On mothering

It never occured to me that perhaps I need to mother myself. I know that I take care of myself, but being mothered is different than being taken care of. I've always thought: "I had a mother and she mothered me so I don't need to look to anyone else for mothering." But maybe she didn't mother me quite the way I needed to be mothered. She was a great mother in lots of ways, but perhaps not completely in the ways each of her children needed and this isn't her fault. I do not blame her and will never hold it against her. Sometimes I feel like I need to defend her still.

And I dreamt about her last night. I was talking to her. And then this morning my daughter said she saw me talking to "grandma." I clarified that it was my mother and she said yes.

And then I asked my daughter if she was ready to eat breakfast.

That's the way things work sometimes. Life goes on.

Making room

I sit in my daughter's future room and the amount of happiness that I have at the possibilities of our future fills my heart. 

Right now, however, the baby's “room” is a mess. There's a transition happening. The room has been my home office/craft/gift-wrapping/creative space for the past 2 years. It is underused and, honestly, the room's primary purpose has been to conceal my clutter – random craft materials, electronics, mail, documents, records and old bills. When I'm in this room, I look past my belongings and imagine the little girl who will spend her nights dreaming in this space. 

I so treasured the mother/daughter time I spent with my mom while she was alive. I honestly never thought I'd experience it again. That's not to say I didn't think it was possible, I just didn't think about the possibility of being in a mother/daughter relationship again in a tangible sense. Motherhood, not to mention having a daughter, was not something I dared to daydream about so freely. In no way do I want to put any expectations on an innocent little girl who is now only a pound and a half inside my belly - the weight would be unfair - but the thought of her and I just spending time together mends my heart in a way that is inexplicable. It touches my core and makes my heart full.

Presently our daughter's room is in my womb. It's safe in there and she's protected. Two hearts inside my body right now - a miracle that I don't dare take for granted. 

This little girl has got a few more months to grow inside of her room. I've got a few more months to organize her room on the outside.  We both have some more time to prepare for this whole new world. The room will be ready.  

Dreams

I often dream about my mother and sometimes she tells me about things on the other side. I don't know if they are real and I don't know if what she tells me in these dreams is true.

Dreaming "about" my mother are different from dreams when I feel (or think) that she is communicating directly to me. When she's really "in" my dreams, I hear a voice and/or have a feeling.

Side note: I know this may sound rather odd or ridiculous to some, but for those who are open and who understand, I am talking to you. I am talking to those who are open to the concept of there being something bigger.

In life, I loved being in bed with my mom. We would lay in bed and talk or watch TV. I liked sleeping next to her. I really miss that and I dream about her being in a bed a lot of the time.

In my dream last night, her body was in her bed, but we knew she was dead. My litle brother and I would go in her room and lay next to her and talk to her. We would tiptoe so as not to "wake her up." We knew it was weird and pointless, but we did it anyway. It was comforting because her body was not cold and we could pretend she was only asleep.

After two years of living like this, we knew that we had to bury her. We had to let go.

So we called the funeral home and told them we were ready. She had already been embalmed, so it shouldn't take too long, we assured them. My brother and I laughed because we had been going to the cementary all this time to "visit" her, but she had been with us all along.

Right before it was time for her to go, my brother and I went into her room and she suddenly started talking to us. She described where she was now and how things were where she was. She said her name(or someone else's name?) was Esther with a 'K'. She asked, "Isn't that strange?"

And then I opened my eyes.

2 years later . . .

From Facebook:

Two years ago today, my mother passed away. With every life change comes the constant reminder that she is not here. I am so lucky to have been raised by such a beautiful soul for the first 27 years of my life. When she was sick and nearing the end, one of the thoughts that kept passing through my mind was: "No, not yet, Mom. I'm just starting to really become a 'real' woman. I'm just starting to really grow up. I want you to be here for everything." Mothers can see things that you cannot see. I could not always see all that life had in store for me such as getting married, having kids, etc. From childhood to adulthood, she would remind me of all the great things ahead for me in life - long before I had any clue. When she was fighting cancer, and in a certain drug daze, she said, "I can't wait to babysit your children." And I felt ashamed because I knew she probably wouldn't be around to do that. Yesterday, one of my best friends had a baby and this weekend I’m throwing a bridal shower for another best friend. I’m overjoyed for both and excited that I get to experience this happiness with them. Life always goes on and these happy experiences are what it is all about. Life is beautiful, crazy, painful, blissful and magnificent. What I mean to say is, I am not alone and although a big piece of my heart will always be broken, my heart is still very full. Celebrate life today and always. 

