First mother's day without my Mom

A number of people wished me a happy mother's day earlier today, being I'm a mom to kitties and a doggie. As well as hoping I hang in there today, given the circumstances. 

Honestly, for me the goal today was about surviving today. Today is my first mother's day without my mom. I did not know how to do this. I have been sadly dreading today.... I have been dreading it for weeks. Last week I endured my first birthday without her. And found myself crying most of the day. And now this. 

I started this morning early, as I wanted to be at the cemetery first thing, so that I am there mainly alone, without noise, without others. Why did I not want to see others? Pain perhaps..? And privacy.. to just be. 

So was there at 8:01 am, 1 minute after they opened. I was in my car infront of the front gate while the man who works there was on the verge of unlocking the gate. I saw the chain around the gate. And I saw his hand  and saw him holding a key. And it felt like all of this was happening in slow motion. He eventually opened the gate. And I drove in.

I brought a large cotton veil (or large wrap around scarf.. whatever the name) with me, but didn't realize until at her grave site that it's the perfect size, as it's large enough to lie over it. Felt good to be alone within solitude, so yes, makes sense now. I wanted to be alone so that I could cry freely, or express freely, or lie down in a fetal position freely.., likely the same fetal position almost like when it all started for me within her, upon my birth. And here I am now, in a fetal position, but this time above her (at her grave site). 

Anyway,  what irony.

I gradually worked towards being a little more ok with what is; which is being at a cemetery, on  mother's day. 

Terribly surreal. 

Horribly surreal.

Unquestionably terrible and horrifying. 

And heartbreaking. 

So to help 'somewhat'.. I took some pictures of each flower I brought. They really were pretty. One flower looked more like a plant because it was green but it looked like a rose with the layers of leaves circling around the center. It almost looked like a small cabbage. 

The pink roses, of various shades, within the arrangement were in full bloom. It wasn't that the flowers were pre or post bloom, it was more that the blooms were at its peak. It was in its peak of bloom, of beauty and of scent. 

Maybe the 'perfect flower' reminded me of the perfection that sometimes we see and in the perfection in which we often desire. Maybe it also reminded me that sometimes we don't see the perfection in other things and that either way, maybe love is seeing beyond the perfection. Maybe love is seeing thru the imperfection and knowing that the imperfection perhaps is within the perfection of what is meant to be experienced. 

 

After admiring the flowers and seeing its beauty. I felt a tad more peaceful and placed my hands upon the earth. I saw a couple of pieces of shattered glass on the surface of the earth (at my mom's grave site). I thought that was strange and peculiar. 

Why would there be broken glass there? In a way, contrary to the roses within peak bloom and peak perfection, the crushed glass reminded me of the shattering imperfections of life. It led me somehow to the feeling of compassion. To being reminded of the flaws that each human persona posesses. 

The flaws of my mom. The flaws of my own. The flaws of everyone. I placed those two little pieces of glass inside the bouquet of flowers (within the cup of water that the flower stems were contained in). Somehow the imperfect with the perfect created a 'balanced' grace. To me it symbolized the contrasts of human existence. And how these flowers (perfection) and the glass (imperfection) are actually more parallel to each other versus the opposite. 

Yin and yang. Good and bad. Perfect and not perfect. One helps us see the other. One helps us appreciate the other. One helps us understand the other. One eventually leads us to build compassion, and only by seeing both can we understand both, and really go beyond both. 

Maybe our brokenness eventually helps us see our wholeness, our truth; that lasts beyond death, or rather what we believe death to be really.. because what is death, and what is it not?? If the everlasting soul is everlasting that is..

I felt my mom's love. I felt who she is now. I saw past who she was then. I felt my mom's core not just the surface of persona she was, or the persona that in all of us we are. To really feel the love that is always available to love right now versus the craving for crumbs within the restrictions of human persona is an evolution of sorts beyond the perceptions and desires of human consciousness. What is love and what is what we think is love? My mom's persona or the persona in all of us really is what I think is love (and or the potential for love) and who I experience her as now is love. It feels different. It feels way different. Yet it doesn't remove the pain full on. I wish it did. 

The perfectly bloomed  rose  and the imperfectly shattered glass brings me back to the reminder of what is love versus what 'I'm think love is. And who is I? Who is me? Am I just the glass most times within peak rose perfection at other times. Or is it all me? Is it all we? Are we the glass plus the rose plus all of it, all combined within the stillness of spark beyond it all? 

That love which is beyond anything, yet it is everything within and beyond each thing, is a gift.  Maybe the gift is not in the object or persona, but in the treasure of lights, that is within all. 

I felt moments of peace. I also felt moments of tears, missing the surface of ways in the persona of who my mom was. The cuteness in her mannerisms many times.. the way she danced.. how funny she was... the many times when she was in her heart and so how she was so sweet.. the times when she would get really excited about something and how nice it was to see her happy. ... the way her hand looked when I used to glance at it or hold her hand. I remember her nails. I remember the shape of her fingers. I remember how velvety soft her skin was. I remember how she looked in the colors of lipstick she used. I remember her eccentric outgoing lively vibe and her sassyness. I remember how full of life she was. I remember her lioness strength, her empowering determination and her fierce will power. I remember us bonding when I brought home a baby chicken (his name was Cabbage) who was sick and she helped me take care of him. Just a lot. Just a lot of her features. Just a lot of her gestures. Just a lot of her memories. And as much as I get the understanding of the yin and yang and the absolute beyond all things, my 'persona' dammit is pissed off!!! I fucking want her back. 

And so in a fetal position, and luckily in the absence of other people who were not yet there, cos it was so darn early, I allowed myself to cry extensively, to be mad, and feel crushed, by the existence that felt crushing, to me. 

