Ya, about that...

This posting is about forgiveness.

I like to think of myself as a forgiving person. And, I don’t just forgive to benefit the person needing forgiveness. I actually do it more for me.

In my life so far, I’ve found that carrying around resentment and anger is a really crappy thing. I have found it kind of digs a hole in my heart that eternally aches and burns. That doesn’t better my life, or the person who caused the pain in the first place.

And, another upside to forgiveness is that it can indirectly teach the person you have forgiven a valuable lesson. I mean, if someone feels badly enough about a choice or behaviour they were the cause of that gave you emotional, mental, or physical harm, then their guilt is enough to punish them. Often if you – and this is the important part – genuinely forgive them, they will be grateful enough to not only never hurt you similarly again, but it will likely overflow into other areas of their life as well. Then, your little batch of forgiveness has multiplied the lesson into other people’s lives too.

Heck, sometimes I forgive someone even if they haven’t asked for it. Again, for my sake. But sometimes that can cause the person who did the hurting so much guilt that it’s a really sly way of paying them back, without being nasty at all! Kind of like the old adage, “keep your friends close, but your enemies closer”. Or, “kill ‘em with kindness”. It’s about being ‘the better person’, and it feels damn good.

Forgiveness has been an integral part of my life for a number of reasons. I don’t need to get into the grim details, because most of them are so much a part of my past that they are now pebbles in the foundation that holds me up and defines me. But, my life hasn’t been easy. Don’t think I’m crying myself a river. Nah – I’ve got one right in my own backyard! But, I am intelligent enough to know that parts of my past could have really messed me up, and it’s not that I’m strong that got me past and above it. It’s the fact that I was able to forgive, and in turn recognize behaviours and choices I will never choose, so as to never hurt anyone the way I have been in the past.

Some of the people closest to me, who should have been holding me above the mess that life sometimes throws at you, or wiping me clean of it, were throwing the worst of the mess of all. But, (and I’m much better at this now than I was as a child), I could somehow always see through that mess to the cause or the root of the choices that were hurting me so. And then, you see, you aren’t as likely to place a tremendously heavy load of blame in any particular direction. Every action has a reaction, but every action also has a starting point. And these, my friends, are rarely spontaneous. They are often the offspring of a reaction to pain someone has felt because of someone in their own life, and so on, and so on. If you really tried to get to the bottom of it, you’d be dizzy, and you wouldn’t succeed. So, instead, you should attempt to learn a lesson or see some good in the situation, forgive, and move on.

I don’t mean to make it sound easy, because it’s far from it, but trust me – it’s worth it. Kind of like only seeing the good in past relationships; it’s all a protection mechanism to try to keep our hearts and heads in check.

How does this relate to my Mom, you ask? Well, in a couple of ways.

One: my Mom wasn’t perfect. I mean, some other time I will tell you more about some of her incredible gifts and talents that many people try to attain their whole lives and never quite can. She had a multitude of beautiful qualities that I recognized, or people tell me about now, that just came naturally and easy to her. Like, breathing almost. But one thing that she just wasn’t very good at at all was forgiving. I used to tell people that I worried that the grudges and resentment she held onto - like a 2 year olds hand at an amusement park – would give her cancer some day. Oh goodness, how I’ve pondered the weight of THOSE comments now after the fact. Nevertheless, I witnessed friendships, family ties, and working relationships crumble because she wasn’t quite able to forgive someone for their wrong-doing.

Sometimes someone may hurt you so badly that you can’t imagine having any form of relationship with them ever again. I’m not telling you to allow that person back into your life. Some people are so full of sadness, anger, and confusion that it seems as though it really is their lot in life to hurt anyone who truly cares for them. Please don’t become a perpetual victim to their selfishness. My Mom lit matches to bridges throughout her life, because she very legitimately had had enough of peoples’ bullshit. But sometimes when she burnt those bridges, the burning of the bridge wasn’t enough to clear her mind. It was almost as if she had burnt something inside of herself, too. And that burning inside didn’t ever get put out. So, my Mom was full of fires that raged on and consumed her. Grudges held onto forever don’t punish the person who did the hurting, but they hide like gecko grenades inside the holder. When the pin gets pulled, and the explosion causes destruction, another pin just grows in the old one’s place – ready to wreak havoc again.

