Song for a Daughter (I am touched . . .)

Thought I would share this today. It affected me deeply as I listened to it on "The Writer's Almanac" this morning . . .

Song for a Daughter

by Ursula Le Guin

Mother of my granddaughter,
listen to my song:
A mother can't do right,
a daughter can't be wrong.

I have no claim whatever
on amnesty from you;
nor will she forgive you
for anything you do.

So are we knit together
by force of opposites,
the daughter that unravels
the skein the mother knits.

One must be divided
so that one be whole,
and this is the duplicity
alleged of woman's soul.

To be that heavy mother
who weighs in every thing
is to be the daughter
whose footstep is the Spring.

Granddaughter of my mother,
listen to my song:
Nothing you do will ever be right,
nothing you do is wrong.

"Song for a Daughter" by Ursula K. Le Guin, from Finding My Elegy: New and Selected Poems 1960-2010. © Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2012. (buy now)

The Impermanence of Technology (and other things . . .)

I will always remember when my mom gave me my Kindle. It was a few days before Christmas and I had just finished graduate school.  We had spent the day and night moving all of my belongings from my Brooklyn apartment back to my mom's house in Maryland and I was overly tired. Right before I climbed into bed, my mom came into my room and presented me with my Kindle. It seemed fitting especially since I was graduating with a Master of Library and Information Science degree.

I love(d) my Kindle. In fact, sometimes I would forget my cell phone when I went to work, but I’d always remember my Kindle. I remember my mother laughing about that.

My beloved Kindle, Dec. 2010 - Aug. 2012

So, over a year and a half after my mom surprised me with the Kindle, my Kindle screen has gone schizo on me. On the phone with an Amazon representative, I calmly explain the issue and am told that there is nothing they can do to save the Kindle. I must get another one. I decide to ask if there is anything I can do to keep my Kindle, or at least get the same model. He says “no” and I explain the situation:

“This was a graduation gift from my mom. She passed away last year so there is a little sentimentality attached to it . . .”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he says. “Ordinarily, we need the original Kindle shipped back, but we’ll make an exception for you. I’ll make a special note to let you keep yours.”

I wish I got to “keep” my old cell phone.

Last October, my Android phone was stolen at the public library. I couldn't care less about the phone itself, but I was upset that the last texts that were sent by my mom were stolen. Verizon told me that they could not give me a copy of the texts between my mother and me without a subpoena. I still remember my mom’s last text to me, which was full of misspellings due to her being on Superwoman-strength pain medication that made her drowsy. The text said:

“I love you moure . . .”

She sent it late at night on July 16, 2011, a few days before she went into cardiac arrest. I remember the date and the text because after she died I would look at our last texts sent to each other while smiling, laughing and crying . . .sometimes smiling, laughing and crying all at the same time.

I ordinarily try to practice non-attachment to physical things, especially technology. Computers incur damage, become outdated and are stolen. My mom raised us not to become attached to any material thing, including our bodies. Since I was a child, my mom would explain that our body is just flesh and is temporary, but our soul exists long after we are gone. In fact, she always said that it didn’t matter what happened to her body after she died because it’s just a shell.

I admire the Buddhist notion of completely shunning off all material attachment to realize complete unity with the Universe in order to become One with All. I’m not there yet and I don’t know if I ever will be (while I am alive), but sometimes life teaches you lessons in other ways. Maybe losing my cell phone and my Kindle breaking are mini-lessons for me in non-attachment to the material, especially technology. I saw my Kindle and the texts as a connection to my mother, but they are merely a symbol of our connection because our connection transcends the physical.

Or maybe this is all just a reminder that books are still golden because books don’t all of a sudden “stop working” on you. I never have to worry about a book “not opening” for me to read it. 

Ugh. 

Coping Mechanisms

It all sneaks up on me sometimes . . .

I am finally finishing up Steve Job’s biography (fascinating read, by the way) and am now reading about his last months. Coincidently, he shared some of the same last months as my mother. 

It's been a (very) little over a year since my mother passed away.

I’ve been thinking about what my mom had to go through towards the end of her life. I imagine what she must have been thinking about as she looked back on her time on Earth and the decisions that she made. I remember her making comments about her past. I remember her just staring at us all. I wonder what she must have thought about while she watched her loved ones. I can't imagine how hard it must have been for her to say goodbye to us all - especially her children, her mother and her father. I am amazed at her bravery and I am in awe of her strength. 

