Laughter in my dreams

Rough time lately
June is tough
Me & mom's birthday in same week
Milestone birthday
I'm 30 (hooray)
I need to lighten up
Everything is so heavy
Laughter in my dreams
Wake husband & puppy
Laugh, laugh, laugh
Uncontrollably laughing with my mom
In my dreams
Simple
Light
Free

Lonely

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day again. The third one without my mother here with me. It still stings when I listen to advertisements reminding me of Mother’s Day and it’s tough to be around friends and family talking about what they're doing for or with their mom on Mother’s Day.

I’m not a mom yet, so it’s a very bizarre, in-between type of day. I know lots of moms and honor their motherhood - so, yes, there’s meaning in that. It’s not as though I’m totally exempt from the holiday just because my mom isn't alive.

A few days ago I met a new colleague while at a work conference. The air around this woman was not jovial in the least - she seemed sad and reserved. She didn’t smile. I didn’t know if it was her personality or if she just didn't like me, but I noticed it immediately. There was something categorically sad about her.

One morning I made an off-hand comment about my stomach feeling bad or feeling slightly out of it due to the absurdly high pollen count that day. (If you know me, my favorite thing is to complain about "not feeling well." I'm usually tired, allergy-laden, or something else. This is something I get from my mother. I am completely self-aware.)

Later that day, I ran into my sad colleague again and she offered me some of her ginger ale. I thanked her and told her that I was okay. She asked how I was feeling. I told her I was feeling so-so. Maybe the ice around her was melting a little bit towards me.

After that last conference program, I ran into my sad colleague as walked to our cars in the parking lot. She asked how long I'd been working with the library system and we talked about the future of librarianship. She told me about her experiences in libraries (she’d started working in public libraries in 1999). She told me that as public librarians, we are very much like therapists. I agreed with her. She told me that her therapist told her that during a session and I was shocked at her openness. Therapy, unfortunately, isn’t something people are completely open about, especially in the black community that we share. 

“I see a therapist because I lost my daughter last year,” she adds.

And I stop. I mumble my condolences and suddenly see her in a different light. I feel her pain. I see her pain. I think about how hard it must be for her. My heart breaks because I know her pain - albeit I have no idea how it feels to lose a child, but I do understand gut-wrenching lost. I know how it feels after one minute, one year, two years and soon I'll know how it feels after three years before many, many more years - many more milestones, many more Mother's Days, birthdays, Christmases, etc. 

I think of my grandmother. I think of my mother. I think of the daughter that I don’t have yet. I think of this woman with the seemingly inexplicable sadness all around her that can be explained very simply: she was grieving and she missed her daughter.

We talk some more after this revelation and then go grocery shopping together. We don’t feel like going to dinner with our other colleagues. We decide to use our per diems to buy food and eat it alone in our hotel rooms, respectively. 

Mother’s Day must be so hard for her, too. 

My Mirror

"I'll be your mirror
 Reflect what you are, in case you don't know
 I'll be the wind, the rain and the sunset
 The light on your door to show that you're home . . ." - The Velvet Underground

You get what you give. The Universe reflects what you want to see.

All of these things may be true. I religiously believed these things until my mother got sick with cancer and died. I  never pleaded with God so much than the times when I cried in the bathroom at the hospital while we waited for a doctor to give us miracualous news.

It never happened. It changed me. 

I still believe thoughts are powerful and I still believe in positive thinking, but I also believe that some things are out of our control.

A few months ago Callan and I adopted a puppy. Mostly things are great, but the housetraining is tough. I'm supremely aware that everything Rya (our puppy) does or doesn't do is a result of her training. It's a reflection of what we've taught her.

So today we took Rya to her our first obedience class and I was in a bad mood as the class started. We went through commands. She was distracted, which is to be expected of a 6 month old puppy in a new environment with other dogs, but I was also distracted due to my bad mood and negative thoughts.

