Reflections on a Mother...

After a rather poignant moment at Christmas, when my mother squeezed my hand after we hugged good-bye, an unheard language was transmitted through the hands: Love – something not easily expressed between us - and I had these reflections…

I wish I could have had a different relationship with my mother – more open, authentic, and loving…  I feel sad that it couldn't have been different.  Because of our personalities and the dynamic in the relationship from the beginning – an unseen dynamic unfolded between the two of us; which has now softened as she becomes more fragile.  She is losing more and more of her vision, her abilities and faculties.  There is less cognizant ability to understand what is being asked of her.  Her brain cannot handle too much information or stimulation.  But maybe love is emerging…  Maybe that is what is left when the body-mind mechanism begins to fail…

She covers it well, talking mostly in clichés – turning the personality on – speaking from the face – the mask.  But don’t ask her what she had for breakfast, or what she did yesterday, or what the doctor told her – it will scatter and scramble her brain.  And she will hide from you…  and turn the conversation back to you and ask:  And how are YOU doing? – just to avoid the difficulty of holding a conversation…

Sometimes she gets frustrated and angry because she is losing her abilities.  I feel the frustration too, as well as sadness and compassion for her fragility, vulnerability and woundedness – and the relationship we never had, but which now seems to be emerging in an unexpected way.  There is a softness between us now – sometimes - a caring, a loosening of defense mechanisms that served to protect each other from each other - sometimes.

And now in her “failing” years I wish it could have been different – that I could have been more present and more open to her, to not have closed off my own heart, but to have really seen the illumined heart of love that was really there, in both of us, behind the dynamic without the mask that veiled that Love.  I know that when she dies I will grieve that, and the relationship we never had – and maybe even the one we lost – and the one we might have had. 

In some ways my heart has already started to grieve the love we missed: a  genuinely loving mother-daughter connection; and yet it is not over…   Maybe, just maybe, our hearts will open to each other.  It seems they are beginning to...

Photo:
 a picture of my sister-in-law’s and mother-in-law’s hands…
My mother-in-law is in a Nursing Home with Alzheimer’s,
and yet there is still a “connection” through touch…

I made comment to my sister-in-law that it was interesting that
in some cases we can’t really connect with our mothers
until they are fragile and vulnerable,
and become like children again…

Blessings to Mothers and Daughters

"Letting Go" of Control Window

Sometimes what we need to see comes through the window of life itself, not just “window sitting.”

As I mentioned in a previous post, there are still “patterns of the me” that are emerging in awareness here. Control appears to be one of those patterns, and was brought home to me recently through interactions with my mother. As I have heard several teachers say: If you think you are enlightened, spend time with your family. For some of you this post may constitute “story." However, I often find that what is considered “story” can be a great teacher - allowing me to step back and experience the Dharma in the situation.

My mother is 82 years old and getting ready for eye surgery Monday after a failed first surgery 4 months ago. I have tried to be “helpful” in the preparation for this upcoming surgery – meaning: I feel the weight of responsibility to be “on top of things” in an attempt to make sure everyone is on the same page, that all ducks are in a row – which has not been welcome by my mother. It has been met with resistance and with irritation at me for at least trying to make sure everything is understood and the appropriate questions are asked to the appropriate people – without actually “taking over” – meaning not taking the control out of my mother’s hands – trying to respect her and allow her to make her own decisions and ask her own questions. But when I see mental acuity failing, I feel a need to step in. Confusion has been created because she has been told different things by different people. The more I try to make sure that everything is in place, the right questions asked and understood, and urge her to get clarification, the more she resists. It’s a dance that my mother and I have danced many times. And I no longer want to dance this dance.

So I’ve had to recognize that my need to be on top of things, to be responsible, is my subtle way of trying to be in control, trying to make sure everything turns out “right” – under the guise of “caregiving” – by taking on the role of “responsible daughter.” It is also indicative that there is still a *belief* in a separate “me” that can control life and its situations… This pesky little me…

How I function in this “responsible mode” – stressed, anxious, insecure, controlling - is not helpful to anyone. Attempts to control through instructing her on what to do, correcting her misperceptions, prodding her like a child to take responsibility and so forth only serve to alienate. I know this. But those hardwired neurons keep misfiring, sending me the fear messages that I need to be in control. I ignore them as much as possible and offer my mother encouragement and subtle, supportive suggestions instead – giving her a sense of control, a sense of “rightness”, rather than “wrongness”, which seems to be more “helpful.”