Moments of peace. Moment of not peace. Moments of peace. Moments of not peace. 

Eventually the sun felt warmer and warmer and though I wanted to stay there forever, my body felt the need to go, and retrieve. 

As I stood and looked at the tomb stones next to her, it helped to see who her neighbors were. And how one of her neighbors there was actually a pioneer in the world of composting and environmental issues. It literally said it on his tomb stone. So I literally googled his name. How funny when googling becomes an actual word. Is the word google in the dictionaries out there today, I wonder?? Well anyways I looked him up and wow I thought. I have a huge compost in my back yard and I can't wait to learn about him more. I sent his information to my permaculture teacher and one of my kindest friends, Alex, right away. 

Being there this morning helped me also realize that nature has a way of soothing. It has a way of helping me see that some things are permeable while other things are impermeable. Nature helps me understand the conditional and gives me chance to transcend towards the unconditional.  The rain, the storms, the crushing waves that hurt and yet.. the rainbows and still waters of peace that also coincide within the contrasts of all that is; remind me of the lack of love in life when love is lacking, along with the presence of love when love IS present. Nature reminds me of seeing the value of love, within the expansive definition of what love truly really means, atleast to me. 

Perhaps before, to me, love many times meant pleasing others to feel a sense of belong and to be loved back.. although before I got glimpses of love, especially at work and with heart friends who during their most vulnerable of times they opened my heart by allowing me to open theirs, and vice versa. As I see it now more clearly, what many times I saw love then was based on trauma. 

Upon going thru the weakest points in my life, I found out more what love truly is and what love truly is not. When I prayed that day when so damn close to death, and love and healing surrounded me. I guess I got a bit of proof of the love that is always available to love. I realized then, that I was meant to stay longer in this earthly plane. I also realized that whether someone transcends this plane or stays in this plane, that grace and love always surrounds. What changes is whether we are willing to receive it. What changes is whether we are willing to retrieve it. What changes is whether we are ready to connect to it. And that maybe whether we stay here on earth or journey onto the next journey, to the heavens and beyond, we are always held by that divine love. Perhaps not always will be feel it but I think upon our willingness we begin to realize we are it, as it is us. The love within and throughout is made out of the same truth, the same essence. The brightness of the moon reminds us of the brightness of our soul. The tree is part of everything as everything is part of the tree. Interconnected-ness. One-ness. Nothing less. 

In times of pain, when I allow love in (from my heart and beyond-the love from beyond that is always available to love, whether we call that God, Angels, Divinity, etc) it truly is a beautiful thing.  As it is a beautiful thing  to share that love throughout when the heart is filled with love. 

We all have the capacity to love, if connected to the heart and depth of our being. Sometimes I am connected. And sometimes surely I am not. We all sometimes are. We all sometimes aren't. 

Seeing the oneness in he as is in me as is in she as is in we. That tenderness of love expands as we expand. The rain can be me, and the storms can be he, and the crushing waves can be she, and vice versa.. the rainbow and still waters of peace can be me, he, she, and or we as well. It can all be intertwined. We are all within the soup of all of this and that,  and within the space within all it carries. 

Well anyways... 

Went to trade Joe's after and when the person at the cashier's asked me if I was having a great day,  I  started tearing up. After they asked what's wrong and I told them, the person bagging my groceries left and came back with a beautiful bouquet of flowers (coincidently the colors of the flowers were the vibrant kind of colors my mom especially liked, they were specifically her kind of colors not mine (bright yellows, deep orange, magenta red and some shades of happy pink), and as it brought me comfort, they soon became my favorite colors now too). He said to me compassionately that these flowers are from my mom in heaven and that she is with me. Luckily I leaned over the counter area because the emotions I was experiencing were so strong and I was very appreciative of his kindness. I couldn't stop crying. I felt deep gratitude. And also I cried needed tears. 

While in the car, I continued to cry. Eventually.... I was ready to drive home but I quickly remembered the mother's day before covid in 2019 when I took my mom to Parlour Vegan Bakery in Boca Raton (for the 1st stop we went to) during that mother's day where we sat on the wooden benches inside the cafe. So when I went in, today, I just cried as I saw those same benches there. The same bench where she once sat is the same bench where she no longer sits.  I sat there for a long while. I remembered exactly where she sat that day. I remembered exactly what we ate that day. It felt like yesterday. But she wasn't there. She no longer is here. Her hands, her hair, her cuteness.. it still unbelievable that i cannot touch her hand and that I cannot hug her like before. 

I tried to contain myself.  It was difficult being there especially in the beginning but gradually being there became also healing. I finally got the strength to stand up and the girl who worked there was so sweet. I told her what was going on and she was very endearing and we spoke for a while. I saw tears coming from her heart and eyes and her genuine warmth and she was so sweet. She told me she had a tough morning and that she was glad because being with eachother helped us both come back to what matters, the heart. She got me a drink, and said it was her gift to me. On the cup, she wrote -you are loved and she even drew a kitten on the cup too. There were no people while I talked to her for like 15-20 minutes and then when i left that's when people came. As if God wanted me to have the space to be. With a heart friend. To heal. It was just so sweet the sweet people that crossed my path, while all the while earlier at the cemetery I tried to avoid people all together. What irony. 

So not sure if I can call this a happy mother's day but I guess that depends on my definition of what  happiness is. Maybe true happiness is not within the pendulum of happy and sad; and this and that; and /or the perfectly beautiful rose at its peak bloom and the imperfect shattered glass.

Maybe deep down, way deep, there IS the knowing that within everything that is finite, is that which is infinite.  Everything that's not love, eventually can lead us to love. Even more so. Beyond the stars. Beyond it all.