Don't cry because it's over.
Smile because it happened.
~ disputably attributed to Dr Seuss
Which is why it's perfect for this post.
As I've mentioned before, this time of year tends to play havoc on my body, mind, and inner being in general. The weather changes mess with the air pressure and temperature, causing more pain, which then affects my ability to think and deal with things like emotional responses. And in the Northern Hemisphere where I live, the sunlight is starting to look a lot more like I often feel: a little weak and faded, getting up later and getting tired early, though my sleep schedule doesn't change much. Another thing that challenges me this time of year is that a series of birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, and other, related dates clump together from October through the first part of January, and so right about now I'm looking at a long winter ahead of me.
This week, I'm thinking about my parents, in particular. My mother would have been 75, this week, and the next day, my father will have been gone for 10 years. Like with every relationship any of us has, emotional import of each of these two events varies due to the relationships I had with them. My parents each had their issues, but I can only, really say that they did the best they could with what they had at the time, which is all any of us can do. I can't offer that piece of wisdom repeatedly to anyone in any context without accepting that they and I and everyone else must be included in it. And on the flip side of that, I cannot offer it without the empathy of knowing that sometimes it's hard for us to accept it.
I look back over the years at that child whose parents were doing their best with the messes they had, and whether I look at it from my perspective or that of an outsider to the situation, my heart hurts for the whole thing. There is that question that in some form or other gets circulated, "In (so many words), what would you tell your child-self, if you could?" What can I really say? There wasn't much anyone said back then, though I now see why: the only thing I can really think to say in few words would be: "I'm sorry." Of course with me I could probably ramblebabble on about it, but really, that's what would be at the heart of it. What's more, that is what I'd say to each and all three of them, though obviously with different meanings and perspectives.
Today, though, I'm to the point I've been trying to make sense of it all, emotionally-removed, open-minded, and forgiving. Easier said than done, of course! But as I age, I see more of my mother in myself, and my life has shaped itself in such a way that I am coming to understand her better. I didn't really know much, if anything about her until after she died, because my father divorced her and took legal custody of me when I was 12; and suddenly it seemed like everyone needed to purge their memories to me so that either I could carry them for them or so they could be rid of the need to hold onto them; I'm not sure which. Even my father shared a number of things with me that year after she died, probably to help me understand the situation from his perspective that had been washed like stones by waves over the years, softened and clarified. For various reasons I had spent most of my life not knowing her, and I think people wanted me to know the truth about her as they saw it. I'm grateful for it, though, especially since my father died 18 months later, almost to the day, and so it was good he told me what he could, while he could.
Learning details of the story line of my mother's life put pieces of a puzzle together which I had never, really realized existed. Knowing her as I do now is an achingly beautiful opportunity, and I cannot be grateful enough, though processing the emotional complexity has been a challenge: more than a decade and I'm still sifting through it all, and likely will for the rest of my life, as I grow and change and see things differently. As time goes on, one might think the emotions would lift, some, but I think instead it's more like they just shift, morph, and soften a bit. There are moments when I am suddenly and unexpectedly hit with a wave of grief at a thought or realization; and other moments when I'm laughing at a memory from the perspective of an adult, looking on.
One thing I remember most about my mother was how variable she was, due to her life's inner and outer circumstances. Depending on the situation she could seem like an entirely different person, and so I knew her in a lot of different ways. She was the stern woman who wore the dress suit and took me to daycare early in the morning so she could work at the bank after my dad's heart attack; she was the silly woman who would stand up in front of the fire and dance like a lunatic when we were camping with family friends; she was the woman who would lie on her bed, reading, and say, "I don't care," when I asked for something and my dad had told me I needed to ask her; she was also the woman who held my head and smoothed my hair at the doctor's office when my fevers would get so high I was delirious with delusions, and who at least once during elementary school excused me from school an hour before lunchtime for an "appointment", but actually took me up the canyon for a picnic by the river, just because she wanted to celebrate the opportunity to relish time with her child.
The more I understand her better, and come to know her better, the more I wish with all my heart I could have more time with her. Time to learn it from her perspective, and time to get to know myself more clearly. I feel like there is a huge chunk of me that never got to grow because she wasn't a part of my life, and while I don't really fault those who led it to be that way - because they were doing the best they could with what they had - it still just hurts. To know she spent all those years aching for a child who wouldn't be there because of factors outside her control. To not be able to give her a hug and let her know that I understand, now. And to not be able to let her know that even though I now see that I likely inherited this terrible set of health issues from her, and I can't even imagine how much agony it must have been to live as long as she did without any kind of medical treatment, especially with the monumental amount of grief she carried her entire life, I have chosen to do what I can to help others by reaching out into the world and let them know that no matter what they're struggling to battle, they aren't alone.
The thing is, one thing I've learned through coming to know my mother and the timeline of our lives which brought me to this place, is that living while we're alive is important. Yes, there will be things that happen which we don't want, and even hate, and there will be consequences for some choices which will have life-altering effects and affect many in the process, but we're here, we're alive, and we might as well leave this world a little better and/or brighter than it was when we got here, if only one person benefits and it spreads in some way.
I don't necessarily agree with the quote I shared at the beginning, directly:
Don't cry because it's over.
Smile because it happened.
But I do believe that rather than let my pains and losses, and hers, darken my life's view and cause me to storm and rage, inside and out, I'm going to celebrate that despite them all, they gave me an opportunity to see that the world may not be the most pleasant place all the time, but there are beautiful, worthwhile things. Love, hope, laughter, sunlight...so many things which fill the time we have here with something worth living for, if we embrace them. If she could be all of those things I knew her to be, then that just tells me that this life has many facets: the light, the dark, and everything in-between, and we can embrace them all, because that is what we have to use to do our best.
And as I say often, I know that we all are doing the best we can with what we have.
Better days ahead, my friends!
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