Getting this out made me feel so much better. Namaste.

7.20.2011 (Not today.)

A year ago today, at around 8am in the morning, my mother’s heart stopped for the first time. It took five minutes to resuscitate her.

I was not in the room, but my aunt and oldest brother were. (By that time, we elected to have at least one family member in the hospital room with my mother at all times.)

The screaming phone call I received from my aunt that morning is not something I can ever forget. My aunt’s screaming, the beeping, the chaos. I did not know what was going on. She said nothing but: “Adrienne! Come! Come! Come!”

The panicked feeling and the thoughts, “No, Mom, not yet! Please don’t go! You can’t go! No, no, no, no!”

My boyfriend and I rushing to the hospital. Me screaming when he stopped at a red light when there were no cars around. “Go, go, gooooo! Don’t stop! Who fucking cares?!?!? I have to get to the hospital!”

We get there and we are greeted by my older brother who has just arrived. My younger brother arrives at the same time. My older brother does not tell us what is going on exactly. He just hugs us both.

We go up to a different floor than the one I remember my mother being on the night before when I said goodbye. 

We walk down the long hospital hallway. At the end, I see a woman who is not a nurse, she is the hospital minister. She says “hello” and shakes my hand. We are escorted to a room where there is no hospital bed and there is no Mom, just ugly hospital “sofas” and “chairs.”

“No!!!!!” I shake my head and collapse inward. I do not know who supports me from falling completely out. I think it is one of my brothers, but I am not sure. I close my eyes and I say, “Nononononono!”

My aunt is inconsolable. Everyone is supporting or screaming.

Then, I am seated on an ugly chair and I am calm. My eyes are closed and I say, “It’s okay. She’s okay. It’s okay.” I felt my mother. She was telling me that she was okay and to calm down. It’s all right. I consoled my aunt. I don’t remember what anyone else said, but once we were all together, we went upstairs and into the Cardiac Care Unit where my beautiful mother was hooked up to life support. Tubes everywhere, machines everywhere. Soothing music. I touched her hands. I kissed her. I prayed. I loved.

Later that day, my oldest brother and his fiancé said their vows in the room with her. My grandmother performed the ceremony. My mother's eyes, seemingly unable to track, did look up at my brother and his wife as they kissed. The wedding was scheduled for July 30^th, 2011, 10 days later. I hoped my mom would make it.

9 days later, her heart stopped forever.

On Mother's Day

This will be the first Mother’s Day without my mom. Last year was the last Mother’s Day I had with her and I think somehow I knew it would be. When your mother is very ill and battling an aggressive stage IV breast cancer, it is easy to know such things.

I am at the age now where a lot of my peers (Facebook friends?) are becoming mothers. Amongst my closest friends, however, motherhood is still something that we have yet to experience. Despite this, over the past couple of years I’ve begun to feel like I should be a mother. (Although, to be fair, being wished a “Happy Mother’s Day” by strangers at a restaurant and a grocery store might have precipitated that a bit.)

Last Mother’s Day, I remember feeling left out and kind of alienated.

It was much the same feeling that I had during my visits to see my mom in the hospital and going to the Oncology Ward, and later to the Cardiac Care Unit, instead of going to the Maternity Ward like most women my age.  I felt oddly out of place and not where I ever thought I’d be. I felt years ahead of everyone else (losing a mother prematurely will do that to you) and yet left behind. I’d see happy couples and their families enter the elevators with precious bundles, while I would stare blankly at the flashing lit floor numbers in the elevator or offer a sad smile without eye contact.