Of all the ways to go, a terminal illness is one that looms. My mom’s illness only loomed for a short time before it took her, but those last days, weeks and months were long in my mind, as an observer. The pain I watched her go through. The deterioration. It’s amazing that although her body was being devoured by cancer, her spirit remained strong, stubborn and lovely.

She had to say goodbye to her children forever. The thought of it makes me hurt in ways that I struggle to explain: the head throbbing cry I have when I allow myself "to go there"; the constant ache in my soul; the pit in my stomach when I think about how much I miss her. The umbilical cord is cut. She had to let us go. We had to let her go.

All of this before I’ve even said “hello” to motherhood. I’ve already experienced the heartbreaking story of love and loss between mother and child. I’ve yet to experience the depths from the other side (being the mother) and, like I brave all changes in my life, I will welcome the journey with open arms . . .and prayers/books/therapy/yoga/good friends very near. 

I’m coping. I know you knew I would, Mom.

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.

Summer and the "Unemployable" (?) Girl

These last few months have been filled with some life changes and lots of traveling. I love going to new places. Right now, while I have the time, I will pretty much go wherever someone suggests. “Why not?” is what I ask myself and if I have no legit reason to decline, I will probably accept the offer. (Probably, not definitely.)

At this moment in my life, I have no kids, no boyfriend, no 9-5 job . . .I can do whatever I want and since this may not be the case in a couple of years, I’m taking advantage of it. I am getting the feeling that I don’t want this summer to end. I love warm weather and the sunshine warms my soul. I need the sun. This past fall, winter and early spring was full of a lot of depression and sadness. I felt alone and isolated. I was grieving and I was lost. I felt cold and exposed. I want summer to be my state of mind all the time.

There is one thing that is lingering in my mind this summer: the fear that I am unemployable.

Okay, so technically since I’m a small business owner, I DO have a job. But, why can’t I confidently tell people that I have a job when they ask? Why am I so insecure? I hate this feeling. I feel like such a loser, but the truth is, people tell me how AWESOME it is that I have my own business. They tell me I should feel accomplished and I just don’t sometimes. I wonder what voice is in my head telling me that what I’m doing simply isn’t good enough? It’s the same voice that tells me I should be working for myself when I’m working for someone else. I need to stop listening to that voice because it is INSANE. I will never please that voice. It’s my inner gremlin and I want to stab it. (Side note: I may be schizophrenic.)

I know I am perfectly capable of running my own business and I love doing so, but the bottom line is that I am not making enough money to support myself. Being a creative entrepreneurial type is wonderful, but it would be DIVINE if I could make a good living doing what I love.

I’ve applied to jobs that I’m overqualified for and I’ve been rejected. I couldn’t even land a retail job because I don’t have enough retail experience. (?????) I have a MASTERS degree and I can’t work at Macy’s? I do not mean to brag or sound pretentious, but I’ve worked hard at my education. However, the sad truth is that my resume is just so all over the place. My background is in marketing, but I have no desire to work fulltime in marketing, especially for someone else. I enjoy marketing my own business, but it’s because I can follow my own vision. It’s because there’s an end to a means. In some small way, I’m helping others. I need what I do for 40 hours a week to have a point. I need to feel good about what I’m doing. 

So why go back to working for someone else?

I want to buy a house. I want to root myself. This is hard for me to do since I do not have a stable career. I know that the path of self-employment is riddled with the perils of not having a W-2 form to prove income and thus acquire a mortgage loan. I knew that this was the road ahead when I parted ways with my last horrid full-time day job. (For the record, I never QUIT that job, although I would be lying if I said I didn’t dream of it every second. I was “let go” because I could not look my boss in the eye and say that I wanted to be there when he asked me. My mother died a week before he asked me this question, so give me a break.)

Striking out on my own requires a ton of sacrifices and I am willing to make them. However, my desire for stability (a regular schedule, my own place, a dependable income) is speaking louder than anything else at this point. I will continue to work on BOOP and love every second of it, but until I can afford to pay all my monthly expenses, I am just going to have to put the job search at the top of my priorities again.

Now, if only I was employable . . .

Oy vey. 

My Yoga/Life Mantra

Today I am better than yesterday, but tomorrow I may be worse than today. Everyday is different, but I will always try my best.

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