A Few Words about Normal...

Recently, I have had this overwhelming urge to bake a pie. I'm not sure why because pie seems like a cool weather thing and the weather in Denver has been utterly spectacular and unseasonably warm. Warm days with a crisp feeling in the air and cool nights, perfect for sleeping under a comforter. I have my windows open and the breeze is blowing through, I can hear the lawn mowers in full power outside, the water in the pool is still shimmering because even though it is the end of September, the management of my condo association has decided to keep it open just a little longer this year. The trees are still green, people are still wearing shorts, and it just seems to be out of sequence. It seems like summer is having a little trouble letting go but, it actually feels a little comforting. I'm grateful for the evenings on the balcony with a sweater, and even more grateful for the clear skies and fabulous sunsets. I know colder weather will come sooner than I desire.

Last weekend, my best friend came from Florida to spend a few days with me. When I called to tell her my mother died, she said she could come then or would wait until later. Whatever I desired. Waiting until later seemed like a good idea, and it was indeed. I rented a cabin and we drove through the most spectacularly beautiful canyons to our destination. Arriving at our little slice of heaven, we unpacked the car then walked down the hill to the river. Water flowing over rocks and boulders is so incredibly soothing. As we sat at the side of the river, we talked about everything that makes best friends best friends. Nothing is out of bounds, no thought ridiculous, and no grief not held by the other. Nothing said is irrational or judged or ridiculous. It is just held between two friends who know each other inside and out. Then we walked back to our cabin, mixed some cocktails and sat on the deck until the stars lit up the mountain sky. It was heaven indeed, and so comforting to relax into a friendship that has weathered so many years.

So as I sit here listening to the lawn mowers, the smell of my apple pie baking is beginning to fill my apartment and I am considering walking to the market to buy the ingredients for meat loaf. Complete with mashed potatoes, and maybe string beans. Something I rarely eat, but it just sounds good. And comforting, and out of the ordinary. I don't feel normal since losing my mother. I've lost my sense of normal, and I'm not ordinary. I am unique in my journey and the journey is just beginning. I'm still finding my footing and the ground on which my feet will eventually land may be completely different than I ever expected. It doesn't matter. Right now, I'm along for the ride. And on this ride they are serving meat loaf and mashed potatoes for dinner. With apple pie for dessert. So the message for today is that I'm not fighting the urge to make everything normal because it isn't. Otherwise, I would be having salmon and asparagus for dinner, a large salad and a glass of crisp chardonnay. My new normal will come to me in its own time. My belief in my ability to transition there is unshakable. I will find my way, and be wiser and richer for the journey. And perhaps a better cook...So the message for today I love my body more than grasping for normal...whatever that is.

XO,
Karen

A few words about feeling broken....

I have recently been feeling broken. Like I am wounded, carrying around the parts that have fallen off of me through my personal loss in a wheelbarrow. This is noteworthy because this equates to baggage to me. It is funny how in life we cling to things that are painful, carrying them around in wheelbarrows, boxcars, huge storage lockers, or tiny little makeup bags because it feels like if we let go we will be lost in a world of the unknown. The baggage justifies the behavior that others might find a wee bit odd. The hauling of these bags or pushing of the wheelbarrows is exhausting but we continue to carry them with us through our lives allowing them to color everything we do and shade each emotion with the caution that is constantly being whispered over our shoulders by said baggage.

I am broken because my mother is no longer in her earthly body. And it is painful. But she is in a beautiful container that sits on my table that I pass several times as I move through my day. It has been a process and I have finally reached the place that I realize that this isn't my mother. It is just a very nice container that I selected that contains a bag of ashes. Everything that I loved about my mother is not in that little bag. I loved her face, her smile, her fingers, and her gnarled up toes that were always in search of comfortable shoes. I loved how when I was happy she celebrated, when I was sad she listened. She would have been amazed that I am still shedding tears for her six weeks later. But I will mend, and she will still be just ashes in a container on my table. I am releasing the desire that I keep her with me. She is with me, but not in the ashes.

So, it is with resignation and love that I surrender once again and complete this journey with my mother. She wanted to be with my father at a military cemetery with her vital statistics etched on the back of the headstone with his vital statistics. A physical marker of her existence on this earth. I will release her ashes to the cemetery because she expected me to do that for her. I thought attending the cremation was my final act of taking care of her and her wishes. I realize now it was only the penultimate act. Releasing her ashes is the final act. Then I'll continue my journey of moving on, a woman who has been altered, but will arise richer, wiser, and deeper. This is a profound experience and I am honored to feel the depths of emotion, that I have evolved to the space in my life where I am cracked so wide open. Being vulnerable isn't that bad after all.

I am letting this pour through me, sometimes like a breeze, sometimes like a tsunami but I am unafraid of feeling it all. The highest highs and the lowest lows. I hold the belief that this experience is expanding me beyond my wildest expectations. To believe that in the past I have held my feelings so close to my chest, afraid I would be judged for not doing it properly seems foreign to me now. The feeling of just letting it all go, complete with peanut butter sandwiches at midnight if I want is emancipating. I know I will pop on the other side, but not until I'm ready. So, the message for today is I love my body more than the roller coaster ride I'm riding right now...

XO