I mentioned in class yesterday that for many of us Mother’s Day is “fraught.” I didn’t say with what, because I figured if you understand what I mean when I say that, you can fill in the blanks yourself. Mother’s Day can be fraught with resentment perhaps, disappointment, pain, loss, frustration, sadness, envy. Some of us were raised by toxic, selfish mothers, and some others have lost their mothers and miss them desperately. There are people who never knew their mothers and some who desperately want to be mothers and aren’t. Some women prefer not to be mothers and don’t feel any less capable of loving deeply than women with children (though the media would have us believe that NOTHING compares to a mother’s love). And then some mothers struggle with dissatisfaction and feelings of inadequacy. There are mothers who have lost children and those who cope daily with their children’s grave illness or disability. And none of these women are portrayed in the endless jewelry commercials, social media tributes or Hallmark card aisles.
If you are someone for whom Mother’s Day is “fraught,” I feel you. You are worthy of celebration and roses and diamonds and champagne toasts. And you are worthy of love. Because we ALL are.Here In the Tunnel
February 2, 2017
Okay, my friends who are struggling with these very dark days in which we are all living–I have something to say to you. And those who know me know I occasionally do this; I spill my heart’s contents all over the interwebs, and I hold nothing back, because nothing helps a hurting soul like an honest voice speaking truth (even when it’s your own soul that’s hurting and your own voice doing the speaking).
So here’s my truth (and many of you already know this): My mother is dying. She has terminal lung disease. For the last two months, I’ve been waking up every morning not only in TrumpWorld, but in a world in which I’m one day closer to being without my mom forever and ever. People who don’t exactly know what’s going on with me but know I’m struggling offer kindnesses like, “I hope things get better for you,” and I have to smile sweetly and tell them, “no, this is not something that will get better.” If this is a tunnel, there is no light at its end.
When you’re experiencing something you know will not get better, you learn a few things. I’ve learned that light is not a destination. It’s not something you journey towards. It’s not a reward for a long, hard journey. Light is something you make–willfully, often forcefully, sometimes painfully, and repeatedly, because if you don’t, you drown in darkness, and that is just NOT acceptable. I see people on social media bemoaning the future Trump will leave for his predecessors, for our children, and I see it plain as day. They’re drowning in darkness, looking for a light at the end of a long tunnel, and what they don’t understand is that there IS NO TUNNEL. And YOU ARE THE LIGHT.
Which is to say as dark as these days may be, you can’t give up on making, being, believing in light HERE AND NOW. The future is guaranteed to no one. The tunnel and its end are a myth. Yes, there are bright days ahead of us, and there were bright days behind us. And even now, here in the darkness that is TrumpWorld, here as I watch my mother’s health fade, there are bright days, or bright hours, or bright moments, and they are all of our own making. Light is sharing a kind word with a person you’ll never agree with. Light is laughing when you feel like screaming. Light is hugging your mom while you still have her, calling your representatives, and giving money to the ACLU. Light commiserating with like-minded friends and giving yourself a break from the anguish whenever and wherever possible. Light is sharing your truth with friends and strangers on the internet late at night when you really should be sleeping. Light shines from you when you let it. Do that. Do it NOW.
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