I used to say regularly to my Mom, “it’s just not worth it” when she was angry at someone and it was consuming her. Nothing pissed her off more! But in my mind, I really felt that. I wasn’t just trying to sweep the pain under the carpet. I know better than that. One of my favourite metaphors is about that; if we sweep too much shit under our carpet, someone is bound to trip on it, and then all the shit is going to be everywhere all at once. Nobody wants to clean that up! So, I am the kind of person who cleans things up as I go (yep, back to that ‘organization’ thing). And, a part of cleaning the puddles, dust, stains and cobwebs in my brain is the forgiveness I constantly give.

Still, sometimes old pains surface repeatedly, and I find myself talking myself through rationalizing my forgiveness again. But every time it gets a bit easier.

Another reason why forgiveness relates to my Mom is that she did the odd thing throughout my childhood, teen years, and young adult life that hurt – a lot. Things Mom’s wouldn’t normally do to, or even think about, their children. She had a unique circumstance in the sense that she was a single parent with a very difficult job, no true ‘partner’ in life, very little/no support from my Dad through the majority of my existence, and the kicker? She’d never really planned on having kids. Woops!

So, that left me with the great goal of proving that I was ‘worth it’, and I think I’ve turned out ok given ‘all of that’.

What good would it do me to keep mental tabs of all the things my Mom ever did to hurt me though? I mean, if I really sat down to think about it I could probably list off some doozies. This is why the forgiving part is possible, but the forgetting? Not so much. But, the beauty of them is that they don’t hurt me anymore. I always took the time to look to the core and root of her choices. And if I couldn’t quite then, I certainly have in the past 7 months since she got really sick and passed away. My Mom was hurting, and I was the only person there to take it out on. Makes sense. And, what didn’t kill me (I’m still here) has made me stronger.

A couple of people have had the audacity to say, “you probably aren’t that sad about losing your Mom because of the way she treated you sometimes”. First of all, I didn’t lose my Mom. Second of all, shut up. The sheer fact that I knew that I was an unplanned pregnancy made me love my Mom even more. She gave me life, even when she had to give away what she knew of her own in order to raise me. I think she deserves a big thank you for that. And in loving her so, I yearned always to be loved back – even a little – in the tender and open way so many mothers do. I now see that she always loved me, a lot, she just had a funny way of showing it.

The lovely part is that in the last 5 weeks of my Mom’s life, she loved me that way, day in and day out. And you can certainly make a bet that it has saved me a load of therapy!

My husband’s Nana told me an interesting story when she and I were talking about my Mom being terminally ill. She said that she had been close with her mother, but unlike my Mom, she had lived well into her 80s. When she passed away, many people (for lack of a better thing to say) said, “at least she lived a good, long life”. Nana’s answer? *please insert thick Irish accent here – it just sounds better* “She was still my mother”. How true. No one can take that incredibly important truth away.

I digress. If you carry grudges, anger, resentment, sadness, confusion, or despair around, try not to. Try to take the time to imagine what happened to the person who hurt you, which lead them to hurting you. It might give you even an ounce of clarity or understanding that will free you of the weight that has become your burden.

Trust me; it’s done me a lot of good.

And on a final note, I want to share a little story about my Dad. He may not have been an integral part of my childhood years, but in my 16^th year I got him back, and I couldn’t be more grateful. Again, some people say, “isn’t it hard to have a good relationship with your Dad, considering he didn’t support your Mom financially, and he wasn’t always ‘there’ for you?” And my answer is always a clear and definite, “No”. Why focus on all the things he didn’t do that he should have, or did do that he shouldn’t? He’s here now, and especially now that my Mom’s gone, when I need him most.

Recently my half brother (who is 16 going on know-it-all) did some dastardly deeds. So dastardly in fact that I don’t even want to share them here. It was a spiral of events that just got worse and worse, as he is unwilling to own up to what he did in the first place, and has shown nothing but disrespect to our father in the process of Dad trying to fix it all. I struggle with this mostly because our Dad has been such a crucial and unflinching part of my brother’s entire existence. He has fought for him, supported him (financially, academically, emotionally, etc.), and has been consistent with him in all the areas that count. That’s a lot more than I can say for my birth to 16 year old days. I don’t hold that against my Dad because he admits that deep down he knew that my Mom was a responsible and intelligent person who would raise me well, with or without him. My brother’s situation isn’t quite the same. He needs our Dad more.