I constantly feel distracted. I'm always running around and thinking about my next task. "I have to do this" and "I should do this" are constant thoughts in my head. Neurotic Nelly, my gremlin, rearing her worrisome little head.

I never thought it could rub off on our puppy so easily. I've noticed when I am calm and present while training Rya, she is right there with me. When we're impatient and distracted, she's the same. Rya is our mirror. Pets reflect the energy of their owners.

But it gets bigger. We also mirror our parents. Our children mirror us. Our friends reflect our personalities. Our choices reflect our values. Our society reflects our beliefs and it gets bigger and bigger until it's incomprehnsible, but it's all connected. And we're all so important.

And maybe my prayers were heard in the bathroom and the mirror just reflected what had to be. Out of my control, but not out of my sight.

What do I have to say?

I've had the urge to write for a few weeks now. It's incredibly persistent and I've got the tools (mainly a laptop, but a pencil and paper work fine, too) to do so, but it's just not happening because I keep thinking: What do I even have to say?

I want to write a book. It's an item on my bucket list and doing this now feels right. I'm newly married, my career is stable and I can squeeze a few hours each week to devote to writing. (Also, I have a new puppy who loves to curl up in my lap and drift off to sleep. I couldn't think of a better muse!) But, really, what do I want to say? What can I add to the conversation of anything that has ever been written and published? What's my angle? What can I say that hasn't been said? 

Strangely, I'm not questioning if I am even a good enough writer because I've skimmed books by Stephanie Meyer, E.L. James and others. You see, I'm a librarian at a public library - I know the shitty writing people read. I don't want to be a shitty writer, but I think writing ability has little to do with being a successful writer and writing something everyone wants to read. There are PLENTY of unpublished amazing writers. 

I have a few topics for books swirling in my ever-shifting brain. I have some ideas written down, but now I just need to write. Right?  

For now, I will start by blogging more frequently. My husband and I got rid of cable, so I will have more time to read & write instead of keeping up with the Kardashians. The key is eliminating distractions. For a writer, it's essential. For a modern human in a high-tech world, it's challenging. But I feel so much better when I'm focused. 

Speaking of focusing, I finished some Truman Capote short stories this weekend. I don't think I've read ANY Capote works that I didn't enjoy reading. There are very few winter-things that I enjoy more than curling up with Capote, in print, next to a fireplace. I aspire to provide the same entertainment, thoughtfulness and pleasure to readers of my future stories/novels/novellas/books, etc. 

This is all I have to say . . . right now. 

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.

Forgiving myself.

Sometimes I think I'm a bitch. I am not my best friend. I condemn myself. I wonder why I'm so difficult. I wonder how I can forgive others for their shortcomings and then be so upset with myself. It seems unfair.

I think about Old Me. The Me from years ago. The wide-eyed Me. The hopeful Me. The Me who thought everything was in my control. The Me who thought love conquered all. The Me who always thought things would work out in the end.  The naive Me.

Well, it's not the end, right? I'm about to get deep here, but is it ever the end? Is there ever really a finite end to things? There's always something from something else. No thing just comes out of thin air and no thing just disappears into nothing.

So maybe things (life) will work out eventually. Maybe the Old Me wasn't so wrong. Or maybe it just doesn't matter.

My heart really aches these days. I'm a fighter and I'm strong, but sometimes being strong is hard. Ending a relationship with someone you love is hard. Losing a parent is hard. Losing a gland in your body due to a cancer scare is hard, too. (I've been having weird thyroidectomy remorse. It's really bizarre.)

When I feel uncomfortable emotions (such as jealousy, anxiety, anger, annoyance. . .) and then feel guilty about feeling those already uncomfortable emotions, I have to remind myself to take a step back. Instead of thinking about what others may say or think about my decisions, I focus on the truth:

I'm really doing the best I can and I'm only human.

In order for us to truly practice kindness and gentleness with others, we must practice those traits with ourselves. We must forgive ourselves. We must be our own best friends.

"Experience: the most brutal of teachers. But you learn, my God, do you learn." - C.S. Lewis