Parents – Michelle Rae

Mothers Day Without Mom

Featured by Michelle Rae, posted in Aging, Parents

THIS POST WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN 2014.

Happy Mothers Day. Cards and gifts, flowers and celebration.

I miss my mom.

So it’s been kind of bittersweet. The joy of being a mother, coupled with the reality that I’m now one of the many who will not hear their mom’s voice on this day.

I have friends who are celebrating their first Mothers Day as a mom. I remember that feeling. I see the threads of love wrapping around them, creating a cocoon of safety and love for their child. As my mom did for me. As I did for my kids. Unconditional love.

No matter how old I get, when I’m down or feeling sick I want my mommy. I want to crawl into her lap so she can rock me. I want that feeling of love and security, of peace, that I always got when my mom wrapped her arms around me.

It used to be easy to capture that feeling. I could meet her, or go to her house, walk up to her and put my arms around her. There was never a hesitation, her arms wrapped me in love and acceptance without a word being spoken. I would take a deep breath of that special smell that was a combination of so many things, instantly recognizable.

It’s harder, but less complicated now to talk to my mom and get that hug. I have to dig deep into memories to recapture those feelings. But I don’t have to pick up a phone or get in the car. I close my eyes, take a deep breath and feel my mom’s love all through me. Because that is where my mom is now, a part of me, a part of my soul.

Changing The Story

March 13, 2019June 7, 2022 by Michelle Rae, posted in Parents, Relationships

“When the student is ready the teacher will appear” is a quote I heard many times in my martial arts career.

Of course the truth of this statement goes far beyond how to kick and punch. Or do yoga poses. Or learn to ski.

A year ago was a dark time for me. The whys and wherefores don’t really matter, but I was not in a good place. I kept telling myself I was strong. That I could get out of the dark place if I tried harder. The thing is, the more I tried and failed the deeper I went.

Then someone told me about the book The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz.

The book was the teacher I needed. That book opened the door for more books, more teachers, more study.

I remember very distinctly my feelings as I started it. Within the first few minutes I realized that this was going to be an important book. I decided to read it slowly, to savor it, and give myself time to really process the words and thoughts.

I’ve probably gifted at least 20 copies of that book to friends and family that were struggling with life or relationships in the last year.

I could go on and on about what that book taught me. But today, as I continue to see Facebook notifications of the anniversary of my moms death, I want to talk about family.

One of the premises of the book is that we are born innocent and with a free and joyful spirit. As we are “domesticated” we are taught what is right and what is wrong. What to fear, what to hate. We are given rules and laws starting with our family, then school, church, the government, conventional wisdom, peer pressure and our partners in life. We are told what to think and what to feel. We are taught what is “ladylike”and what is “manly”. What our role in the relationship is. How we should parent.

Of course we need rules and laws to peacefully exist and keep order in the world. And I am certainly not saying children don’t need discipline. But the reality is that much of what we were taught and what we accept as truth is because it was passed down. It was tradition. The way it was always done. And sometimes that is just bullshit.

Racism and prejudice are alive and well in part because belief systems within families, churches and communities perpetuate it. All you have to do is spend a little time on social media and you will see the power of the group think domestication of our thoughts.

What does this have to do with family?

Today I read in The Art Of Living: Peace and Freedom Living in the Here and Now by Thich Nhat Hahn “ It is true that each of us is a continuation of our mother, we ARE our mother. So whenever we are angry at our mother or father we are angry at ourselves.”

I loved my mother. I miss her deeply. I take it as a huge compliment if I am told that I look or act like her, even and maybe especially the goofy and silly stuff. She was funny and wacky but incredibly smart. I get my love of reading, my writing and artistic talent from her. Also my insomnia unfortunately. I treasured my time with her because she had her first heart attack at age 52 when I was 20 years old. There were several more close calls in the more than thirty years that she was with us. But I will tell you that woman had a joy and appreciation for life that came from the realization that life is precious and could end in a heartbeat. She passed that on to me, it was part of my “domestication”.

I can’t remember ever being angry with her after I got out of the terrible teenage years and moved into adulthood.

My dad and I did not have a good relationship. He was quick to anger, quick to lash out. Irritable. Short tempered. Stubborn. We battled and fought, once almost coming to blows. After I moved out I put up with him but I kept my distance. And I did not want to be anything like him. Our relationship had a foundation of anger and resentment. Unfortunately I never changed.

They are both gone now.

After reading TheFour Agreements I was able to make peace with my dad. His father was infamous for having a bad temper. He beat my dad and uncles. He taught that to my dad. My dad was in the navy for 25 years, he learned a military culture. He treated me the way his father treated him. He didn’t know any better. His words and actions and thoughts were passed down through generations, forged by the culture and places he lived.

He was also generous and would help anyone in need. He loved with his whole heart and was loyal. As he got older he became sentimental and would cry when we gave him presents or cards. He changed. He mellowed. He became less of what he was, less hard and harsh. It took me years after he was gone to acknowledge the softening, it was easier for me to think of him as one dimensional and justify keeping my distance.

