetime. Not only the ones streaming farther away from me now as I grow older but also the ones left to come through me.
I’m finding an unfamiliar amount of joy and kindness for myself. As I near the end of my mother’s life, I’m surprised at how detached I am to her final days and my lack of compulsion to be highly involved in her caregiving.
The oddest part though, is a missing sense of duty to be perfect in her final moments. It’s as if I’ve already taken the helm of my life and the distinct letdown of loosing a parent to death happened long ago. It’s been a long time since her expectations weighed on me in a way that felt heavy and harsh. Rather, I will show up when I can and say goodbye, sending my mother off with the peace and love that I discovered in the strange last chapter of her life.
I am oddly even about the whole thing. Jan. 24, 24 = 48. I wonder what does it mean? I turn it over like a game to keep my mind occupied for a minute from the grief and relief headed my way. It’s the littlest of signs I’m holding on to these days. It’s also this very moment that I’m committed to, to being truthful and honest in it; and perhaps most importantly, less fearful in how I show up.