But can this “me” really willingly “let go” of its need for control? (And it doesn’t help to tell myself that there is no “me.”) My experience is that I cannot will myself to “let go” of anything – even the sense of “me.” It has to come through relaxed awareness – and trusting that life is as it should be. Through being aware and bringing awareness to a situation, there is a natural “letting go.” Stepping back into the greater context of Awareness is what allows a “letting go” to occur. It allows the pattern of “me” to be seen. Once the “pattern” has been seen, recognized – found out – so-to-speak, its grip loosens. It is no longer “me” trying to “let go” – another form of control. It lets go on its own, as it is no longer able to hide in the shadows of my mind. *It* lets go *by means of* the awareness that is brought to it - by letting the light of awareness in, and by how willing I am to actually face it, as many times as I need to.

And there is another aspect I had to look at as well. For me this “letting go” through *awareness* is an ongoing process of relaxing into a deeper sense of the all-encompassing Beingness that we actually are - and allowing That to be my focus. By continually bringing awareness to what is Aware, and not trying to figure out how to let go, or how to control the situation, noticing what it feels like to be in this space of Awareness, a “letting go” occurs on its own. By bringing awareness to what is Aware, “letting go” is no longer an issue – there is just a subtle dissolving of control, and acceptance of the way things are. From this space of Awareness I don’t get into struggle with the *concept* of “letting go” – or with my mother. I don’t follow the *thought* that I need to let go – or that I need to be responsible. It’s more of a space of allowing, of letting things, life and people be what/who they are. This does not mean that I do not take the necessary actions in the care of my mother – when needed - but it is not a fear-based need to be in control of how things go and the way they may or may not turn out. From this space of Awareness there is a softening of old patterns and a more genuine, open-hearted presence that emerges.

Although, I have to admit, there is still a lurking sense of fear-based responsibility for my mother’s well-being and the resulting anxiety… And so it is…

~*~

Beneath Life's Stories...

My mother and I have had a difficult relationship over the years – two wounded hearts that could never really be open to each other. I keep an emotional distance. I have wished that it could be different. Is this the same as not accepting life as it is I wonder? I have wanted a loving, trusting relationship with my mother, while at the same time guarding myself from her - guarding my heart from further woundings - not wanting to reveal myself, or my Self for that matter. How easily the relationship between a mother and a daughter can contract into woundedness over and over again. And yet – I realize this is just a story.

In my story, I wonder if I have somehow misunderstood her; that somehow it was me that didn’t “get her” – rather than the other way around. I try to see what other people see in her – the kindness, the goodness, the self-sacrificing piety that people revere – even if I know it’s just a front for not feeling good about herself. What I continue to see, however, is the judgmental, critical, not good enough, bitter, nobody else can do it right kind of thinking, and the constant critical commenting about what she likes and doesn’t like about others. And of course people are never who she wants them to be – but these are my stories, my perceptions… It doesn’t hook me like it used to – and yet I remain cautious…

All these stories are bubbling up once again , spending so much time with my mother. I am caught on the story channel. And of course I *recognize* what is happening. I just can’t seem to see through it clearly...

I think to myself that I should be different with her, that I should be able to keep myself open to her, to see her differently, to see the Beingness that she is – to just rest in the Greater Context of Life *with* her, and let all these stories float through, unaffected by it all…

Friday I took my mother to the hairdresser for her weekly hair appointment. As my mother sat in the chair I could hear her gossiping – storytelling. While she was under the hairdryer a woman with her elderly mother came into the shop. The woman recognized my mother and in a *big show* of affection kissed my mother’s hand, as if she were the pope! As she gushed her southern drawl affection all over my mother, they engaged in small talk about the physical problems of their aging bodies. She then asked my mother: “How are you and your daughter getting along?” – not knowing that I was sitting right behind her! :) My mother and I looked at each other, and I laughed, as my mother smiled, pointed at me, and said: She’s right here… Oops –

The woman turned to me with a look of surprise on her face - and an oohhhh, hiiiii sheepish greeting. I just grinned and greeted her back. A few minutes later she got up and started to walk out. On the way by me, she said to me – “You take good care of this sweet woman” – like I was being told. Thank goodness she didn’t wag her finger at me as well. Gee, I thought that’s what I’ve been doing – despite whatever story you may have been told! Evidently my mother has told stories over the years that she’s not being taken care, at least not the way that *she* wants to be taken care of… I have not lived up to my mother’s expectations – but I knew that. I cannot live up to her stories of what she wants me to be. This makes relating difficult and awkward. And yet, that is just another story too. And maybe it’s been difficult for her not having the relationship she would like to have with her daughters.

