Category Archives: Mother

Beauty and Loss All Commingled

Today I spent two hours with my ailing mother instead of the usual four to six.  And as I indulged in the sacredness of time alone, I discovered myself sinking deeper into my “feeling body.”  Once again, I discovered that being too busy is anathema to the soulful existential questions and emotions I need to let bubble to the surface once in a while.

Mom’s health is declining.  It hasn’t been that stellar for quite a few years, but now her body is starting to fail in ways that are no longer remediable.   I found myself wondering how conscious she is of her decline and when is the right time to discuss it all.

My mother has suffered from mood swings and a fair amount of depression these last several years.  Even when she was living in her own home, surrounded by her loving (albeit increasingly demented) husband, excellent and compassionate caregivers, and a regular rotation of visiting children and grandchildren, she frequently found reasons (not always easily discerned by us) to dissolve into tears.  Being in a nursing home the last year and a half has not resolved her feelings of depression.

Fortunately, when I inquired recently of the RN on duty about the possibility of an anti-depressant, it was subsequently approved by the facility physician.  I am not someone who ordinarily believes in indiscriminate pharmaceutical solutions, but her crying jags were disconcerting and I simply wanted her to feel better.  (And Mom was, in no way, open to therapy.)

So the question of the hour is:  do I open the can of worms that end-of-life discussions precipitate?  Or shall I let her “feel good” for a little bit longer?

Unlike Dad, who embraced the idea of heaven and, though he loved life, looked forward to “going home,” Mom has only ever talked about death when she was unhappy with her life.  I find myself hesitating to talk about something that will likely send her back into a downward spiral.

On the other hand, as someone who worked for two different hospices, I know how vitally important it is to have the opportunity to talk about these matters and to work through all the myriad emotions which certainly arise.

And so, I pray for guidance to know when the time is right.

Meanwhile, after leaving the nursing home earlier today and finishing a couple errands, I arrived home and dressed for a walk in the cool October air.   As I ambled down the road, I was struck over and over again by sights so achingly beautiful, I found myself invoking God’s name in whispered awe.

The trees are aflame with color this year—golden yellows, vibrant oranges, corals, and scarlets.  Breathtaking and heart-opening beauty is everywhere.  Even the skeletal remains of Queen Anne’s lace and the dark petal-less heads of black-eyed Susans are beautiful.

In addition to the splendors of autumn, there are lingering roses, hibiscus blooms, and purple clovers—splashes of summer in the midst of dying grasses and fallen leaves.  Life and death are all mixed together in this seasonal transition.

As I walked I found myself feeling the grief of Dad’s absence in my life.  Like me, he loved nature.  We would have had some fine walks together this year had he still been alive.  But I know we are both immersed in beauty and love—he where he is and I where I am.  And Mom, too, though she is not as skilled at recognizing it or appreciating it.  Then again, her childhood was not as special as that of Dad or me and my siblings.  When she was little she was abandoned by those who brought her into the world, and so abandonment is often her default emotional setting (even now, over seventy-five years later.)

Beauty and Pain.  Life and Death.  Love and Loss.  It’s all here.  We are surrounded by it all.

As my wise friend Kristy recently said, “Some things in life cannot be fixed. They can only be carried.”*

May I carry it all with grace.


The Next Season

This is day #6 of being with parent #2 as she makes her slow exit from this life.

It’s been an important and exhausting time.  I am so grateful to be here with her, the woman who gave me birth.   And, as anyone who has maintained a long vigil with someone who is very ill knows, it’s a challenging road.

Today I was feeling very low energy.  I was tired, sad, overwhelmed.  Are these the correct words?  I don’t even know that I can accurately categorize how I was feeling.  I only know that I was depleted.

Fortunately other family members were going to be spending time with my mother this morning, so it gave me the opportunity to indulge in some alone time.  I am one of those people who needs a lot of time by myself, and I hadn’t had much solitude this week.

I walked to the side of my brother’s property and down the long leaf-strewn path toward the edge of a beautiful stream.  I found a rock in a pocket of sun and sat myself down upon it.  And that’s all I did.

I didn’t have the energy for anything else.  I didn’t pray; I didn’t prod myself to change or shift or buck up; I didn’t try to figure anything out.  I just sat.

I felt weighted.  I felt listless.  My spark was gone.

I just sat.

Gradually, eventually, the world began to work its magic on me.   After maybe ten or twenty minutes, I had the energy to lift my head.  I noticed more trees had changed color since the last time I’d walked to this particular spot.  There was one tree with beautiful bright coral-colored leaves.  And the sky was a beautiful cloudless blue.

I began to notice leaves dancing through the air, letting go of the trees onto which they had held themselves for many months, and spiraling toward the creek which gently carried them downstream.

