The First Mother's Day since...

So I warned you from the beginning that there might not be much logical sequence to my posts… and for this one, we’re taking a flying leap to the present. It’s Saturday, May 10, 2014, and tomorrow is Mother’s Day – the first since my mom died. The incessant advertisements saying “don’t forget your Mom” have been a constant reminder that she’s no longer here (in physical form, anyway). I’ve missed her terribly this week – I so want to see her smile, to chat with her about nothing in particular, to give her a big hug. Never again, not in this life.

And so I’ve confronted another level of the finality of her death this week. She’s not coming back, I’ll never hug her again… and that has brought up another layer of grief. So I’ve cried a good deal, I’ve been distracted, I’ve felt bereft and lonely and depressed. Fortunately, one of the lessons of the grief I’ve already processed has been to be gentle with myself, to allow the emotions to flow through and be released. It’s not been a comfortable experience, but it has been a healing one. I know more clearly that while she’s no longer here physically, she’ll be present in my heart forever.

It was Arbor Hospice here in Ann Arbor that cared for my mom in her last months, and they also provide bereavement services to family after the death. I’ve participated in two of their grief support groups, and one of the things I learned is that it’s crucial to anticipate holidays and have a plan for them. So I am prepared with a plan for tomorrow.

In the morning, I’ll go to Glacier Hills for brunch with my dad. And in the afternoon, I’m going to Gallup Park, where my mom loved to walk along the Huron River. Even with her impaired eyesight and her balance issues requiring a walker, she still loved being in nature. She could see shapes and movement, and was an avid people and animal watcher. She’d even agreed that it would be fun to rent a paddle boat with me “sometime,” although that never happened.

The last time she was there was the end of June last year. Two dear friends from Massachusetts were visiting to say their good-bys to her, and we took a picnic lunch to the park. It was one of those beastly hot days where the temperature and the humidity were over 90, so we ended up eating our lunch hastily and beating a fast retreat to the air conditioning at Glacier Hills. She still loved every moment of it.

So I’ll take some of her ashes to the park tomorrow afternoon and do a ritual honoring her for Mother’s Day. I'm building on a practice started by my sister and her partner (Beth and Susan), who have already left some of her ashes in Tuolumne Meadows in the high country of Yosemite National Park and in the desert of Tucson, AZ, both places she loved. Now she'll be floating in the ethers at Gallup Park as well. 

I don’t know exactly what the ritual will consist of just yet – except that I’ll buy a red rose because they were her favorite flower and incorporate it somehow. And I’ll tell her how much I love her and respect her and miss her. And how glad I am she was/is my mom. 

Starting "The Adventure"

Late afternoon on Friday, May 31, 2013, I arrived at Glacier Hills (a continuum-of-care retirement community in Ann Arbor where my parents live). My mom was in an ambulance on her way home from the hospital. The night before, she had made the decision to take the doctor’s recommendation and not seek treatment, so there was nothing more the hospital could do for her. My brother, Ken, had been there to support her, and called me to share the news. Her hospice intake had already been scheduled for the following Tuesday.

My memory of that first evening with her is foggy, although I do remember that we discussed how to share the news with my dad. Because he has moderate dementia, he had not been to the hospital to see my mom. She had been very clear that she wanted to be the one to tell him about her decision to start hospice, so we had let him know she had lung cancer, but not shared the prognosis with him. We agreed that she would have a conversation with him the next afternoon, and Ken and I would be available as back-up support if they needed it.

I was anxious about how my dad would react. They had been married almost 63 years, and had largely followed the traditional marriage roles common for their generation. But my dad had become increasingly emotionally dependent on my mom as his memory and cognitive function declined. They had a sweet ritual after dinner each evening – they would snuggle on the loveseat while they watched the PBS Evening News. He would whisper “sweet nothings” in her ear: “I’m so glad I married you, Joanie,” or “I love you more now than ever before.” I was afraid he might be devastated by the news.