Interestingly I was able to laugh off the little comment and never mention it to my mother. And even though I tell this story here, I did not feel the need to *engage* in the story, or create another story, or to feel hurt, or wounded by it. I notice that I am beginning to feel a sense of acceptance for the way things are with my mother. In fact I am now finding the stories of life amusing; how we create them and live by them, believing them. And how the mind loves to grab onto the stories, and keep telling them, getting lost again and again in “stories” that I continue to believe, knowing it’s all story!

And I know the “remedy” for getting caught in the stories that bubble up from the depths is to continuously come back to that sense of inner Presence, the spaciousness of Awareness that lies behind them. That is what’s underneath all these stories – the field of Awareness that just IS. When I consciously drop beneath the stories of life, there is only a sense of calm, peace and stillness. Underneath the stories *about* what is happening there is only Life unfolding in this greater context of Awareness – evidently in a series of stories strung together and believed to be real. The challenge, it seems, is to *accept* the way life unfolds without creating a storyboard of scenarios, assumptions, conclusions, judgments and interpretations about what’s happening; without creating an *image* of life in my mind. And so I am beginning to peak through those story bubbles, *seeing* Life from underneath life’s stories.

~*~

What Are You Believing?

During the Holiday Season it’s easy to get caught up in the images of what family “should” be. There is the hope that family dynamics will change, baggage will be dropped, and peace will prevail. I have once again fallen into the trap of believing these irrelevant thoughts; making assumptions; accommodating; trying to make things “work”; neglecting the Inner Voice - not following my Heart…

I have been trying to spend more time with my 81 year old mother lately – trying to create a “better” relationship. Thursday I went to supposedly “help” her with decorating only to discover that she had already done it and didn’t need, or want my assistance. I made the erroneous assumption that she needed my help; that she would want my assistance; that she would want me to visit… I truly wanted to be “helpful.” I got the definite impression that she would rather have been doing other things – her things. Interestingly I felt the same. I would have preferred to be home doing what my Heart wants to do. I discovered that, once again, I was trying to be the dutiful daughter – available, present, accommodating – trying to create the *ideal* relationship with my mother. But that is, I discovered, just an *idea* in my head… The reality doesn’t match the image that I want to imagine…

In March my brother visited from out of state. On the way to drop him off at the airport I was told that I wasn’t doing enough for my mother; that I was to spend more time with her, taking her out and doing activities with her. The golden haired son (the baby in the family) had flown in on his white horse and found me and my sister lacking. He, who had no idea what I had actually been doing for and with my mother, had determined that whatever it was, was not enough.

I believed my brother, that somehow I was lacking, and I went into a semi-truckload of guilt, which spawned an assortment of projects that my mother and I could do together in my attempt to spend more quality time with her – which were never appreciated, or completed btw. I was told they were “not a priority for her.” Not that spending time with me was either, evidently – and all activities ended - once again. The point is, I believed the irrelevant thought that somehow *I* am not doing enough, that I could somehow make things better between us, that *I* could create a “better” relationship – if I just tried harder - which created more attempts to be more dutiful, more attentive, more caring - to create my *idea* of a good mother-daughter relationship, and try to live up to her image of that as well…

And once again, this holiday season, I am believing this *story*! The story that what I do is not enough; that I should be doing more, that things could be different between us… I am jumping through hoops again to please, to make the Holiday good for my mother – and realizing that it’s like trying to fill a dark hole in space that can’t ever be filled. And through this I am seeing that I *have* to follow my Heart – not the story that has been created about what I *should* be doing - not living up to a role, trying to make things better for my mother, trying to fulfill her perceived or real expectations – or mine - or make assumptions about what she needs.

While with her this week, the long played out patterns between us became clear, as if they had suddenly been revealed from behind the veil of unconsciousness, although they had peaked through before. In that moment of awareness I knew I needed to step back and not engage with her in the same ways, trying to make things “better” – as this is interpreted as trying to take control, and resistance ensues. This is a dance we have done for many years. While I was there she actually struggled with trying to pull the sheet of sticky paper off a lint roll for 5 mins rather than receive the help that was offered. In that moment I became aware that I didn’t want to play this game with her anymore – this: I’ll be what I *think* you want me to be, and try to create this image that I believe about mothers and daughters. I realized I no longer want to play the role of dutiful daughter or keep engaging in the story. I want to live without role, identity, expectation, assumption…

Ah-so… light dawns - now what…

I discovered that it helps not to see my mother as “mother” – as the role, the identity – but just another being, like me, living her life. What if I could interact with her without the label, or the image – without trying to change myself or her…

Who knows! I’ll have to see how the dance changes with this new awareness…

As I experienced this, this week, I was reminded of the Norman Rockwell paintings, especially at this time of year with the emphasis on “family.” I wondered if Norman Rockwell ever had a “real” family. Maybe he just painted images of families – which we want to believe…

Art print - Norman Rockwell

Lunch with Mom...

