THE LIFE OF DEATH
On January 2, 2017, I woke up and checked my phone. I saw a text from my sister, Jess. It read “Nic, Call me. Mom died.” I walked to the bathroom and screamed to my husband, “My Mom died”….I heard him “Ohhh Shit.” I proceeded to my computer, put on iTunes, played Colorblind by Counting Crows, collapsed on my kitchen floor and screamed, cried, wailed, and sobbed. I kept on this way for a while: Pearl Jam: Just Breathe, Florence and the Machine: Wish you were here, and on.
I was speechless. My brother let us know he was on the phone with our sister Diana. When he ended the phone call, he went to check on mom in her bed and she had died–just like that.
My heart felt aflame. My heart felt like it was incinerating and my whole column from my belly button to my crown chakra was on fire. Throbbing. It was something I could not begin to verbally explain. I could only feel and it felt like I was burning from the inside. As if someone started a fire inside my chest. Waves after Waves. I felt I was going to die as well. I wondered if this was a reaction or if this was my heart, actually giving out.
That Monday night, I had two close friends come over. Our spiritual orientation is indigenous South and Native American medicine practices. We called my sister Jess on Skype so she could join in our ceremony. We held a Native American pipe ceremony to send our voices up to Creator and send prayers to my mom. I wanted nothing more than to hold my mom once again. And smell her. It is amazing how smells get sealed in our memories. And her voice telling me that she “I love you, I have always loved you.”
The mind can easily rationalize events…and my mind is no exception. My mind tells me, “She is out of pain, no more bullshit, no more Alzheimer’s, no more human conditions to wrestle with.”
Rationalization is what it is…serves it purpose. But does not clear or lessen the sorrow or grief, even if we can cognitively make sense of it.
No, I did not want her to be in physical pain or have her to continue on in her Alzheimer’s journey, riddled with symptoms that have been crippling and annihilating her sense of self along with all human faculties and facets of her existence.
In many traditions, we are taught about non-attachment and non-permanence and being able to moderate our attachments to the physical to reduce our suffering. Our attachments to physical form run deep. We want to hold it, covet, and keep it. We want to see that smile on that particular face.
The subtle science of non-attachment is hard. It just is. I see my mom and picture her–her loveliness. What I feel in my heart is love…the interesting thing is this: every expression of my love towards my mom (hug, kiss, hand holding) all my affections were gifted to her through her physical being, her body. I kissed her cheek. I held her hand. I hugged her. They were all tangible expressions. Expressions she and I could physically feel.
When she died, the loss of not being able to have that physical exchange has been so hard. I know the intangible part of her-her spirit and soul carry on. I truly believe and undoubtedly know that. But it is fucking hard. I want to see her in the mountains, sunsets, and stars. I believe we all have impermanent parts of ourselves-our souls and spirits. Those do not cease to exist. But the letting go of the physical experience is just fucking hard.
Mom: I miss you beloved. I love you as I have always loved you. Infinitely.
