Tongue in Cheek

The Spirit Moves

            

the spirit moves. stillness is a lovely dance.

it helps to have flowers up your sleeve.

softness,

tied with a bow.

let the spirit move.

Amaro Family Portrait

   

There is a first time for everything.... and a second time for most things. Each day the face of this new journey (my family is on) makes itself known. Popping up in the most familiar places starring nakedly while a wave of emotion rolls over us...

My Mother opens the closet that she has opened many times before, but this time around my father's clothes seem awkwardly different. The mail comes in with my father's name on it front and center knocking my mother off her feet. My brother looks up a name on his cell phone and my father's name appears... he wonders if he should erase it but he cannot and becomes sad thinking about it. I hear a Harley running down the road, I look up and tears roll down. My mother folds clothes finding a pair of my father's socks and sobs into them....

                                                                   

There is a second time for the familiar things in our lives to come back and address us anew. We stare, catch our breath, and hold on with the knowledge that many others are and have walked this way before.

As a friend of my mother said, "When those "first times come around" and they will for a long time to come, whatever you feel let it be without holding back. If you want to cry, cry. If you are angry, be angry. Whatever feeling overtakes you, let it be."

                                                                                                

Do you think by allowing our feelings to take place safely we welcome the slow change to our broken hearts and not succumb to blurry numbness? Though I must admit sometimes that numbness seems like a welcoming path.

                   The first steps of this well worn path yet newly discovered.... I think I'll hold on to those of you who have walked this way before.

Life Abroad

Sacha called to talk. With each of his words I wanted to jump through the phone and pinch his cheeks.  Somehow to get back to the days where he was a little boy and I could hug him for hours without him minding a bit.

Listening to him made the soft spot that I have and hide ache....

I asked him if he thought I could  be his Mom again, "You know the one who tells you that your shirt doesn't match your pants, or that you need to sit straight, or to clean your room, or that you better stay home to do your homework... In short after four months away do you think it will feel strange me telling you every now and then what to do or how to be?"

He reassured me by saying, "Mom, I think as soon as we see one another we will take off right where we left off and it will be very good."

... with that I felt a million hugs all at once.

Later in the day Chelsea called. We talked and talked as only "girls" can do. I asked her how her "friend-who-is-a-boy" was doing and she said without skipping a beat, "Oh the-friend-who-is-a-boy is now my boy-friend."

Though being the kind of mother that I am I didn't skip a beat either and asked, "Have you kissed?"

Chelsea chuckled, "Mommy!" But before she could answer and before I could ask the next question she said,

"... it was worth the wait."

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Ah Life the unpredictable, unending path that leads us! Thanks for giving me a spark of sweet joy today.

The Hard Easy Chair

My Mother,

a little girl,

sits,

in my father's easy chair.

moment by moment

healing in the evening...

Souvenirs and Healing Tools

Little souvenirs. Tucked in pockets, stuffed in the corner of the drawer. Left unattended in a box on top of the closet or under the bed. Moments treasured, stored within the heart, bobbing in the back of one's mind, singing ever so softly bringing a smile to one's face then fading into the background.

I remember this feeling... the feeling of emptiness and unbearable lost. I remember this feeling, where the days haunt, and reality stings as it sinks in. I remember these days where tears sprout in unusual places and numbness a welcome remedy. I remember the feeling when my boyfriend died years ago... and I remember it takes time to go through it... but this is far greater as it takes in my entire family. As my little niece said to my mother,"It doesn't feel the same without Vovo here..."

When someone dies I believe they come to you in your dreams. I often ask those who have lost someone if they have had a dream of their loved one. French Husband and Chelsea both have seen my father in their dreams... the rest of us are still waiting.

Though I have dreams and day dreams over and over again of my time in my father's hospital room. Recurring dreams, dreams without faces or structure...I call them processing dreams, the need to work through the reality of these last ninety days to accept the events that took place and let them go.

French Husband went back to France. He will return later next month with Chelsea. Sacha arrives in a few weeks. I will remain by my mother's side, I cannot imagine leaving her at this moment. I cannot imagine being away from my children and family in France either... though they cannot imagine me being anywhere other than where I am.

My blog will process the enormous feelings I am carrying around. It will notice the steps to living life without my father, it will share about my family and watch my mother accept the hole in her heart. This blog, this healing tool, this therapeutic office, this gathering of friends will hoepfully listen and help me surrender and carry on.

Please bear with me as I sort-out this depth of time.

Mother's Day

Dear Mom,

My heart is full... more-so it is overflowing. It is heavy with love, tenderness... it aches. I have seen your love, tasted your love, felt your love...love's messages pour from your steady, strong heart with such power that the darkest of nights feel like summertime at noon.

Where would I be without you?

                                                

I wish that I could somehow make these days easier, softer... whole again for you. Your grief, your suffering is a testimony to the greatest love you had. The black you wear, the silence you endure, the distance you put between you and your activities, are symbols of respect for dad. I admire your strength and your weakness, to grieve openly. To hold out your heart and look at its emptiness and not fill it. Mother's Day.... Thank you for being such a good, strong, giving mother even in this time of sorrow.

The Gift of Life

While my father was in the hospital I stayed with my cousins Judy and Chris, since going home to Willows was too far away to be a daily option. Their back bedroom (or as nicknamed, "The Green Room at the Walnut Inn")became my home away from home.

Since I stayed at the hospital at night I slept during the day. Every morning I would come into Judy's home to find my bed turned down, flowers at my bedside, a picture book on my pillow. Later when I would wake up their table would be set charmingly with a home made meal and a glass of red wine waiting for me.

I was spoiled beyond words. Treated like a Royal Princess. I soaked-up every bit of their kindness and was able to hold vigil by my father's heart because I had their faithful foundation underneath me.

All this is to say... Happy Birthday Judy! Thank you for giving me a safe refuge everyday unconditionally.

When was the last time your love helped someone help another? I am amazed each day by the lessons of love I am receiving. Compassion comes from experiencing something first hand, and then being able to share from what you have gained, witnessed and learned to another.

Everyday there are ways to love one another. To give to another. What an extraordinary gift to receive someone's compassionate heart and feel it breath into your own...

Jumping over Muddy Water

                           

The rice fields are flooded, the seeds are taken root, the harvest will come months later.... yet today the water stagnates; it is bittersweet. Life in its many moments, rich are the cycles, the seasons, the different stages...

Everything reminds us of my father...and he is no longer here....

Molly jumps the muddy overflow from the nearby rice field. Having little nieces and nephews around in this moment aids healing...they simply live, rejoice and beg us to do the same. Jump!

Yet jumping is not as easy as Molly makes me believe it is...life goes on....with each day moving us further away from my father's physical being and begs us to find him spiritually.

Jump. My heart is not stagnant, and my tears make everything muddy.