I became somewhat conscious of the beautiful metaphor unfolding around me, but mostly I became aware that my energy was ever so slightly beginning to rise.

The world is a beautiful place.   When I’m sad or tired, it’s harder to focus on the beauty.  But it’s there, just waiting to uplift me whenever I take the time to immerse myself in it.

Can I help my mother release her grasp on this beautiful life so she can embrace the next even more beautiful one?  I don’t know.  That is my prayer.  My prayer is that she be at peace with the change of the seasons.  Not just spring and summer, but fall and winter, too.

We cannot stop the wheel from turning.

And there is no end in a wheel.  There is only the next season.

October 2013 583

Changing Woman

(Written in 2014; revised in August 2019)

A few months  ago I was blessed to participate in a sweatlodge in a small mountain community in Colorado.  I respected the people, I loved the singing, I loved the beauty of the ritual, I loved feeling connected to Spirit.  And then something happened that took me by surprise.  I overheard a young woman refer to me as an “elder.”

It was done in a very respectful way.  She was tuned into my level of comfort, and I appreciated that.  Still, I was completely taken aback.  But then looking around at the others, I was surprised to realize I was indeed one of the two oldest people there.  But I’m only 55 and I didn’t realize it was so obvious I was “an elder!”

I confess I still carry that western notion of “older” meaning unattractive and un-sought-after.  I mean, how can you not absorb that message in this culture?!  Billboards, commercials, and movies are all filled with slender, physically fit women, usually young and with large breasts.  (At least I have the breast part down right!)  Older people–most especially women–are not honored for their wisdom. Generally, the American public does not look kindly upon older people, and especially those of the female gender.  Just look at any nursing home to see what this society truly thinks of its elders.

But, out of all the word choices, “elder” at least carries the connotation of respect.  “Senior,” to me, just means “old.”  “Ma’am,” though respectful, also makes me feel old.  And “crone?”  I know many of us are trying to reclaim the word, take it back from the patriarchy and make it a badge of honor.  We are trying to reframe the image of a tiny, wizened, extremely old woman.  We are focusing instead on her ancient wisdom, not her ancient body.

To be honest, it’s a process for me.  I still struggle with the label.

Fortunately, in this instance, in the sweatlodge, the respect was obvious.  And so I decided to just settle into the fact that I was older than most of the people there and that it was nice that this particular young woman cared about me and my comfort.

Later, the one facilitating the ceremony asked me and the other “older woman” (the one with long gray hair) to offer prayers.  Without mentioning the fact that we were “elders,” we were nevertheless singled out.  I felt the honor and privilege of it.

This is a big deal for me!!!

In women’s and Goddess circles, there is the concept of the “Triple Goddess” — Maiden, Mother, Crone.

Part of the reason why I resist the title of crone is I pride myself on being a sexual being.  I don’t want to be perceived as old, wrinkled, and dried up.  One of my favorite compliments in my life was from “an older woman.” (She was probably in her 60’s at the time, and had very youthful, fun energy.)  We were a group of about fifteen people training to be therapists.  I was, I think, 38 at the time.  She said to me, “You’re as a maiden should be.  You’re juicy.”  Oh how I loved that compliment!  I loved that she saw me as a juicy maiden!  Even twenty years later, smack in the throes of menopause, I am still a little reluctant to give up my maiden-ness!  I like being juicy!!!

I know I also have mother energy.  I have never birthed a child, but I can be very comforting and nurturing.  I give wonderful hugs.  I love children, dogs, cats, and all animals.  I give great loving massages.  And so most of the time, I don’t mind being referred to as a motherly person.  However, once in a great while, someone will say I remind them of their mother.  Oy.  Even when it’s meant as a compliment, I find myself cringing whenever someone says that.

But perhaps I’m ready to change.  Perhaps I’m ready to acknowledge that I’ve lived a few more years, have a few more gray hairs, and do indeed have some things worth sharing with the world.

Or maybe I can take turns.  Maybe I don’t have to feel stuck in any one role.  Maybe sometimes I can be a “juicy maiden,” sometimes a nurturing mother, and other times a wise crone.  Or, perhaps I can be a nurturing maiden, a wise mother, or a sexy crone!  In fact I am all of these!  I can be whatever I want.  We all can.

Let’s just freakin’ discard all the labels and be whatever the heck we want.

P.S.  I took as the title of this piece the name of one of the most revered and holy of all the deities of the Navajo/Dineh nation.  My understanding at the time of writing this article was that She represented all the seasons of nature and womanhood.  I understood that She could shapeshift into whatever form She chose.  Now I realize my understanding was very limited and not necessarily correct.  She is a complex and powerful figure who was the Creatress of humanity, of the Dineh.  To learn about Her, please learn from the Dineh people.