In the elevator, the thoughts of “where I should be” would race through my head very fast yet clear, but most of my energy was focused on my mother and her health. I did not have time to contemplate my own hypothetical motherhood.  There were bigger battles ahead and there were bigger and more real fish to fry.

Now there is silence because my mother is gone. Those thoughts of “where” are more persistent and gain more of my attention. However, the “where” isn’t motherhood necessarily and it’s not where I “should” be . . .now it’s more where do I want to be.

On Mother’s Day, I want to be with my family and I want to remember my mother. I do not know how I will feel and I may just want to be alone, but I know I will see things more clearly. I will not feel such pressure due to self-inflicted expectations because I will embrace that my journey is different and unique. My timeline will never be like everyone else’s. It never has been and it never should be.

“Truth is by nature self-evident. As soon as you remove the cobwebs of ignorance that surround it, it shines clear. “ - Ghandi

Gravitational Pull

Waning Gibbous Moon, July 16, 2011

“The moon will always be there,” I think as I am driving home from the hospital and gazing at the massive, waning moon. “An anchor for the world. The gravitational pull that keeps us together. How reassuring.”

Then it dawns on me that this isn’t true for eternity. One day this will not be because nothing is guaranteed and nothing is forever. Then I think of my mother in the hospital bed, fighting for her life.

My mother is now made of light.

The gravitational pull, the anchor for my world . . .

Ghosts of Jobs Past: 930 Club, Freelance Writing and Temporary/Part-time Work

Before I handed in my resignation letter at the health publishing company, I started working at 930 Club. I decided to work there because I still had vague aspirations of a career in the music industry, but mostly, I think I just wanted to experience life. The plan was to do freelance writing during the day and to work at 930 Club at night.  After experiencing the misery of my previous job, I wanted to be inspired . . .and to have fun, I guess. I simply wanted to feel alive. Little did I know, I’d be broke and the freelance writing gigs wouldn’t pan out as planned, but, all in all, I’d be insanely happier. I couldn’t imagine things going any other way.

Adrienne as Doorstapher, Box Office Assistant and Barista

I worked at 930 Club (also known as “the Club” or “930”), a popular music venue in Washington, DC, for a little over two years. I can describe what I loved about the place, but unless you’ve worked there, you really won’t get it. I can even try to paint this beautiful picture about how fulfilling and eye-opening this experience was, but you still won’t understand. I think the easiest approach is just telling you what I enjoyed most about my time there:

• I learned the meaning of hard work, long hours and feeling like what I did every night sort of mattered. 
• I worked with a group of people that I liked and respected. 
• I learned how to be tough. 
• I learned how to not really give a fuck about what other people think. I just did my job, just as as we all are just doing our job here on this earth. No one is better or more important than anyone else. 
• I met my boyfriend and learned how to experience true love. (I’m still learning about that every day.)

I started at 930 as security or, as it was called there, "doorstaph" (not a spelling mistake). Everyone has to start as a doorstapher, which adds to the familial feeling that exists there. I checked IDs, I cleaned, I took out the trash, I swept cigarettes off of the pavement and made sure patrons followed the rules. This position was okay for a little while, but I soon grew tired of late nights and babysitting drunken patrons. I wanted to try something new.

About 6 months after I started, I began working in the box office. About 6 months after that, I started working at the coffee bar. My favorite position at the Club was barista because it was the most autonomous and I could hear bands play every night. I also liked chatting with coworkers and patrons as I served them coffee. 

I worked with creative and talented people at 930. I figured out life there. I was exactly where I was supposed to be at 23. 

I said goodbye to this job when I moved to NYC for graduate school.

Adrienne as Freelance Writer

Freelance writing proved to be much harder than I anticipated. I wrote for a few online publications successfully. I sent queries to magazines, but I was never published. I suppose I could have tried harder to make a living as a freelance writer, but I did the best I could have done at the time. I'm proud of every cent that I've earned, but sadly, I could never even fill my gas tank once a month with the money I made writing. All of this leads me to the next section . . .