But the conversation between them went fairly smoothly, and he responded with his typical stoicism: “We all have to die sometime.” I was temporarily relieved – and recognized immediately that it was not over.  My dad likely wouldn’t remember much of the conversation, so I knew I would be in the position of telling him repeatedly that his beloved wife of almost 63 years was preparing to die. I was also clear that that was part of what I’d signed up for – and wanted to be available for. Their snuggling ritual each evening became all the more poignant and moving to see.

Later that evening, my mom and I were sitting alone in her room chatting. At a lull in the conversation, she looked over at me and said,

“I’ve been thinking about the adventure I have ahead of me and wondering what it’ll be like.”

Being slow to catch on for a moment, I suggested that we could start making a list of questions for the doctor. She smiled and with a twinkle in her eye replied,

“Oh, so you think I should ask the doctor what heaven will be like? ... I don’t think so.”

So two days after the shock of learning she had a terminal illness, two days after deciding not to seek treatment but to enter hospice care, she was thinking of herself as starting a spiritual adventure! My heart melted and expanded as I saw an aspect of this woman I had not seen so clearly before… what an extraordinary demonstration of spiritual depth and courage!

And she sustained that attitude through the rest of her life — living to her fullest capacity; demonstrating extraordinary courage, curiosity, and faith; clearly at peace with her life — and death. I’ll have more to say about our journey together – and certainly there were times of intense pain (physical and emotional) and frustration and helplessness in it. And I want to demonstrate now that this blog is not primarily about grief and loss. It’s about hope and faith and transformation.

I’ve titled it “Simply Fearless Love” because that is the overarching theme and the undergirding foundation of my journey with my mom and my grief process since her “death.” Grief is a remarkable teacher and shaman – this time has brought me to my knees and transformed who I am as a woman. And it’s left me both tasting and hungering to expand the simply fearless love I am as a spiritual being having a human experience.

Here are some questions to stimulate comments... and of course, whatever you want to say is welcome:

• What does "simply fearless love" mean to you?
• How do you experience it in your life?
• Who are your role models for spiritual depth and courage?
• What are the ways you exhibit them in your life?

The Beginning

Funny how your life can change dramatically in an instant. On Thursday, May 30, 2013, I was sitting in my car in the parking lot of my beloved spiritual community, Inner Light Ministries (www.innerlightministries.com), in Santa Cruz, CA, where I volunteered in the office every Thursday. I loved my life -- the Mediterranean climate, walking on the beach whenever I wanted, the small and liberal community with so much to offer culturally, surrounded by natural beauty, nourished and passionately involved at Inner Light. My phone rang, and the caller id announced "UMich. Medical."

I knew my mom had been admitted to the University of Michigan hospital the day before because she had been coughing up some blood for a few days. I had spoken with her and her doctor the previous evening, and they didn't seem unduly alarmed -- they had taken chest x-rays and were waiting for the results. My mom said she "felt fine," and complained only of being bored... because she was legally blind, she couldn't read or entertain herself in the ways she might have otherwise.

The instant I answered the phone and heard it was her doctor, I could tell it was not good news. To his credit, he was extremely compassionate. They had found a "suspicious mass" in her left lung, next to her heart, and from the irregular shape of the tumor were virtually certain that it was a particularly aggressive form of lung cancer. The tumor had already invaded her airway, and that was why she had been coughing up blood.

The doctor's prognosis was dismal -- she likely wouldn't live through the summer, and he was recommending hospice care rather than seeking treatment. Surgery was not an option because of the location of the tumor, and the likelihood that chemo or radiation would extend her life was minimal. In fact, he said, it might actually shorten her life, and the side effects would make whatever time she had left miserable.

I was definitely shocked -- there had been no forewarning that this was coming, and my mom was never a smoker. A year before, at the age of 81, she had bounced back from a hysterectomy and 6 weeks of radiation treatment for endometrial cancer -- and been declared cancer-free. And along with the shock, I felt uncannily accepting and peaceful, not at all depressed. All I wanted in that moment was to be with my mom and dad for whatever was going to unfold.