Still, I forgive my brother for what he has done recently. Partly because I know his childhood has been messy, and he hasn’t had positive influences in his immediate raising. None of that is his fault. I also forgive him because he has a heart of gold, and is capable of doing such great things – he just needs to realize his capabilities. And, if you look at my Dad’s situation, it sometimes takes awhile. I joke that I also forgive him because he’s my brother, and no matter how much he messes up, no one can change that. Sometimes when people are awful – or do awful things, what they really need is someone to forgive them and love them anyway.

I didn’t know what it was going to take to have my brother and Dad on good terms again. It caused me stress, because it’s a situation I can’t fix, I’m just a bystander. But this week my Dad called my brother and simply said, “Do you like what’s going on here? Because I don’t”. They hadn’t talked in a couple of weeks, which is a record for a father-son relationship that has been as strong as a cement ox. Our Dad simply decided that it wasn’t worth it to play hard to get, or not communicate for who-knows-how-long. That doesn’t accomplish anything. He also has a partner that has 3 children. She knows that kids mess up, and she has so much love inside her that it kind of spills out everywhere, always. She’s insanely wonderful, and just what my Dad (and my brother and I) need.

So, the olive branch was extended – and to my great relief – it was accepted.

In closing, going back to the size of my brother’s heart, I’m sure he was feeling rotten about his choices and the way he was subsequently treating our father. I hope he was, and that it was eating a wee hole in his soul. Because, now that they are again on speaking terms, and he knows that our Dad missed him and loves him anyway, that wee hole will mend up in a jiffy. And hopefully he has learned a valuable lesson.

After my Mom passed away I found a letter she had written herself years ago, before she got sick (it may sound like a strange idea, but if you knew my Mom, you’ll understand). 2 whole paragraph’s of the letter were about me and the person I am. She mentions that she is proud of the woman I was becoming, that she knew that I would make a great life for myself, and that she was so relieved that I had turned out so well – considering.

I would say the forgiveness was worth it before I even read that letter.

But, it certainly didn’t hurt to hear.

Like a break up (that wasn’t your idea)

This past Monday, January the tenth, was/would have been my Mom’s 60^th Birthday. What a strange day it was! I wafted in and out of sadness and celebration. As usual, the best way to work through the ups and downs (for me) was to keep busy. I worked the morning at a nice school. As a supply teacher, I sometimes wonder if I should commit to a half day, when I could wait and hope for a full day. But, for this past Monday I jumped at the opportunity.

After work I went to Wendy’s for lunch. I have yet to go to a movie solo, but I find eating solo at a restaurant (even those of the ‘fast’ variety) to be quite liberating. This is something my Mom did often, and I’m sure it didn’t phase her. I still go into a cold sweat sometimes, thinking that people are looking at me, or judging. That cold sweat didn’t last long this time. The food was so-so, but it was the atmosphere that captured my heart. There is a gentleman that clears the tables, greets you as you enter, and offers you ‘perks’ as you eat. I guess he noticed that I didn’t have a refreshment with my meal, and offered a complimentary tea, coffee, or cold drink. I gratefully declined, knowing I had a water bottle waiting for me in the car. Shortly after, he stopped to chat with a group of what seemed to be 17-18 year olds. I made an unfair assumption about this group, as they seemed aloof. But, I was overcome with appreciation when a young lady in the group took the time to say to the man – quite loudly I might add – that she really loved his great personality. My favourite part of it? She meant it. She genuinely meant it, and had taken a selfless moment to reach out and make someone feel good about the kindness they so openly share. If you know me, you know that this is when I cry subtle happy tears at the beauty of the moment, and as I crumpled up my waste and got ready to hit the road, I turned to the girl to tell her that I felt the same way about her personality. Suddenly one of the emotional boulders that I’ve learned to balance (that are somehow heavier on this day) fell away.

