Letting Go

February 12th, 2008

I thought I was ready to let go, but I guess there is still some work to do. I was visiting with my mom a few nights ago to help her write a letter to family and friends. She wanted to share with them a dream she had and the message she took away from it. As I was looking at her, I caught a glimpse of her previous self. I saw that radiant light that was there before the cancer quickened it. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen that version of my mom. All encompassing glow of what she used to be, what she could still be, but time won’t allow.

I came out of my haze and listened as she described the meaning of her dream. She felt if her loved ones could let go of the fear of separation it would help her to move on. She was ready now. And I thought I was too, but then I saw that light in her, that youthfulness, and it threw everything off. I saw the mom I used to have and still want. I saw the wise grandmother my children could have learned from and made memories with. I saw a warrior woman that our nation so desperately needs. I was fine before I saw that light. I was managing. I had accepted. But now I wasn’t ready to lose it all. I was angry. She is still so young. My grandparents didn’t die till I was in my late teens. My kids will be losing all those years with her. They will have nothing but videos and pictures for me to show them. They won’t have their own stories. I’ll be lucky if my three year old remembers anything, and my three month old most certainly won’t. How could they not know the greatest influence in my life? How could they not know the person who made me?

On my drive home, I put my playlist on and turned the volume all the way up. Something I can only do when the kids aren’t in the car. With each verse, I sang my heart out, cried, shouted, pleaded until I got home. When I pulled up to my garage, I sat there for a minute, wishing I could stay as long as I needed. Allowing myself the time to grieve, but I couldn’t. I had to rush home to nurse my baby. I had to put my feelings on hold for the night.

In the morning, after Clementine left for school, I put my playlist on again. I made it a few years ago after my mom was diagnosed with terminal cancer. I put it on whenever I need to get my emotions out. I had it playing for most of the day. My face was soaked, my eyes were red, my body was tired. I really just wanted to be on a desert island, alone in my thoughts and reveling in nature, but I had a tiny person to take care of. Most of the time I have to wait to fall apart, but today I just held Sadie and sobbed, listening to the music and stealing hugs and kisses from her. Crying till I was too tired to cry anymore.

I woke up the next day feeling more at peace. Like I felt before I saw that light. In her letter, she wanted to reassure everyone that our connection to her will be even stronger from the next world. I don’t know what awaits us after we die, but I hope that part is true. I hope we will always be connected.



17 thoughts on “Letting Go

  1. Beautiful. I can feel your anguish. I know your mother will be stronger again from the next realm. I know we will not lose our connection with her. I know that you will transmit to your children what you have received from your mother. I know they will get all of her through you and from her – surrounded with her love and influence. I know you will be consoled and feel peace. Bless you.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Magic and painful and bewilderingly uplifting. I’m so very sorry for this very long illness that has beset your family. I know parts of your pain. I wish I could take it from you but to see you face it and give words to it feels epic. It gives me a deeper empathy and also hope that when my time to grieve, I too may be able to face it artfully and with a shred of the grace you’ve displayed here and in your life’s work. Love to your family. Love to you.

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  3. Thank you. This is beautiful and heart-breaking all at once. Please let your mother know we’ve been in touch and give her my love. Tell her we were walking near Woodward Academy recently and my daughter asked if we could walk by the house they had over there.

    On Saturday, February 11, 2017, Portraits of My Mother wrote:

    > portraitsofmymother posted: ” I thought I was ready to let go, but I guess > there is still some work to do. I was visiting with my mom a few nights ago > to help her write a letter to family and friends. She wanted to share with > them a dream she had and the message she took away fr” >

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Uff…, woke this morning and first thing I read was this. Cried all the way to and through the shower. Thought about how I spent my recent trip to the U.S., taking kids for a road trip from L.A. to Phoenix > Vegas > S.F. and back to L.A. and didn’t even take the time to visit two very precious souls in this world, your mom and Tom, even though I knew that their ascension was imminent and this would be most likely my last chance to see them and get a glance at their radiant souls which permeate(d) their mortal cage. I thought about how it might be selfish of me to do so since my kids didn’t know them and they expected me to show them a “good” time. Your words helped me understand what “good” times mean. They’re not only those times when we laugh and are happy, but also when we share and sympathize with others through pain, suffering and loss, or are privileged enough to experience it ourselves. I remembered how I held my daughter in my arms when visiting grandma for one last time before she past. Bahiyyih was two years old at the time. Grandma was already too frail to respond or even open her eyes, but seeing her in this state and touching her hand, left a mark on my daughters heart and soul and I know it influenced her life and the way she looked at life from then on. She was contemplating that moment so deeply and many years later when I reminded her of that incident, she said: “Yes, I remember”. It must have had such an impact on her. Hence, for what it’s worth, I plead with you to take your kids to see their grandma as often as they can while they still can, no matter how frail or how close to the gate she might be. They will remember, and if not consciously, unconsciously, and it will define who they are and how they will live their life. I wish I had seized the moment once again that redefines the meaning of a “good” time.

    Lots of love to you and your family! You are all soooooooooo precious and I love you all very much!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you, Martin. I was moved by your reflections. It gives me something to keep in mind when we define a “good” time. We have been visiting with my mom a lot lately. Trying to take advantage while we still can. I hope Clementine will remember some of her sweet moments with her grandma as well. Love to you all ❤


  5. You are both so brave. Your comment on putting your feelings on hold so you can take care of little people is very true to my experience as well. They are a constant source of light in this dark tunnel you have to go through. And they also, as you say, pull out even more sadness and anger at the thought of what could have/should have been. Thank you so much sharing. I wonder, if you would consider sharing some of the songs on your playlist?

    Wishing you and your mom peace

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Wow! I feel every tear. It’s ok. Let it out. The universe hears you, and will rise to comfort you. My prayers for your family are on rotation in our home. Sending you love love love. ❤

    Liked by 1 person

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