Back from visiting my mother, I have been met by a flurry of good news on the work front. Many seeds planted a while ago, are now sprouting all at once. Success is sweet, on the surface . . . Not far below, the pain of clinging has been tugging at my throat. For the overachiever that I am, it is hard not getting attached to accomplishments.
Most effective antidote has been the remembrance of my last moments with my mom. Ever since I left her last week, I have been holding the image of her lying in her bed, almost floating, with only a touch of breath, here and there. A picture of complete letting go, and the opposite of what happens when the mind lets self-habits take over.
Going about my day, I carry my mom in my heart. And I am grateful for the gift of her unwitting teaching.
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Marguerite, you are an inspiration to me and I so appreciate your willingness to share your thoughts and lessons learned. I have been where you are now with my own mom and am sending you loving energy and light. You are a gift to your mom and to all of us. Thank you for all you do to open the conversation about death and the beauty that it can hold.
ReplyDelete"Tugging at my throat": spot on and what I'm feeling right now. I lost my father about a year ago, and until the end he knew me, or at least he knew that he should have known me. Each time I visited him he reached out to me as if I might save him from drowning. Thanks for writing down what's happening with you and your mother. I don't know you, but please know that your journey matters to me. I just got into blogging and will be following. Peace, John Coleman (anapperscompanion.com)
ReplyDeleteThank you both, for sharing your journey, and for relating to mine. John, I can relate to "he knew that he should have known me". This is how my mother looked at me the last day I saw her. How dependent we are on our concept making ability to lend solidity to our relationships . . . When that is taken away, all is left is this moment, and two living, feeling beings responding to each other. No baggage, no name. Free to live each moment as a truly new moment.
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