I don’t talk about my mother much because this is a sensitive subject. Maybe you have mother issues that are still being worked through, like me. Others may have good relationships with their mothers. I am not one of the fortunate few. However, this is not a blog to rat on my mother, or complain about our wounded relationship. So I hope my readers and fellow meanderers will not hear any of this as judgment or criticism or complaining, or just the reiterating of yet another “story.” I see it as the continuous unfolding of two lives intertwined by birth, life, and the wounds of living. And hopefully I can bring some conscious awareness for myself through the writing of it.

The relationship with my mother can be strained and awkward, or it can be funny and humorous, as we navigate the wound-filled landscape between us – trying to avoid the deeper potholes. I admit I don’t spend a lot of time with my mother – on purpose – although I talk to her on the phone at least once a week to “check in.” Today she arrived after her Wednesday Bible Study group at her church for a planned lunch together. When we got to the restaurant she made a point to tell me that they discussed “not being judgmental” in the group this morning, and how much she believes in not judging others. You would have to know my mother to know just what a contradiction this is. Almost in the next breath she started criticizing a certain member of the congregation that wasn’t doing things the way *she* thought they should be done. Already I’m thinking, this is going to be a loonnnng lunch… Of course I tried to humorously point her back to what she had just told me about the not being judgmental discussion, to which she heartily agreed. Go figure. I think she doesn’t think that what she is saying is being “judgmental.” And in fact, after a little more complaining and “judging” on her part, and a little more humor about that fact by me, she said: I’m not judging, I’m just evaluating – to which we both laughed… I remember well my mother’s “evaluations” of my flaws :)

What she said made me think of how conveniently I give more subtle names to things so I don’t have to look at them, or myself, so I don’t have to admit that I am doing exactly what she is doing, or to not *see* something other than my self-constructed image. Like when I criticize my husband for some flaw (I learned well :) and I say – I’m just trying to help you! Yeah, like who am I to evaluate my husband’s behavior so that he can improve himself. Or as he reminds me, so I can get him to “perform” better. That’s still judging no matter what word I want to use to make *me* feel better… But this kind of awareness seems to elude my mother and she continues.

So I try to change the subject when there is a pause in the conversation, and I ask about one of my childhood memories, which was being sent to a woman for elocution lessons and also to what was called “finishing school” – lessons on how to walk and sit the “right” way. The proper etiquette if you will. So that, at the ripe age of 10 or 11, I might enjoy tea with white gloves and raised pinky with my friends??? Hello. Now if you knew me (and my family) you would know how laughable this is. And what a waste of money that was. We were a semi-professional working class family, not upper crust society. So why the speech and walking lessons I wondered. Her answer was revealing: So that I would know how to “act.” So that I would “fit in” and feel comfortable expressing myself with others (scripted on what to say). And I’m assuming that I would *look* “right” as well – in my black Mary Janes, matching purse and crisp petticoats. Oh yes, I remember. We went *grocery shopping* this way! Can you imagine!

My brother and sister also endured these elocution lessons and we practiced in unison: “RRRRRRollll on thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll on…” I’m sure my parents meant well, but it was interesting to hear what was important to them back then – looking and acting right, fitting in - the seeming foundation for their children’s well-rounded life, successful “careers,” and emotional stability – not. She will never know how utterly unprepared for life I have felt most of the time, because it wasn’t the acting or speech lessons, or “fitting in” that was needed. It was love, support and acceptance, not living up to an image of what I “should” be. Isn’t that really what we all want, what the “spiritual search” is really about – finding authenticity, finding out who we *really* are, and being seen for who we really are with complete and total acceptance, without judgment. But she has no clue that unwinding this conditioned construct has been a part of my life’s journey.

And so I commit to bring more conscious awareness to this learned habit of *unconsciously* commenting on the perceived flaws in others, wanting others to conform to the way *I* think they “should” be, or should behave, subtly trying to control life, and calling it something else. A lot of this has already dissolved, but there are remnants, especially with the people closest to me – like my mother: wanting her to be different than who she is, wanting her to genuinely see and admit her own flaws rather than judging everyone else’s, to somehow become conscious and quit deluding herself. But – that is the task that I have taken on for this lifetime, not her.

We actually had fun today, laughing and overlooking each others flaws, reminding me to just accept the way she is… At least for today…

Heart Smiles…