I then stopped to drop off dry-cleaning, where a very kind lady inquired about my wedding dress (one of the many articles of clothing that had been piling up). I gave her the Coles Notes version of my husband and I getting married at the hospital so that my Mom could attend, and she was teary-eyed at the thought. How incredible that within a 10 minute span I had encountered 2 people that I’d never met before (and may never meet again) who took time out of their day to feel deeply for others. After a quick stop at Good Will to drop off donations, I headed to the mall for a good 3 hours of retail therapy. I never do this – really. But, I thought since I hadn’t been to a mall in months that I should be able to treat myself. Oh boy – did I ever!

One of my very best friends met me near the end of my spree, and we headed for books and coffee to transition our evening towards our dinner plans. We were disappointed to get a call from my husband letting us know that the restaurant we were going to go to, to celebrate my Mom’s birthday, was closed. It’s a restaurant that my Mom heard about from a lady who was going through chemo last year when she was. My Mom had this innate ability to befriend anybody, and spontaneously asked the whole chemo ward if anyone knew of a restaurant where she should celebrate her 59^th birthday. A lady offered up her favourite as an option, without hesitation. We went, and had a glorious time. So glorious in fact that those who attended our wedding ceremony went there after as well. It seemed fitting to go again this year. But, it turns out we will have to find another good reason to go again soon.

Up to this point, I had been too busy to notice the emotional weight of the day. I would settle briefly, like a hummingbird on a hollyhock, on the fact that for the first time in 26 years I couldn’t wish my Mom a happy birthday. Then I would flit onto the next superficial distraction to protect myself from the heavy truth.

But, my husband and I had taken separate cars to get to the restaurant, which left me alone in mine for approximately 45 minutes on the way home. And, you see, I do my best crying in my car (especially when it’s dark out and I can be fairly sure a stranger won’t bust me snotty-nose crying at some red light or stop sign.)

So, I finally cried.

When I cry about my Mom being gone I typically don’t shed a tear or two, and then brush them off. Oh no, I make it worth it. This is where the break-up analogy comes in…

Heart break takes on many forms, and happens for any number of reasons. I’m not here to judge or determine what heart breaks are justified or hurt most. We are all individuals who suffer differently, for unique reasons. Our experiences are so rich and diverse that you can’t really fit each ‘hurt’ on the same scale of 1 to 10. I’ve had my heart broken by a boy, and although I can rationalize now why our relationship was never, ever a healthy or lasting one, I will never forget the infliction of dread and confusion he caused.

Dealing with the death of a loved one is similar for me…

The grieving process isn’t linear, and I highly doubt it has an end point. You kind of work through the process in stages; some days I’m sad, others I’m angry. Sometimes I am in complete denial, and sometimes (I think this is where I am most of the time) I fully accept the truth of this ordeal and tread the deep water through it.

In my moments of deep sadness and anger, I feel just about the same as I did when I was once told, “this isn’t working. We can’t be together any more”. I honestly heard it out of the blue, when I expected it least, and it punched me in the gut so hard that I didn’t just lose my breath (there’s another figurative use of ‘loss’ for ya!), I forgot how to - momentarily.

This is when suddenly the earth shifts out from under you and you start to fall straight down (really fast) on the inside. Of course you aren’t literally falling, but you know the feeling I’m describing- when your stomach goes to your throat unexpectedly and you don’t know whether you should puke, or scream. My happy balance between the two is to cry. And goodness, do I ever! I cry like a small child. It’s not just tears flowing; it’s sobs and wails, and “why me’s?”, too. It’s stopping to catch my breath just so that I don’t gag on the purge of emotion that is so happy to soon be free.

And then that falling down fast feeling goes away. Crying is the only thing that helps that, and I’m so glad that I know that now so that I can just let it happen and free myself from that teetering place (I’m just not always so lucky to be in a place where I can purge so freely.)

On the night of my Mom’s birthday, when the feeling took me over, I just so happened to be in my car – alone – allowing me to let go.

I even get to the point (and this is my raw honesty coming out) where I say “I just want you back”… repeatedly… with a few “Momma’s” mixed in. I don’t think I ever really called my Mom ‘Momma’ when she was living!