I went into Inner Light to share the news and let them know I would be leaving town indefinitely... and on Friday, 5/31, I was on an airplane to join my parents, brother and sister-in-law in Ann Arbor. I had also been able to notify my sister and her partner who were traveling.

As I write this, it's just over 10 months later -- Wednesday, April 9, 2014. My mom made her transition on August 20 of last year, and my journey with her through her last few months and the grief process that followed have been the most intense and challenging psycho-emotional-spiritual experiences of my life to this point. And now that I have enough distance to be off the immediate emotional roller coaster, I also see them as profoundly deepening, transformational, and uplifting experiences for which I am eternally grateful. I know my life has been changed forever.

I have chosen to stay here in Ann Arbor to support my dad, and because Ann Arbor is a vibrant and exciting community to be part of. I've survived the most brutal winter Michigan (and much of the country) has seen in decades -- quite an accomplishment for this Northern California girl who thinks 50 degrees is starting to get pretty cold! So at the age of 61, I am now in the process of re-creating my life exactly as I want it -- what an extraordinary opportunity and privilege!

Please share your own stories, comments, responses below. What resonates with you, and where is your experience or belief different?

Why am I writing this blog?

What a good question... and my first answer is because I feel compelled. I can't NOT write it. Spirit has been tapping me on the shoulder for the last several months, with an increasing sense of persistence and urgency.

So far, I understand two aspects of Her directive:

• "It's time for you to find and articulate your voice in the world, Nancy. Write about your experience. Document it for yourself, and share it with the world. You have so much to say -- and I have so much to say through you. Your voice will be a gift to the world -- OUR gift to the world. Speak your truth, Nancy, and tell your story."
• "Find your tribe, Nancy. Gather a community of like-minded souls who join together in living Universal spiritual principles. Claim the leader, convener, facilitator you were born to be. You have embodied these principles enough to attract those who want to share in putting them into practice in community and in their daily lives. And together, you transform the world."

I set an intent at the beginning of this year to say a resounding "Yes!" to whatever Spirit asks of me. So I'm setting aside my anxiety about going so public with what feels like a very intimate and personal process. I'm setting aside my doubts that many people will find what I have to say helpful or interesting enough to want to "join in community." I'm setting aside the voice in my head that asks, "Who do you think you are to be so bold?" And I'm saying that resounding "Yes, sweet Spirit. I trust that anything You ask is for the good of all, and that You provide all that's needed. And here I am, stepping out on faith, starting a blog."

So this is an experiment... and an invitation to engage in a communal dialog exploring Universal spiritual principles and creating transformation in our lives and the world. I will share my story over the last 10 months, how it's shaped who I am now, and my exploration of what's next in my life. It's my hope that you will feel drawn to respond and to share your own stories/truths -- and that we'll end up with a stimulating and insightful dialog.

I have no idea how often I'll post, or any of the other logistical details -- they are all to be revealed. I'm not promising that there will be a neat linear order from one post to the next -- or any logical sequence. Please feel the same freedom to participate and comment however feels right to you. I may choose to create a business based in what comes out of the dialog at some point, but I have no promotional or commercial intent at this point. I promise to make a clear and clean transition if I choose to make this an income-generating vehicle at some point, and I will not ever use an individual's comments for any purpose without explicit permission.

There are a few agreements I want to propose for how we interact. This is a place to practice:

• speaking our truth -- with gentleness and compassion
• revealing our true selves, allowing ourselves to be seen and heard
• being affirmative -- focusing first on what we like, what works for us, what's intriguing about the conversations unfolding here
• expressing differences of opinion with respect
• taking risks and being bold.

I agree to abide by these guidelines, and hope you will too. If there are others you'd like to add, please leave them in a comment. 

How to comment is not intuitively obvious here... if you look for the "# comments" link below and click on it, it'll open a page where you'll see others' comments and can add your own.

Let's jump in!