Adrienne as Temporary/Part-time Employee

From 2007 - 2009, I had the following part-time jobs:

• Office Assistant for Matthew Lesko (Yes, it’s true! I worked for the “Free Money” guy!)
• Gym instructor for children (Soooooo not the right fit for me!)
• Receptionist for an embroidering company (Mindless, but okay. Really loved the people that I worked with!)
• Temp for various companies via an employment company (Treated like an idiot, but a good way to make some fast cash to pay the bills.)
• Marketing/publishing intern for a small self-publisher (Not ideal.)

So, as you can see, I have had many professional experiences. Life with an English degree would have been easier if I had just decided to become a teacher, but I don’t prefer the easy way. Can you tell?

Adrienne as Daughter of Devonia Miles

I cannot write about all of these jobs and different work experiences without acknowledging my mother. Throughout this time, she supported me and she believed in me. She allowed me to live with her while I struggled financially with student loans, car payments, and insurance. She never made me feel like I was doing the wrong thing and she never pressured me to be anyone else. While I am sure she had her own opinions of my aspirations and dreams, she never pushed those opinions on me. She gave me the comfort and support that I needed while I figured things out. I believe she did the right thing because she never broke my spirit. 

People have judged me for living at home during this time, being too dependent on my parents and for not understanding the “real world” by just “getting a job” so I could be on my own. Despite all of the noise, I don’t regret a thing and I consider myself lucky. My parents were/are always there for me . . .unconditionally. No, my mother didn’t force me out of the house or suggest that I grow up, but she didn’t pay for all of my expenses or let me be irresponsible either. I always had a job and I was always striving for something.

For all who have had their opinions and questions, know this: I am extremely independent and I was raised to always make my own decisions. To that, I am eternally thankful. All of this has made it possible for me to walk away from situations that weren’t good for me personally and professionally. 

Yes, I am spoiled. I am spoiled with love and positivity. There are far worse character "flaws" to acquire! In fact, I probably have one or two of 'em.

I’ll live my life how I want and I wish for you to do the same. Life is hard enough without added pressure. Devonia Miles always understood that. Thanks, Mom!

Next up: Queens College and My Last Big Mistake 

A New Start

I’ve had an obviously difficult holiday season, but it has been okay thanks to my amazing family, boyfriend and friends. I am re-adjusting and trying to keep from going insane. A little insanity is okay, I suppose. I am just trying to keep it together somewhat.  I miss my mother deeply and cherish how lucky I was to know her. I continue to be inspired by her everyday. We were very close and although we had our ups and downs, I can say, without a doubt, that we will always stand by one another in love. Even death cannot undo that blessing.

For better or worse, no one can replace your mother. I can never expect anyone to know or love me as deeply and unconditionally as my mother did. She showed such genuine care and even if she didn’t always understand me, she always understood. She tried her best and always did what she believed was right for her children. I believe that she did so until the very end. She wasn’t perfect, but no one is and that is okay.

I struggle with trying to please others. Lord knows that I do not let anyone walk all over me, but I find myself trying to make those around me happy, even if it compromises my own needs. Although I’d like to believe that I truly don’t care what others think about me, I do sometimes. At my core, I just want to be understood and respected. Of course, I want some people to like me, but I’d be a fool if I expected everyone to like me. There are some people who will never like me and there are some people that I will never like. That’s okay. All I can do is be a good person and live my life in such a way that brings me happiness and peace. 

I look forward to this coming year. I am looking forward to finally starting my own successful business. I will go public with it very soon. I am following my dreams and passions. My eyes are opened and life is too short. Stay tuned.

In 2012, I hope to continue healing and growing. I hope to nurture relationships. I hope to say goodbye to anxiety, unhealthy habits and negative thoughts. I hope for prosperity. I hope for good health. I hope for clarity and acceptance. I hope to continue to love and be loved. I hope to write, write, write! 

Oh yeah, and I hope to lose 10 pounds, too. But not if I can’t eat everything that I want to eat. 

Editor’s Note: I know that the previous sentence is a sentence fragment. I don’t care. This is informal writing. When I write a research paper or business document, I write accordingly.

I also look forward to not taking myself too seriously. 

I wish you all warmth and all of the very best things that life has to offer in the New Year and always!

Namaste, indeed!