Here I am: a 3 year old who isn’t getting her way, mixed with a dash of a 22 year old who doesn’t think she’ll ever love again, with a healthy does of 26 year old whose Mom died not that long ago – letting go. 

And, just like I felt when I woke up one morning and realized that the boy who broke my heart wasn’t really worth it (oh, it was wondrous), I pull into our driveway feeling exhausted, but refreshed.

Another strange connection that I can draw between break-ups and death is that after it’s ‘over’ you somehow tend to only remember the good that you shared with the person no longer in your life. Just like any romantic relationship I’ve had that didn’t work out, after it was over (by my choice or not) I would somehow only focus on the happy times, or the strengths in the bond. This makes it more difficult to deal with, makes you miss the person more, and often tricks you into thinking you should still be together. Our rational selves go on a hiatus, and we ponder whether we’ve made the right decision, or are absolutely sure the person who cruelly dumped us had it all wrong – and will ultimately come to their senses.

Well, I didn’t dump my Mom, and she didn’t dump me. Throughout my life as her only child, and with her being a single parent with little support and a stressful job, things were rarely easy. As a child, a teenager, and even an adult I didn’t always ‘get it’. It has taken her being gone for me to properly recognize the beauty and gifts in our relationship, as well as what she endured and sacrificed to support and love me – even if it wasn’t very often the way a ‘typical’ Mom would. Unlike a breakup, this ‘missing the good’ brings me a great deal of comfort and peace, and I am so grateful that the memories that flood me regularly are the happy, beautiful ones.

Sometimes I go huge lengths of time without crying at all, and a part of me feels guilty about that. Or, sometimes I will suddenly say out loud (often in the car - hoping she’ll hear it wherever she is) that I’m sorry I don’t talk to her more. I divulge that I have a constant conversation with her in my head, but that I doubt she can read my mind. Then I tell her that I’m sorry if she thinks I’m not thinking of her, because I am – always.

The difference between this and a ‘post break-up’ wave of emotion is that the refreshed feeling I have after it all is temporary. I’m never sure how long it will last these days, but I know that the feeling of confusion, sadness, anger, and frustration will eventually return again; often when I least expect it. I will cry again, loudly, with a snotty nose. I will likely groan out the words, “I just want you back” over and over again, too.

And yet, I have so many wonderful things to remember my Mom by, to satisfy me in the vast times in between my crying jags. The best thing I can say about the boy who broke my heart is that he introduced me to zucchini, and now it’s one of my favourite vegetables. And no, it wasn’t me at all, it was him.

The end of my old relationship with my Mom was technically because of her, not me. And, now I have to trudge forward, carried by the wonderful memories, lessons and gifts she gave me when she could.

And thankfully, just like a love for zucchini, those never die.

Always the last place you left it…

That’s what you say when you lose something. And you see… I don’t lose stuff. Ask anyone who knows me – even a little bit – how organized I am. I mean, there are anomalies to this rule. Sometimes I misplace my keys temporarily. Usually they’re in the bottom of an unnecessarily large purse, one of way too many pockets in a jacket, or right in my hand. Still, all of the above would also be considered the last place I left them. Sometimes I’m not sure where I left my eye glasses. But you see, I don’t wear them all the time, and I don’t like to carry them when I don’t need to in case I break them somehow. Those babies were $300 and make it possible to see Broadway shows from the balcony! Even my bank card disappears from time to time. But, if it’s not where it should be, it’s always in ‘the other’ place; where I keep my credit card. These losses are always because I have been absent-minded, for a mere second sometimes. But, that doesn’t mean it’s not exhaustingly frustrating to search for whatever it happens to be that I need.

Other than those everyday things, I am one of the most organized people I know. I actually enjoy organizing, and have been told I could make a living helping others to organize, too. A funny roommate of mine once said that she sometimes had the urge to go into my bedroom when I wasn’t home to throw a few things around, just because. You can be sure I would have noticed!

There are other types of losses, but they are figurative ones:

Some people “lose their shirts” (which I guess can be taken literally, too). Typically, losing one’s shirt means to go bankrupt or lose all of your money to a bad investment, gambling, etc.

Some people “lose their marbles” (which can also be taken literally if it’s a game you enjoy). This means to lose one’s mind – to illness, age, substance abuse, love, and so on. A shorter version of this kind of loss is to simply “lose it”.