I thought of all of this yesterday when we were talking with some friends about athletic ability. Steve made the comment that I got my athleticism from my dad, not my mom. Dad was a great golfer, he was on the Navy Golf Team and almost went professional. He golfed regularly well into his 80’s. So yes, that is one way that I am like my dad.

He changed as he got older. I didn’t recognize it. It’s painful for me to realize that he reached out to me and I didn’t reciprocate on a deep and real level. I went through the motions, but deep inside I held back. I held on to that anger. And as I quote so often “anger burns the one who holds it close”. I don’t know if I wanted to justify the anger I had carried for so long, or if I was too caught up in my own life to care.

By making peace with my dad, I was able to find acceptance for the part of me that I frankly didn’t like. And only after accepting was I able to start to change. And only then was I able to really understand how deeply our domestication affects us and our relationships. It will always be a struggle.

We say Namaste in yoga. “The light in me recognizes the light in you”

That is easy to do, we are instinctively drawn to light and joy.

I had to dig deep to recognize the dark in my dad was also the dark in me.

Marriages, work culture, spiritual teachings, parental relationships ,friendships and so many other things contribute to our story of how our life was, and what it should be. I got caught up so many times in how things should be rather than what was. I know now that much of the deepest pain I suffered at the hands of others was really not about me. It was about their struggle with truth, with pain, with their domestication. Letting go lifted all of that hurt and anger and resentment. It gave me space for love, acceptance and understanding. Light.

My parents are in me. They are in the way I think and react, my talents and my faults. The way my body is built, the color of my skin and the way I age. My dad is close when I am pushing my body for perfection and when I decide nothing and no one is going to keep me from a goal. He fought in the war, if I am brave I got it from him. My mom is with me when I cry over the beauty of this world and feel something so deeply that I have to write. She taught me how to laugh until we cry.

Now I can focus on the gratitude of knowing the best of both of them is in me, and understanding they had their own struggles and victories. They did the best they could.

Now I can change the rest of story.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM

March 14, 2014December 30, 2023 by Michelle Rae, posted in Aging, Parents

It’s been a year. A year without your voice, a year without your laugh.

Those last months when your body was still with us but your mind was flitting between here and somewhere else were hard. The trip I made to Little Rock to see you was bittersweet. I’ll never forget the smile on your face when you saw me walk into your room. You instantly recognized me, which was such a relief. Then you started talking and I couldn’t follow. The next day you didn’t remember I had been there. In a way that was a relief, because I knew it was not causing you pain that I wasn’t there to see you every day. I still felt guilty, but not as much.
There were no more phone calls. You couldn’t figure out how to use the phone. If Michael or Tracey put the phone to your ear, all you were doing was parroting words. You couldn’t hear or understand me. That was so sad, but it prepared me for this year.

You may not physically be on this earth, but you are still with me.
Every time, and I mean every time, I walk through the house watching the sunset I think of you. I remember your joy in the vibrant colors and huge scope of our Colorado sunsets. I remember you sitting on the couch in the sun room, watching the birds, nodding off to sleep in the sun.

I drove to Cripple Creek a few weeks ago. I remembered you looking out the window, riveted by the colors of the aspens in the fall. I laughed about your gambling “addiction” and how adamant you were that you needed to try out the casinos in Cripple Creek. I regret not taking you more often.

I sit in the living room and remember us painting it together. I was on the ladder, you were doing the lower part of the walls. I never told you about going behind you to get the parts that you missed. Remember all the houses we have painted together?

I’m not as directionally challenged as you were. Frankly I don’t think it’s possible to be worse than you were and still operate in society. But when I get turned around and a little lost, you are there with me giggling. And the first thing I think is “you are just like your mother”.

I’ll always take that as a compliment.

I had friends over last night. They were sitting on your side of the counter while I cooked. We poured some wine for them and the memories flooded me yet again. I could see you sitting there, wine glass in hand, keeping me company while I cooked. I remember the laughter, the jokes, and the giggles. How fortunate I am to have had such a wacky mom.

So more people have heard about you Mom. More of your stories have been told. They don’t mean much to the people that hear them, I know that. But the telling is important to me. To Keely, Kat, David. It’s the way that we continue to include you in our lives.

I think I talk to you more now than I did that last year you were alive. On those long drives in the car going to Colorado Springs I tell you about what is going on in my life. I know you already know, but it helps to tell you. And of course I can carry on your part of the conversation because I know you so well. I can hear your voice “Well, Michelle….”

When I am alone in the house that is when I feel you close. I put on “your” music, Enya or Yanni, and as it floods through the air you are there. I cry. I miss my Mom. I want to hold your hand, hug you one more time.
I had the gift of time with you for many months while you stayed with us in Colorado. What a very precious gift that was. Keely got to spend a lot of time with her beloved Grandma.

You knew that I loved you. I knew that you loved me. In the end, that was really all that mattered.

So Mom, this is your birthday. It is one year and a few days since you left us. So listen to me as I sing Happy Birthday to you, and know that I love you very much.