Some people “lose it” or “lose their cool” in a different way. This terminology can be used to explain someone who has lost their temper. They may be in a fit of rage, and may speak or act explosively.

Others “lose themselves”. This can be a more positive form of figurative loss. It is typically when someone is so emotionally or mentally involved in another person or thing that they succumb to it. I have “lost myself” at outdoor concerts, and break into what a dear friend calls my ‘hippy sway’. Some lose themselves in a great book, or movie. Some people lose themselves – usually temporarily – to an unhealthy relationship. Friends and family members wait patiently and hopefully for the return of the loved one (this only happens when that person is ready, not when you tell them to).

Another loss we speak of figuratively is the ‘loss’ of one’s virginity. This isn’t something people typically set down and then forget about until they need it next. Oh no, anything but that. Many give their ‘V cards’ away, or, may even feel like it was taken from them. Trust me, very few people feel that they were preoccupied with other matters and lost their virginity. Plus, once it’s gone, you can’t get it back. Good or bad, it won’t be the last place you left it.

There are likely a million more figurative uses of the word loss, but the one I am struggling with most these days is the loss of my Mom. You see, I don’t lose things. They’re always the last place I left them.

This whole blog is about the biggest loss I’ve every suffered. And, the most frustrating part of it all is that it’s a loss that will never be found. Well, not in a physical sense. But, that’s a whole other post in itself.

I used to – admittedly - casually say to others, “I’m sorry for your loss”. But really, you are indirectly calling that person careless with their valuables. You are giving them false hope that they may, at some point, find that person alive and well again in the last place they were left.

Trust me, once you experience a loss that takes your breath away, and you wonder if you’ll ever catch that breath again, being accused of being a disorganized, sloppy person who was capable of losing – of all things – a human being, can be very confusing.

So, if you’re ever in my company when someone says the famous words, and I make light of the situation by answering the “sorry for your loss” with a, “it’s not your fault”, you’re welcome to smile. You can even laugh a little. Why pretty up the reality that someone has died?

If you want to say it gently, I’m ok with ‘passed away’ or ‘passed on’. Because you see, that’s something my Mom did do. I didn’t lose her. Oh trust me, I don’t lose things! But, she has passed on into another state of life. I don’t have full proof that she’s still here in spirit, or that there is really what some people call Heaven. But, she certainly isn’t in all those everyday routines I took for granted for about 26 years. I still get the urge to call her first as soon as I leave work. And they aren’t her voicemails on my cell phone (that went on sometimes for 5 minutes). And her voice isn’t the one telling me to make up my own mind when I call her for advice. Just hearing her voice helped me to do that. I just wanted to know I wasn’t alone, and she would love me anyway if for some reason I made a bad decisions.

Wherever she is, she has passed by me. It’s kind of like watching a train pull away, with your loved one in the window, and you want to chase the train forever just so you will never forget their big brown eyes, the red lipstick they always wore, or the sweet pursed smile they made with their mouth when they were trying not to cry, or they were really happy and proud. If I could have run fast enough to chase that train my Mom was on, I’d be long gone. But, that’s the thing about death. We can’t keep up with the train. But, one thing’s for sure. Even though you can’t actually see their face in real life anymore, you never forget any of those things you want to hold onto with every ounce of your being.

And, although many of my loved ones have commented over the past 6 months and 10 days that I am dealing and coping quite well “considering my loss”, I still have my moments. And trust me, if it had really been my fault that my Mom was somewhere in a purse, or pocket, and I knew I was going to find her as long as I could remember the last place I left her, I’d be a frantic mess. You see, we only realize we lost something when we really need it, and there are times that I feel I really need my Mom.

One last thing, to lighten the mood a little bit more. My Mom was never one to ‘flip the bird’. She loved the loser sign, and often used it when expressing frustration while driving. I can proudly say that she never flipped me the capital L.

Because, you see, I don’t lose things.

I will always love her as much as the moon, and stars, and the sky up above,

C. Daughter

* side note. My Mom loved to write as well. She wrote poems, stories, letters, emails – you name it. And, in the last few years of her life she often signed off with T. Mom (hence my sign-off name for this blog).